Joe Slice: Golden Eagle

By Andy Hallam

Joe Slice has a slight problem. He's a professional golfer but he doesn't really like golf any more. He prefers drinking, gambling and women. He's missed the cut again and looking for another distraction from the harsh reality of his fading career. Billy, his world weary caddie, knows only too well that his friend and colleague is heading for trouble, big trouble.

A rosy cheeked Irishman called JC McColl has a little secret. He's keeping it from his lovely wife Rosa and from the prying eyes of the authorities. Unfortunately for JC there's someone else who knows all about it and they want the gilt edged profit for themselves. JC is holding one of his famous parties at his fabulous renovated castle on the coast. Joe and Billy are invited and that's where the fun begins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Hallam
• Release date: Dec 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310035128

Andy Hallam

'Golden Eagle' is Andy Hallam's first novel. Back in the day he once trod the fairways of Britain and Europe carrying the bag of an aspiring young golf professional by the name of John Vingoe. Together they ventured as far a field as Bled in Slovenia, Biarritz in Southern France, as well as the equally exotic Bolton and Blackpool. They didn't win much but they drank a lot of beer and dreamt of greater glories. One dull September day on the old links in Bolton a large black Raven jumped onto Andy's shoulder and pecked his ear just as John was about to tee off. It was trying to tell them something.

Book preview

'GOLDEN EAGLE'

A Joe Slice story by Andy Hallam

NEW EDITION

Copyright Andy Hallam 2016

Dedication.

To every golfer who has missed a ten foot putt to win 'The Open' either real or imaginary.

Card of the Course

Title

Dedication

Card of the Course

Prelude 'The Locker Room'

Hole 1 'The Quest'

Hole 2 'The Open'

Hole 3 'The Castle'

Hole 4 'The Game'

Hole 5 'The Race'

Hole 6 'The Tunnel'

Hole 7 'The Cave'

Hole 8 'A Watery Grave'

Hole 9 'The Tower'

Hole 10 'The Odd Couple'

Hole 11 'The Tangled Web'

Hole 12 'The Temptress'

Hole 13 'The Golden Fleece'

Hole 14 'The Grey Man'

Hole 15 'The Fool'

Hole 16 'The Traitors Gate'

Hole 17 'The Ships Wheel'

Hole 18 'The Grateful Dead'

The Nineteenth Hole

Acknowledgement

The Author

Another Round

'The Locker Room'

Oh God...that's lovely...Ohhh....

The girl moaned as his strong sinuous hands gripped her tight white buttocks and he pushed her physically back against the austere grey painted brick wall... His pelvis heaved firmly into hers and he felt her squirm as he thrust inside her warm moist crotch....her legs wrapped tightly around him as her sharp black painted fingernails dug deep into the blue eyed athletes lightly tanned back...

You little bitch......

The pain didn't stop him and he grunted and moaned as their writhing bodies became one sweating shuddering mass of intense passion...

Ohh Yes...Oh Joe...that's Ohhh....

The girl climaxed just before the man let loose his load inside her...

Oh fuckin hell...yes..

He tied to suppress his yell of pleasure as his weight pushed the young woman tightly back against the sweat covered brickwork...their heads side by side in exhaustion...he pulled his face up to rest his forehead on hers before half gently half roughly pulling a kiss from her pouting hungry red lips...

Oh..that's better...Yes indeed.... I feel a lot better for that...

The emerald eyed girl looked somewhat annoyed at her lovers comment...

Oh great...glad to have been of service...!

The toned thirty-something man with his mop of tousled brown hair dripping in warm sweet sweat carefully lifted the auburn haired girl down onto the wooden slatted bench that circled the walls of the austere locker room that found them in this sudden and impromptu few moments of intense passion.

Yeah...Sorry..I didn't mean it like that..it's just been one of those weeks...

The lithe and quite pretty eighteen year old redhead sat adjusting her skirt and bending down to retrieve her black lacy bra from the cement tiled floor looked up at the man who'd just had his way with her...

I suppose you won't be coming back here again for a while...will you...?

