The kid driving the cart out of the barn almost ran him down. He stopped the kid and read him the riot act. Can’t let these little shits get too comfortable or sooner or later they’ll think they own the place and do whatever they want. Gotta maintain control.
When he was done with his lecture, delivered in a loud voice and with finger waved in the kid’s face, he walked into the darkness of the cart barn, looking for his clubs. The pro said he had seen them in back against the wall. He waited a moment or two until his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. There. Still about a dozen carts parked in neat rows, electric umbilicals reaching down from the ceiling-mounted chargers. Motorized abominations! Where’s the sport in golf if one is sitting on one’s ass all day, driving through the grass? Sure, the revenue helped pay the bills. But still …
The damn kid would probably take his time coming back to move these last few out into the morning sunshine, especially after the lecture he had just received. These kids today! Had no concept of what it took to succeed in this day and age. Hard work, playing the angles, getting the other guy before he got you. The world is made up of two groups: predator and prey. If you aren’t the first, you will sure as hell soon become the second.
He strolled to the back of the barn and found his golf bag leaning against the wall. The thick yellow electrical cord connecting the last cart in the row had been pulled from its socket on the cart, and was dangling on the floor. Damn that kid! Should have been neater! The correct procedure is to coil the cords neatly and hang them from the hooks on the frame up above. Get them out of the way and eliminate the possibility of tripping or, worse, that some member’s kid would wander in and stick his finger in the socket. That would be a 10,000-volt shocker! Must speak to McDaggert. Have the kid disciplined. Maybe fired. God knows there are enough kids out there who’d love to have this job.
He bent over to unzip one of the compartments in his large staff bag, and rummaged around for the new golf glove he had placed there yesterday.
A tap on his shoulder startled him. He hadn’t heard anyone come into the barn. He straightened up and turned around. A sudden burst of pain exploded with Technicolor effect in his right eye. He staggered backwards and struck his head on the hard edge of the cart roof. The world went black.
He struggled out of the blackness. His eye throbbed. Something was wrapped tightly around his neck. He gasped for air. Bright lights in kaleidoscopic effect circled at the edge of his vision. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. His fingers clawed at his neck, trying to remove the constriction. Have … to … breathe!
Suddenly, he was swept off his feet, dangling in midair. He scrabbled for a foothold, something to relieve the pressure that was now crushing his windpipe. The pain, the panic. Have … to … breathe!
He heard a soft laugh, and then nothing. He hung there, fingers pulling at his neck. Couldn’t get hold. The pressure. Have … to … breathe. His mouth was open in a futile attempt to get air through the passageway.
He kicked his legs, once, twice. Have … to …
The lights swirling around got faster and faster, blending into one bright halo, which got brighter and brighter and finally exploded and went out. He stopped struggling. One hand fell limply to his side, the other frozen at his neck, still trying to pull the thing away.
The body hung limply in the darkness of the cart barn; the only sound the low humming of the electrical chargers still running juice into the handful of carts. The door at the front of the barn swung shut. The air grew still.