Have you read any of the other Hacker Golf Mysteries?

Here’s an excerpt from An Open Case of Death:

 

PROLOGUE

The visitor opened the door to the hospital room and was immediately struck by the dense, humid and fragrant air. The temperature in the room felt like it was set at about 80 degrees, and the fragrance came from the banks of cut flowers that competed for every square inch of counter space in the small private room.

There was just one bed in the room, occupied by an old man with a shock of long white hair. His face was loose and jowly, his skin was pale and patchy and he was connected, via a bewildering array of wires and tubes, to a bank of machines that were keeping track of every one of his bodily functions. Some of the machines emitted soft beeps and whirrs, while others just presented rows of colorful numbers and lines moving endlessly across the graphs and screens.

The old man’s eyes had been closed, but now he opened them and, with a blink or two, focused them on his visitor.

“Geez,” the visitor said, “You’d think someone died up here, what with all these flowers.”

“Not yet, sonny boy,” the old man said, his voice soft and wheezy, but still with some spirit. “Not goddam yet.”

The visitor pulled a chair over next to the hospital bed and sat down. He reached over and patted the old man’s hand, which was resting on his chest atop the sheets and blankets that were drawn up almost to the old man’s chin.

“How ya doing, J.J.?” the visitor asked. “Sounds like you’ve been through the wringer.”

The old man struggled a bit, trying to sit upright. He was old and sick, but he still had pride, still wanted to sit up straight and talk business, man to man. He eventually gave up and let his head sink weakly back down on the pillow.

“I’ve been better,” he said. “I think this is my fourth heart attack. None of them were any walk in the park, but I don’t think this one was too bad. The docs tell me that I need a week or two to rest, and then I might be able to get the hell out of here and get back to work.”

“Well, no sense rushing things,” the visitor said. “The business is running itself. We made sure of that after your second incident a year ago. And you’ve got three partners ready and willing to pitch in if needed.”

“Worthless pricks,” the old man said. “The lot of ‘em. Not worth a tinker’s dam.”

The visitor laughed. He’d heard this before, only about a thousand times. The four partners in the business were not overly fond of one another. Board meetings could be challenging, as alliances formed and broke. They were all willful. Proud. Used to being the alpha dog.

“All the more reason for you to rest up and get back in the saddle as soon as you can,” the visitor said.

“Listen,” the old man said, reaching for the visitor’s hand, and gripping it tight. Surprisingly tight, for an eighty year old man who’d just had his fourth coronary in three years. “We have to do something about that real estate deal,” he said, his eyes focused on the visitor. “There’s exposure there. Too damn much.”

The visitor nodded. “I know,” he said. “I’m taking steps. Don’t worry. It’s under control.”

The old man’s head sank back on the pillow and a look of relief washed over his features. “Good, good,” he said, muttering almost to himself. He was obviously tired, weak. Not himself.

The visitor stood up and walked over to the banks of medical machines buzzing and wheezing by the bed.

“What the hell do all these things do?” he said, speaking to no one in particular.

The old man, who had fallen into a brief, sleepy reverie, started, eyes flying open.

“Whaa?” he said. “Oh, those things? I have no idea. I guess one machine pumps shit in to keep me alive, the others keep track of what’s going on inside.” He paused, thinking. “You once thought of becoming a doctor, didn’t you? Back when you were in college?”

The visitor kept looking at the machines, the intravenous tubes, the clear bags of liquid something hanging from the metal poles. He was reading labels and trying to figure out what was going on.

“Hmm?” the visitor said. “Oh, yes, that’s right. I was in pre-med, then I joined the Navy and served two tours on an aircraft carrier. Medical corps. Taking blood samples. Shooting sailors full of antibiotics after shore leave. They’d come back from the whore houses happy but infected with every STD known to man.”

He glanced over at the bed. The old man had slipped away to sleep again. He was weak, very weak. No wonder, given what he had been through.

“But then the old man called and I had to go back into the family business,” the visitor said. “But that’s life. Doesn’t always work out the way you think.”

He turned away from the machines, returned to the bed, patted the old man’s hand again. “See you down the road, old friend,” he said softly, and left the hot, humid room filled with the scent of a thousand flowers.

The old man continued to sleep. His lips moved a few times, like he was trying to say something, but was too tired to make the words come out. His chest rose and fell … once … twice. And then it stopped. And he died.

 

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