Joe sighed …

No...probably not... you know ...the tour must go on and all that...maybe next year...who knows...?

The flushed face girl nodded in resignation as she wriggled back into the tight purple cotton top that had been roughly pulled off and discarded only a few minutes earlier, she felt half angry and half like the cat who'd just licked the cream... It suited her to play the wronged woman right now but in truth she was more than happy to have enjoyed these wanton few moments of pleasure with the handsome bright eyed sportsman...

Yeah okay ..well if you're in town you've got my number...

Joe gave her that kind of half smile that said he wouldn't be making too much of an effort to renew their acquaintance, he did up his zippered fly on the dark grey slacks he'd pulled back up from their position round his ankles and looked around for his shoes and socks, they were quite strangely scattered in a nearby shower cubicle. He couldn't remember how they'd got there. He glanced down at his old Rolex still ticking steadily on his left wrist...

Christ...! I've got to got to get going...!....

Hole 1 'The Quest'

Billy's hard worn face was pressed against the small paned window of the old wooden structure known affectionately amongst the elder gentleman players as 'The shed', it had served its purpose as home to umpteen generations of caddies for seventy years or more. It was raining outside, on one of those persistently damp velvet green days that the Irish West coast likes to specialise in. Through squinting eyes the seasoned veteran, still in his late thirties but looking a good ten years older, could just see a group of weatherproofed and bobble hatted men standing near to the first tee. There were four of them, a tall gangly American with pale skin and freckles and a mop of light ginger hair holding a black Ping umbrella, he recognised as Peter Glynn, a leading USPGA tour star, and a bit of an arsehole to boot. Standing with him was Walt Norman his grey bearded caddy who looked like he'd just come down from the mountains on a day off from hunting elk or moose or some such. The other two were Southwest Asians, Billy didn't know them by name, one wearing a ridiculous bright red all weather suit with white shoes, and the other attired pretty much all in black apart from a strange little striped blue woollen hat, which sat atop his little round head a bit like an odd Jewish kippah... 'Bloody hell' he muttered to himself..' this is going to be a lang afternoon...' He turned back to the dimly lit interior of the outbuilding, it was packed to the rafters with golf clubs and bags, some new, some still usable but mostly ancient and cobwebbed and stacked along the side wall looking like some strange piece of farm machinery, a long line of rusting black trolleys, standing, waiting patiently for the golfer who never comes. Patiently and tired, a bit like Billymac here, for that's what the other caddies call him, waiting as always for his man to arrive... That man had for the past ten years since been one Joseph Henry Slice...Sorry guys...!...

Joe walked briskly onto the tee hurriedly adjusting his waterproof jacket and hopping on one foot to pull the leather tongue of his left shoe into a more comfortable position.

Bit of a problem in the old clothing department...

Joe had been forced to borrow a waterproof at the last minute from the local pro, Daniel O'Connor.

Who's to play...?

Joe looked toward his playing partners with a sly grin...

It's you Joe...

Glynn opened his palm and gestured towards the tee. He formed a pained smile from his pale mid western features. Joe nodded and looked at Billy.

Better be the old driver Bill..

Billy had already taken the head-cover off the Taylormade R901 and was wiping any moisture from the black Lamkin tour wrap grip.

Watch that bunker on the right Joe..

Billy's advice fell on deaf ears as his man took the club and pulled a bright new Titleist pro-V1 number 7 from his trouser pocket. He had found an old William Hill stubby blue pen back in clubhouse and proceeded to scrawl a few faint random dots on the ball to identify it as his own.

Tee Bill..

Billy's outstretched hand held a long white wooden tee peg. Joe snatched it somewhat curtly and proceeded to place his ball carefully between the white tee markers. He made his preliminary stance but the ball proceeded to fall off the tee and required Joe to stoop down once again to replace it aloft the pristine white wood peg.

Oh Bugger, it's gonna be one of 'those' days.....Sorry guys...!.

