Page 117 of Dirty

“You like it?” he asked.

“Pfft. What’s not to like. This place is awesome.”

He arched an eyebrow. “How awesome?”

“If it was fixed?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Let’s just say I’d love to come back here when it’s done and have a night with you. Just one.”

“Just one?”

“As many we could get before they kicked us out,” I said.

He nodded. “Alright. I’ll give my bid.”

I gazed out the window, took one last look at the ocean, and smiled. The odds of coming back were minimal, and I knew it.

“You ready?” he asked.

I wasn’t, but I said I was. “Yeah.”

We walked down the steps and I realized Adam’s foot was getting a little bit better each day.

Heck, one day, we’d both be normal.

“I’ll be in touch,” Adam said as we reached the bottom of the steps. He shook Mr. Winslow’s hand.

“Good luck,” Winslow said. “The results will post on the 13th.”

Adam nodded. “Thanks, again.”

As we walked to the motorcycle, I took one last look.

Because it was nice to dream.

FORTY-ONE

Cholo

I sat on the back deck as Mr. Bale practiced putting on his personal putting green. Beyond him, as far as I could see, was nothing but ocean. I took a drink of tea, looked at Downes, and then glanced at Parker.

After I swallowed, the flavor of the tea came to life. “That tea is something,” I said. “Wow.”

“Peach, today,” Downes said. “One of the late Mr. Ward’s favorites.”

“The former owner?”

He nodded.

Mr. Bale looked down, focused on the head of the putter, and then swung it smoothly. The ball rolled to the other side of the green, paused slightly, and then rolled to the left a few and fell in the cup.

Mr. Bale looked at me. “The game of golf, Mr. Downey, is lost or won right here.”

“On the green?” I asked.

He nodded. “Everyone gets on the green in two or three strokes, and they’ll four putt their way into a loss. I have vowed not to step onto another course for as much as a glass of tea until I’m capable of a sub-par round at Torrey Pines’ south course.”