“This is Billy and Sandy, they’ll be your caddies for the day,” the Caddy Master said.

Billy and Sandy followed Nicky and Royce to the practice tee and watched as they hit each club.

 “Please to meet you, Sandy,” Royce said.  “Let’s start with my sand wedge.  Last time I was in Scotland and asked my caddie for a sand wedge, he came back ten minutes later with a ham and Swiss on rye. “

Sandy just stared at Royce.

“Chi Chi Rodriguez,” Nicky whispered to Billy.

Billy just stared at Nicky.

“What brings you to caddying, Billy?” Nicky asked.

“Times are hard for amateur golfers in the UK.  Tournament entry fees are outrageous and caddying helps smooth it over with the wife.  Sandy there’s just picking up some drinkin’ money.”

The Starter paired them with Ashton and Dylan, two Canadians, on a two round per day whirlwind tour of golf.  Since arriving in Dublin, Ireland fourteenth days ago, the two Canadians played their way to Northern Ireland, jumped a ferry and continued their tour thru Scotland. 

“Fourteen days, that’s a lot of golf,” Royce said shaking Aston and Dylan’s hand.

“Three more days to go and then we’re heading home,” Ashton said.

“Ashton here convinced my wife to let me come but told her it was only for a week. I figured it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Dylan said.

The foursome shook hands and teed off.  All caddies were in use so Ashton and Dylan carried Sunday bags. Nicky’s caddy was about to earn his thirty pound sterling.

“Looks like I’m about 120 yards away Billy, what do you think, a nine?”

“The greens raised about thirty feet and it’s blowing in from the Ailsa Craig,” Billy said. “So, pull out your four iron and give it all you got.”

Nicky’s ball dribbled on the front of the green.

“Well done.” Billy smiled for the first time.

Billy wasn’t much for words but Nicky assumed that was just his professional approach to caddying.  As Nicky walked down the fairway, he noticed some furry creatures racing about the gorse.

“Don’t let them bother you Mr. Blade, they’re harmless,” Billy said.  “By the way, how long have you been in Scotland?”

“We arrived in England on Tuesday Billy.”

“Lad, I asked you when you got to Scotland.”

“Point made, we arrived in Scotland, Sunday.”

“Are you ready for Turnberry’s trademark hole, Mr. Blade?”

Nicky peered off the stony ridge on the edge of the Irish Sea. The landmark lighthouse cast a shadow over the 13th-century ruins of Bruce’s Castle.  As a kid, Nicky’s family designated each lighthouse as ‘theirs’ if it was the first one they climbed.  His lighthouse was Hatteras in Buxton, North Carolina on the Outer Banks. He climbed it when he was only seven stepping on his Dad’s toes to reach the height limit.

 “Stay focused and just bang it across the corner of the bay,” Billy said. “If you’re lucky Robert the Bruce’s ghost will guide it across.”

Two holes later, Nicky had a straight shot to the green from 175 yards away.

“The Ailsa Craig’s force is behind you now,” Billy said.  “Get out your nine and put it up in the wind. Nicky hit it high and the wind snatched the ball, carrying it to the green.”

“I do have a question,” Billy said.  “Are ya a playin’ for anything?”

“Just a pint a side and one for the eighteen,” Nicky said. “Why?”

“Your friend Royce, he’s a cheatin’ ya.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a movin’ his ball, not countin’ his strokes.

“Well Billy, he thinks that since he paid his hundred pound sterling, he can do whatever he wants.”

“He’s a cheater lad, and I don’t like cheaters.”

“Royce means well but he thinks golf is a lot of walking, broken up by disappointment and bad arithmetic,” Nicky said.

“Funny, you just think that up?” Billy asked.

“Nope, it’s anonymous. Probably came from Bob Hope or Arnold Palmer.”

The foursome finished their round and shook hands.

“Hey Nicky, let’s take these two Canadians in Snooker, back at the hotel. I know Sean Connery’s favorite table,” Royce said.  “I can’t believe I broke 90.”

           “Hey wild man, are we getting together tonight?” Tiff asked answering her cell phone.

           “How does dinner at El Nidos in Rosarita Beach sound?”  Royce asked.

           “Oooh tropical garden, waterfalls, candlelit patio, since when did you get so romantic?”

           “You know that you’ve cast your spell on me,” Royce said.

           “So I have.  Hey, is that sweet guy Nicky Blade still hanging around with you?”

           “Yep, he’s standing right here.”

           “How about I bring someone for him?” Tiff asked.

           “Grab your passports girls, we’ll be there in an hour.”