He felt hurried and uncomfortable now, perhaps it was the fleeting memory of the lovely Mona, the club secretary's flame haired daughter as she had revealed her pert eighteen year old breasts to him only a half an hour ago or so in that quiet area of the ladies locker rooms, or perhaps it was the large Irish whisky he'd gulped down just after their 'brief encounter' to steady the ship before tee off time. Either way he was in a bit of a mess and it was more than obvious to all those present. The always obnoxious Glynn couldn't resist a little dig as Joe replaced his ball.

Anytime soon Joe..we're in no hurry...

Joe ignored the remark and took his stance. The old routine felt clumsy and robotic but was so well practised that Joe could literally do it all in his sleep. The club struck the ball a mighty crack and Joe automatically picked the unbroken tee from the grass.

Nie shot Joe..!

The guy with the blue skull cap nodded encouragingly.

Not so nice Mister Slice.. ventured Glynn enjoying his colleagues misfortune, you've hit the trap....

He was right of course, Joe's shot had gone just where Billy had warned him not to. The enigmatic thirty-something player shrugged and walked to the side of the tee to wait whilst the blue hatted boy teed up. The other guy dressed in bright red was now wearing his caddy bib with 'Y Ashiamada 303'.

Shouldn't be too bad.. Joe muttered to Billy...

Billy could only pull his 'We'll see about that..' face, knowing full well that the ball was probably well near unplayable.

This was business as usual for Billy, albeit this time with a rather curtailed preparation. He had flown in late the previous evening from Prestwick via Dublin to Cork. It had taken an age with awkward interconnecting flights and after eventually securing a taxi from the airport he'd only just made it to his hotel by midnight. Joe of course hadn't been available to pick him up. He'd had other commitments, meaning some woman. After a restless few hours sleep and a hurried breakfast Billy had met Joe out on the range for a few practice shots. It was just enough to re-familiarise themselves with their little foibles and to discuss the course and hole positions. In truth they had hardly exchanged a word between them for several weeks now. Joe definitely had other things on his mind, he had made his excuses only to then mysteriously disappear until his hasty emergence this afternoon on the tee. Billy had tried hard over the years not to get too involved with Joe's personal life, it had always been an area which gave the Scotsman both some amusement and also engendered more than a little puritan disapproval in him. He tried to remember just to do his job and not ruffle any feathers, Joe was always touchy when he felt his friend disapproved of his amoral little adventures, in some ways Billy had become a sort of substitute parent and the golfer often felt like an awkward uncomfortable teenager when hiding something from the older man, knowing full well he'd get at the very least a deep knowing frown and a shake of the head. In truth Billy couldn't really give a toss, he'd long given up any hope of changing or influencing Joe's rather squalid love life or anything else for that matter. It had been that way for nearly ten years now and he knew his place. It was best to just go with the flow, carry the bag and keep his mouth shut. A big tournament like this could or should at least mean a decent cheque at the end of the week, and it had been a while since he'd had one of those. As the Scotsman's right shoulder became re-accustomed to the weight of Joe's tour bag, it felt a bit heavier than usual this time, a good fortyfive pounds at least, they ambled down the lush smooth fairway and his thoughts drifted back to their early days.

He hadn't known much about Joe when they first met all those years ago. He'd heard some rumours and knew that the player had apparently made some good low scores and was something of a rising star. Billy recognised that he was a good golfer not so much by his record but by his general manner and slightly unorthodox approach to the game, particularly the combination of a disregard for the bullshit aspects of the golfing world welded to a strong desire to prove himself the best he could be, those were the good things but he'd also felt an unease about this strangely aloof young man. It was just something about him, something not quite all there, that beneath the handsome smiling façade and easy humour there was another person that Billy couldn't quite figure. He could see a troubled somewhat fragile man. In truth it was this that had drawn them together. Billy recognised something from his own past, something hanging over Joe like a dark shadow.

