What If? a Collection of Short Fiction by J. Paul Cooper Page 9

  “You know Harold, if Bethany was here, she’d tear a strip out of you for using that kind of language.”

  The older brother stared at the ball lying in the sand, mocking him, daring him to take another swing. “That’ll never happen, she doesn’t play golf. Unless you play golf, you don’t understand how it slowly drives you insane, trying to put the golf ball into that stupid little hole.”

  “That must be why you love the game.”

  Even though he was standing in a sand trap, Harold couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, that must be why I love the game.”

  Frank’s nephew Johnny lowered the binoculars. “The younger guy looks familiar. I think he’s a cop.”

  Tony waited by the car. “What? You can’t be serious.”

  Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “I recognize the guy’s face.”

  Frank was sitting in the back seat with the window down. He opened the door and stepped out. “You have a good memory for faces Johnny, his brother is a cop from Toronto.”

  Johnny looked at his uncle. “So I guess you probably want to call it off. You know, considering the situation.”

  It wasn’t often that Frank decided to kill someone, but when he did, the decision was final. “I don’t care if his brother is the Chief of Police. He dies tonight.”

  “Sure thing Uncle Frank. Anything you say.”

  Harold sat at a table with Jeff in the club house restaurant. He looked at the empty plates and couldn’t believe he was paying for the meal. He had been three strokes ahead of his younger brother, until his ball landed in the sand trap at the fifteenth hole.

  Jeff stood up to leave. “Well, I better get back to Mom and Dad’s place. I promised Angela that I’d take the kids to the beach before we fly back to Toronto.

  Harold shook his head in disbelief as watched his brother leave. He had almost killed himself on a mountain bike, his wife was angry with him, he had injured some poor animal, and he’d just lost a round of golf to his younger brother. Well, at least it was over.

  A few minutes later Harold winced in pain as he put the golf clubs in the trunk of the green sedan. The pills were starting to wear off. It was time to take some more muscle relaxants, then go home and take a hot shower.

  Harold had almost reached the highway, when a man ran onto the road in front of him. He was waving his arms frantically. Harold slammed on the brakes, and rolled down his window.

  Frank’s nephew Johnny ran up to Harold’s car, breathing heavily. “My car left the road. My mom’s still inside, and the gas tank is leaking. Can you help me get her out?”

  Harold didn’t hesitate for a second. “Get in!”

  Johnny opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat. Harold was about to call 911 on his cell phone when he felt something solid pushing against his side. He glanced down and realized that the man was holding a pistol.

  Frank’s nephew pushed the barrel harder against his ribs. “Just drive.”

  “What do want? You can have my wallet.”

  Johnny spoke with a calm, clear voice. “Just shut up and keep you hands on the wheel. If you take them off, I’ll kill you.”

  “If you want the car, you can have it.”

  “I don’t care about the car,” replied Johnny. “I’m taking you to someone who wants to talk to you.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough, just drive.”

  The green car crossed the highway and continued driving along a curving dirt road that disappeared among the pine trees. A few minutes later they took a sharp left and stopped. Harold recognized the luxury sedan from the drug store parking lot. He watched as Tony opened the back door and Frank stepped out.

  Johnny took the keys out of the ignition. “You’re going to get out of the car. You’re going to put your hands on the hood. And then, you’re going to stay perfectly still.”

  “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “It’s too late for that pal.”

  Frank watched silently as Harold walked to the front of the car and put his hands on the hood. A tickle of sweat flowed down Harold’s back as he fought to control his breathing. “If it’s about the dog, like I said, I’ll pay the bill.”

  Frank shrugged his shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I hate the stupid dog. Unfortunately for you, my wife loves the dog more than me, and she wants you to pay for what you did to the mutt.”

  “Look, there’s got to some way to settle this.”

  Frank took the keys from Johnny and opened the green sedan’s trunk. “Nice set of clubs you got here Harold.”

  “You can have them if you want.”

  “I can afford to buy my own clubs, but, I would like to try the five iron.”

  Frank took a club out of the golf bag and walked around the car to stand directly behind Harold. “Fore!”

  Later that evening the skies over Halifax were covered with thick, dark clouds and a heavy fog had blown in from the coast. Frank stood smoking on the deck of the yacht as it slipped out of the harbor.

  Laying on the deck near Frank, Harold’s head throbbed with pain as he regained consciousness. He tried to move, but soon realized it was impossible; his mouth was covered with duct tape and his hands and feet were tied.

  Frank looked down at Harold. “You know, it’s a real shame, eh. I know you didn’t mean to hurt the dog. You’re probably a nice enough guy. You just had a stroke of bad luck, that’s all. I mean, the dog only lost one nail. But, under the current circumstances, that dog’s nail is more valuable than your life.”

  Frank sighed. “Come on boys, let’s get this over with.”

  Harold’s golf bag, now filled with rocks, was lying on the deck, with a rope knotted through the shoulder strap. As Tony held Harold with a firm grip, Johnny tied the other end of the rope around Harold’s waist. Frank and Johnny lifted Harold onto the side rail while Tony lifted the golf bag. With one last effort Harold and his golf bag went over the side and plunged into the water.

  It was quiet in the mansion in Toronto. Jasmine was relieved to be home and in her own bed. Cuddles lay curled next to her, snuggled under the warm blankets.

  As he sank through the dark waters, Harold managed to loosen the ropes enough to free one hand. Harold had a plan to survive. There would be a ladder on the stern of the yacht. All he had to do was reach the surface and hold onto the bottom of the ladder, keeping low in the water while they sailed back to Halifax. He’d be cold, but he’d be alive. It only took a few more seconds to free his second hand, but by then Harold was choking on the cold salt water. Before he was able to untie the rope around his waist, the accountant had lost consciousness. Harold continued to sink until the golf bag came to rest on the ocean floor.

  Jasmine was watching her favorite movie; it would help her forget the terrible experience of watching her Cuddles in pain. The phone rang as one of the house staff placed a bottle of chilled wine on the table next to her bed.

  Frank spoke on his cell phone as the yacht’s bow cut through the thick fog in Halifax Harbor. “Hi Honey. I took care of everything.”

  “Good,” replied Jasmine. “Don’t forget to pick up a present for Cuddles before you come home, maybe a pillow. You know how she loves soft pillows.”

  Harold’s limp body swayed in the current, as curious fish swam nearby, wondering if he was something they could nibble on.

  About the Author

  J. Paul Cooper has a Bachelor of Arts, Political Science and has been writing for over twenty years. His articles, essays and short stories have been published in newspapers, magazines, by online literary journals and in print anthologies. He has also written several screenplays which he is actively marketing to film and televison companies.

 

 

 
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