Stackpole, Michael A - Dark Conspiracy 02 by Evil Ascending Page B
Authors: Evil Ascending
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height and swung down through the ball.
The sand wedge’s flatly pitched head popped the ball up like an undercut cue ball on a billiards table. It shot from point to point on the kidney like a spaceplane going Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
suborbital. It reached its apex above the hump, then fell to the ground again with a barely audible thump. Rolling toward the hole, it looked on target, but swung around the lip of the cup and ended up a foot downhill from its goal.
“Well played, Sinclair.” The oyabun stepped up to his own putt and clearly found standing on the side of the hump a bit awkward. He shifted his stance, and his caddy exchanged one putter for another. Lining up for a left-handed putt, the oyabun kept his club steady, watched the ball and, with a gentle click, sent it at the cup.
“Left-handed. I’m impressed.”
The ball rolled up the hump and looked as if it might stall, but the oyabun knew exactly what he was doing. He gave the ball enough power to make it over the top, then it picked up speed rolling down the other side. It hit a small bump that popped it back out on to the wider part of the green, then followed the path Kazuo’s ball would have to use right on into the cup.
Sinclair applauded appreciatively. “With your offhand.
You should be on the tour. This puts you one down for this hole.”
“And makes us even, if you make your putt.”
Sinclair nodded silently as Kazuo stepped onto the green. The Yakuza addressed the ball confidently and hit it toward the hole. His putt rolled true, but slowed and stopped right on the edge of the cup. He waited a full 10
seconds for it to drop, then stepped forward and poked it into the hole. “Par.”
Sin walked over to where his ball waited and accepted his putter from his caddy. Sink this, and I win. Miss, and the oyabun wins. Sin looked up and watched the oyabun watch him. Sin settled himself over the ball, lined up the shot and took one practice stroke with his putter. One foot.
Easy.
He stroked the ball, and it sank into the cup with ease.
”Par.”
“Well done, Sinclair.” The oyabun handed his putter to his caddy, then waved his guest toward the spiral staircase up and out of the Sim Country Club. Sin relinquished his putter to his caddy and kicked his golf shoes off onto the mat at the base of the stairs. He followed the oyabun’s Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ascension into the upper room. The transition from the TPC’s 17thhole in Scottsdale to a traditional wood and shoji room felt a bit abrupt, but the oyabun had furnished the room like a country club’s clubhouse to help ease the shift.
Takeshi seated himself on a wide, white leather couch and directed Sin to a similar chair across a low table with his dark eyes.”I have not lost in a long time. My associates are not as skillful as you.”
Take away their little fingers, and I’m not surprised.
”Thank you, Takeshi-sama. Unlike your people, my job is not so demanding that I cannot get sufficient practice on my game.” Sin sat and immediately felt as if his chair was a giant marshmallow trying to eat him.
Kazuo sank into the chair across from his. “And now, with your new job, you should have even more time, eh?”
That depends, my friend, on a number of things.”
Sin accepted a glass of amber liquid from the silver tray carried by a butler. The two Yakuza likewise took glasses from the tray, then the oyabun leaned forward on the edge of the couch. He sipped the drink, then nodded a salute to Sin. “Thank you for this scotch. It is excellent.”
“Do itashimashite, Takeshi-sama.”
The oyabun held the crystal glass cupped in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “My nephew has told me that you are no longer with your father’s firm. He also said you believed that success in your current job depended upon receiving our help. I would have met with you
The sand wedge’s flatly pitched head popped the ball up like an undercut cue ball on a billiards table. It shot from point to point on the kidney like a spaceplane going Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
suborbital. It reached its apex above the hump, then fell to the ground again with a barely audible thump. Rolling toward the hole, it looked on target, but swung around the lip of the cup and ended up a foot downhill from its goal.
“Well played, Sinclair.” The oyabun stepped up to his own putt and clearly found standing on the side of the hump a bit awkward. He shifted his stance, and his caddy exchanged one putter for another. Lining up for a left-handed putt, the oyabun kept his club steady, watched the ball and, with a gentle click, sent it at the cup.
“Left-handed. I’m impressed.”
The ball rolled up the hump and looked as if it might stall, but the oyabun knew exactly what he was doing. He gave the ball enough power to make it over the top, then it picked up speed rolling down the other side. It hit a small bump that popped it back out on to the wider part of the green, then followed the path Kazuo’s ball would have to use right on into the cup.
Sinclair applauded appreciatively. “With your offhand.
You should be on the tour. This puts you one down for this hole.”
“And makes us even, if you make your putt.”
Sinclair nodded silently as Kazuo stepped onto the green. The Yakuza addressed the ball confidently and hit it toward the hole. His putt rolled true, but slowed and stopped right on the edge of the cup. He waited a full 10
seconds for it to drop, then stepped forward and poked it into the hole. “Par.”
Sin walked over to where his ball waited and accepted his putter from his caddy. Sink this, and I win. Miss, and the oyabun wins. Sin looked up and watched the oyabun watch him. Sin settled himself over the ball, lined up the shot and took one practice stroke with his putter. One foot.
Easy.
He stroked the ball, and it sank into the cup with ease.
”Par.”
“Well done, Sinclair.” The oyabun handed his putter to his caddy, then waved his guest toward the spiral staircase up and out of the Sim Country Club. Sin relinquished his putter to his caddy and kicked his golf shoes off onto the mat at the base of the stairs. He followed the oyabun’s Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ascension into the upper room. The transition from the TPC’s 17thhole in Scottsdale to a traditional wood and shoji room felt a bit abrupt, but the oyabun had furnished the room like a country club’s clubhouse to help ease the shift.
Takeshi seated himself on a wide, white leather couch and directed Sin to a similar chair across a low table with his dark eyes.”I have not lost in a long time. My associates are not as skillful as you.”
Take away their little fingers, and I’m not surprised.
”Thank you, Takeshi-sama. Unlike your people, my job is not so demanding that I cannot get sufficient practice on my game.” Sin sat and immediately felt as if his chair was a giant marshmallow trying to eat him.
Kazuo sank into the chair across from his. “And now, with your new job, you should have even more time, eh?”
That depends, my friend, on a number of things.”
Sin accepted a glass of amber liquid from the silver tray carried by a butler. The two Yakuza likewise took glasses from the tray, then the oyabun leaned forward on the edge of the couch. He sipped the drink, then nodded a salute to Sin. “Thank you for this scotch. It is excellent.”
“Do itashimashite, Takeshi-sama.”
The oyabun held the crystal glass cupped in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “My nephew has told me that you are no longer with your father’s firm. He also said you believed that success in your current job depended upon receiving our help. I would have met with you
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