Billy had his own dirty little secret, his arms still had the scars. Not just his arms, his feet, his thighs, his groin… any vacant space where he might have found a fresh vein. It had been so many years now of being clean but no amount of time could really dull the shame of his previous existence as a desperate lost lonely soul in a grim unrelentingly grey Gorbal's tenement block. It still played heavy with his conscience and those wasted years showed in the hard lines etched into his rugged features. The years that started when he lost his job in the shipyard, he was a painter, nothing special just a lad doing a useful job. Then there were the agonising months spent down and out on the dole, gradually losing all hope and self respect, until that 'friend' introduced him to a better world, a world of escape and oblivion, a world where no-one judged him or could tell him what to do. Where no snotty pasty faced girl at the job centre could look down on him like he was a piece of dog crap on her shoe. It seemed at that instant, the moment when his blood mixed with the drug, that he was free again. Free that is until he returned to the reality of the damp squalid little shit heap of a flat, where week by week he fell into a more and more sordid sorry little world of pain. Desperate for the next escape, the next fix. Sharon his long suffering wife had left, she'd seen the utter hopelessness of it all. She'd packed her bags and taken the kids back to Mum in Edinburgh. She knew the Billy she'd once loved had gone forever and nothing she could do could change that. She was right of course but there remained in her heart the dim hope that one day she might see a new Billy, a phoenix rise from the grey ashes. It would be too long for her to wait though and although a part of her still loved him she knew she had to let him go, to save herself and the bright bonny children they had produced at the start of their early marriage. Nineteen was way too young to be a mother, twenty-two was too young to see her husband thrown onto the hopeless scrapheap of unemployment, twenty-three was too young to see him jacking himself into oblivion each and every hopeless day.

It was Billy's twenty-fifth birthday and as he lay semi-conscious staring up at the dim naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling above him something changed. He turned his head to the side and looked at the remains of yesterday evenings supper, a few half eaten chips in a paper bag and an empty can of Tennant's extra, its contents soaked into the grubby green polyester carpet. His 'equipment' was there also, his blood still half filling the syringe... and there was something else, some glass, broken glass. He stretched out his hand and felt the tiny sharp shards mixed in with the wetness of the lager. He pricked his finger and felt the pain. He fumbled with the remains of a small wooden frame and pulled it towards his face... He turned it round to half focus on the faded picture inside and there beneath the shattered glass he could see the smiling faces of his children. In that moment Billy knew it was time.

A few hard weeks later, without doubt the toughest of his life and Billy was looking in his bathroom mirror. The shakes had gone, and the sweaty aching yearnings that had dictated his very existence and he could now see a face he half remembered. He felt his bearded chin and smiled at himself.

Time for a wee shave laddie, you're lookin like a feckin werewolf..

The warm soap filled his coarse black hair and observing the bright new orange razor in his right hand he muttered....

This is gonna be a bastard...

A few excruciating minutes later Billy washed the suds away and looked at the reddened and blooded apparition in the mirror.

Welcome back Billy boy...nice ta sees ya again..!

A friend had put him onto it …

Go see Mr. Connelly..he'll sort you out..

Billy walked from the bus stop out toward the sea. It seemed an unlikely place to find a new start. He turned through the ornate wrought iron gateway and trudged along the gravel path towards the buildings in the distance.

Bloody hell...what the feck am I doin here...?

He looked smart. Clean shaven and smelling of Old Spice. Well it was better than smelling of old shite he thought to himself, not much but better...He tapped on the door of a dark green painted shed come office with a rusting corrugated iron roof.

Come in....

Mr. Connelly...?

Aye laddie...come over..

Tony Morris said......

Aye ..I know laddie.. so what do you know about golf son...?

Well not a lot Sir...er...

Good ...that's the best way.. can you carry one of those..?

The elderly Scotsman pointed at a large brown golf bag full of shining clubs...

I don't know Sir...I've never...

Billy heaved the bag onto his shoulder and tried to straighten up.

Heavy isn't it..! and that's without all the other shite they'll put it...

So how far do you have to take it Sir...?

Oh... about seven miles or so..nothin really..

Billy looked blank for a moment and nodded...

Oh.. is that all...nay problem....

The old man laughed

Aye lad, nay problem at all... welcome to Old Thorrock Golf Club....