           The four drove the I5 to Tijuana and bought some insurance at a drive through. They cut through town to pick up the Transpeninsular Highway. From there they found Benito Juarez Boulevard and Playas de Rosarito.

           “Good to see you again, Señor Royce,” Hector Maximano the owner of El Nido said shaking Royce’s hand. “And you Miss Tiffany are looking gorgeous as ever.”

           “Flattery will only get you a bigger tip,” Tiff said.

           “Hector, these are our friends Nicky and Amber,” Royce said.

           “Please to meet you. Shall I bring you a menu?

           “No we’re here for the lobster, rice and beans.” Royce said.

           “And don’t forget a pitcher margaritas and a bucket of Dos XX,” Tiff said.

           “Very good, this is the most romantic spot I have,” Hector said pulling out each chair for the ladies.

           After a few margaritas the conversation strayed away from art and the banking bailouts to more personal talk.  Nicky mentioned he lived in Cincinnati a short time.

           “Hector calls these pitchers liquid gold,” Royce said as he topped off Amber’s drink.

           “I was in Cincinnati once,” Amber said taking a sip.

           “Really, where in Cincy?” Nicky asked.

           “Well not Cincinnati but close to it.”

           “Close like Indianapolis?”

           “Where?” Amber asked.

           “You know where they have the Indy 500 and the Indianapolis Colts, two time Super Bowl champs.”

           “Oh yeah, no but close.”

           “Close like Chicago?” Royce asked

           “No, no, no, my family was on vacation in Butte, Montana,” Amber said shaking her head in disbelief.

            “Wow, just drive 24 hours and your downtown Cincinnati,” Royce muttered to Nicky.

           “Interesting,” Nicky said covering the smile on his face with his hand.

            “Good thing she’s knock dead gorgeous to offset her lack of knowledge about US geography,” Royce whispered to Nicky.

           “You know what I saw today as I walked past a tourist store?” Tiff asked the group. “One of those posters where you’re standing on a San Diego beach and the Statue of Liberty is at the other end of the country with nothing in-between.”

           “I’ve never really understood that poster.” Amber said giggling and holding her empty glass up so Royce could see. “Nicky, are we spending the night here?”

           I can worry about geography for both of us, Nicky thought.

I wish I could go back in time and stop Beau Brummel from inventing this thing, Nicky thought as he tugged on his collar and unbuttoned his dress shirts top button.

A thirty-something five foot tall black man approached.

“Can I show you how to operate this complicated piece of equipment,” the man said.

Nicky experienced this type of help in the Paris Metro. A well dressed man provides unsolicited help and then demands compensation for his efforts. Nicky didn’t respond, he just looked the man’s way and blankly stared through him. He pulled a couple of dollars out of his pocket and fed them into the machine.

“I said do you need help?” the man asked tapping his foot expecting an answer.

Nicky cocked his head looking over the man’s shoulder and saw the stairs to the tracks. He turned to the machine and removed his ticket. Nicky tapped a finger on his lips looking straight at the man’s face but using no expression of surprise.

“What’s your problem?” the man said raising his voice.

I wonder how long I can ignore him, Nicky thought not even blinking when the man spoke.

“I said, what’s your problem?”

By now a crowd began to stare at the two men.

“Answer me,” the man screamed stomping his feet. “What am I invisible?”

Nicky focused on the stairs twenty feet away and walked past him being careful to not touch him.

“Do you hate black people? Sure you do, because IIIII haaaaate whiiiiiiiiiiite people tooooo.”

Nicky trotted down the stairs and through the turn style. He could see the man’s reflection in the glass. Now he was on his back kicking his feet in a tantrum that would make a two year old proud. Nicky smiled to a businessman arriving next to Nicky on the platform.

“Classic dude, I’m using that on him tomorrow,” the man said.

 Or this…

But got this…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvY4bnawZ_U

My inspiration for the book sprung from someone my friend and I invented for him to hang out with since his wife doesn’t like any of his friends or me.  She thinks I’m a bad influence.

“Wow, is it really 2 am? I let Nicky drive to Average Joes but he wouldn’t bring me home.  Plus he borrowed $500 dollars.  Honey, you know how he is.”
 
Nicky’s sort of a cross between a Jimmy Buffet lifestyle and Jack Bauer of TV’s 24.  I’m currently expanding the climax, tinkering with weaving a Dead Sea Scrolls subplot thread throughout the adventure and building more detail about the attack on the US financial system. No, it’s not the intrigue of a runaway Cash for Clunkers program, nor a sub-prime securities meltdown set off by Islamic fundamentalists defaulting on jumbo home loans nor a rogue Prime Minister watching Premier League Soccer instead of dealing with the Northern Rock failure.