Billy soon learnt to love his new life on the links. The fresh air, the splendid views out to sea, the real sense of freedom...he didn't care much for the golf, it seemed a pointless exercise walking miles to put a little white ball in a hole but it was a new way of life for him, a clean, healthy, well, apart from the odd 'dram', and peaceful way to earn a living. Not the fattest of wage packets but the occasional big tip from some American or Japanese visitor and he was managing okay. He even got to see Andy and Maddie, his bonny wee kids with Sharon, for the occasional happy seaside weekend. She'd bring them down on the train and they'd stay at a little B. & B. just along the road from him. He could tell his ex. was pleased to see him so well and able to take a part in his kids growing up. So although he'd lost her, the love and the trust, all in all he couldn't complain. He had indeed risen from the ashes of a broken life.

The years went by and the routine became a familiar one. He'd turn up at the club just after dawn and go to the caddy masters office. There would be a list on the wall of guests in need of a man for the day. There was a strict hierarchy between the caddies and Billy, although steadily making his way up the pecking order, was still considered a 'newbie' by the senior men. It was the day to day bread and butter of being a bag man. Then the tournaments would come along as the strange circus of the pro tour wormed its way round the world occasionally turning up on his doorstep. The tented village would arrive in an army of huge trucks and along with them would be the smartly suited 'Tour Officials' with their self importance and pointing fingers, their clipboards and rule books... They gave Billy the creeps... Then it would be the Pros. in their shining Ferraris and Porches, their Pringle sweaters and diamond faced Rolex's. It was a bit like Hollywood had come to town for the week, well at least there were plenty of cowboys. For Billy it was just a perverse novelty, he hadn't really thought much of moving on from his safe little haven in Ayrshire and of going out on to the tour. Most tour pros had there own caddies and a local man like Billy would only get the odd 'spare' bag anyway. It had been that way with Mr. Joseph Slice.

Never heard o him..

Was the answer to Billy's question to Rob, one of 'the senior men' in the caddie den.

Neither of eye...

Billy shrugged his shoulders...

He won the Kenyan, back in February...

Someone else nodded..

Bit of a player then...?

Aye... and a bit of a cunt, so I've heard...!...

Billy laughed...

Just my feckin luck...!.

That first big tournament was a baptism of fire for the Scotsman. He'd never experienced anything like it. Joe was awkward, demanding, petulant, angry, funny and bloody brilliant. It was like hanging on to the tail of a leopard, half loving every thrill of the ups and downs, breathing every moment of the tension and the drama and half living in fear that the sharp clawed cat would lash out at him for some little mistake, choosing the wrong club or misreading the break of a putt. Joe was as demanding a player as you could find, infuriating with his childishness but equally exciting with his passion for the game and ability to produce incredible shot making just when things were looking hopeless. It was this back to the wall stuff that made him so good to watch. Billy had never heard applause like that before, it was ringing in his ears as they made their way down that first final hole together. Joe won of course and as he slapped the palm of his new friend, Billy knew there and then that his life would never be quite as sane or as boring ever again.

So here they were, so many years later, striding up the fairway together for the umpteenth time. Joe munching at an apple and seemingly at some ease with himself now that the ordeal of the first tee was in the past. Billy putting on a decent stride to keep up with his man and adjusting the fluffy headcovers in his bag. Joe looked across at the wiry Scotsman...

There's some chocolate in the top …

That's okay Joe..I'm fine thangs..

Billy misunderstood Joe's statement. The golfer pulled a slightly puzzled face and walked on up the the edge of the bunker.

Oh hell, whatdoyaknow..

The ball was only just visible buried down in the moist clinging sand.

I think a five iron me old matey...

You canna be serious man...?

Billy knew even a seven would be reckless...

Give me a five iron Bill..no nonsense...!

By nonsense Joe meant any opinion other than his own. Billy could see Joe had his 'bugger you' face on and reluctantly pulled the required club from the bag to hand it over to the arrogant blue eyed golfers outstretched hand. Out in the centre of the fairway the other players waited with growing sense of unease. Glynn in particular repeatedly readjusting his white cabretta glove and the frown on his wide forehead becoming positively furrowed. After settling himself over the ball Joe made a wild full swing which sent a large plume of sand shot over the front of the bunker...

Oh you complete and utter tuss...!

Joe reprimanded himself before readjusting his stance and proceeding to swing again...

You bastard...!

Another cloud of sand but still no ball...Glynn stared at the hapless Joe with an evil smirk on his face.

Same old Joe...nice to have you back...

Joe stared directly at the sarcastic American and just for an awful moment Billy thought he was going to lose it and launch the five iron at the cocky yank like a javelin.

Wedge...

Joe seemed to calm himself momentarily as Billy exchanged clubs at the side of the bunker. He walked back into the sand and took another shot. This time the player made good contact and the ball leaped out onto the lush green grass. Walking on down the fairway to his next shot Joe looked to his caddie.

Time for that chocolate me old mate..

The penny dropped...

Aye... okay laddie.....

Billy rummaged in the bag searching for something resembling a bar. There were plenty of empty wrappers and broken tee pegs and assorted petrol receipts but no chocolate.

Sorry Joe...there's nay chocolate here...

Oh give me strength...! Was Joe's only indignant response. The pair walked in silence for the rest of the hole, Joe just managed to scramble a miserable seven, three over par.

I'm sure I put a Snickers in there yesterday or a Mars...

The missing chocolate was still troubling him.

Have another look will you Bill, I'm sure its in there....

Billy reluctantly resumed the search among the multitude of pockets and zippers. It had been some time since he'd carried Joe's bag. Billy had badly needed a rest after a gruelling two years solid touring. He'd needed to get back home to see the kids and chill out with his old mates back in Ayrshire. The tour had to go on of course and Joe had continued to ply his trade around the world without his faithful friend at his side. That was the reason for a slight distance between them now. Joe didn't like change and although he'd managed well enough with a combination of local men and a few odd friends picking up his bag he had really missed Billy, more than he would ever admit to. Billy was the steadying influence on his somewhat rocky ship. Without him he was a bit like a little kid with the stabilisers taken off his bike for the first time, also he desperately missed Billy's unique ability to organise his daily routine. To make sure his shirts were washed, his clubs in good order and his bag contained useful things like ...bars of chocolate..! So now back on the bag for the first time in many months it was a matter of catching up somewhat. Joe had employed a local boy for his first practice rounds here and what with so little chance of proper communication between them since Billy's late arrival it was feeling rather awkward and bit tense. Re-establishing the trust between them, the almost telepathic understanding that had been part of their on course relationship, wouldn't happen overnight. Joe seemed more than a little bit aloof to Billy, somewhere in his own private world. The caddie knew Joe had been drinking, that had started to take hold again before he'd taken his sabbatical, but there was something else now, something that worried the Scotsman.

Driver...

It's only 420 Joe, just hit the hybrid, it's only a wee dink on from there......

Joe looked sternly back at his caddie.

What do I pay you for..?

What do you mean Joe..?

I mean ...who's the fuckin pro here..you or me...?.

Joe was usually only like this when something was bugging him. It was obvious that something had changed in his friend since they had last been together, it was worrying, Billy hated it when they fell out. Maybe it was just Joe re-establishing the pecking order between them or maybe he was just a tad bit angry with Billy, that he'd left him all alone mid-season and now he couldn't quite forgive him now that he was back here belatedly on his bag.

Okay Joe, nay problem.....

Billy handed him the deep faced driver and looked away down the fairway. He might have muttered something under his breath but he stopped himself and decided to keep things on a even keel. He could see his friend was now on the very edge of a meltdown and from past experience things could very quickly descend into self destructive chaos. Joe made a good smooth swing and struck the ball perfectly. It was just like him to respond in this way to a little disagreement. The ball soared straight as a arrow and carried a good 320 yards before stopping somewhat abruptly on the lush fairway, leaving only a fiddling little pitch up onto the green.

Ni shot, Joe...

The blue hatted Asian responded once again in his somewhat robotical vocabulary as the group strode up toward the hole. The Asian player was now understood to be one Yoko Ashiamada, a top three player on the Japanese tour and playing for the very first