Sand Trap

The four men jumped into their golf carts and began motoring toward the eighteenth hole. The man who sat next to the driver of the lead cart had an agitated look on his face as they headed off. "Some golf hustler you are–for the life of me I can't understand how you can live so high on the hog playing this game–you were pulling my leg about how you're so good at this weren't you?" he said to his friend Barney Martin. "I'll tell you how chum–'cos I got a secret weapon out here don't worry about your money." Barney said with a wink. "Crap Barney I'm not like you–it's easy for you to hand out 10k at the drop of a hat, but I can't! I only did so because you said this was a sure deal. Now we're headed for the tee of the last damn hole and we're six strokes down thanks to the way you, the so called hustler, are playing!" "I told you Frank we got nothing to worry about. I've always managed to pull out a win out here when I get to this hole. That's the way I had it designed. That sand trap always proves to be the undoing of my competition. How else do you think I can live in a mansion and have my own personal golf course?" Barney asked. "I know you said you were a golf hustler, but to be honest with you at first I thought you might be some kind of gangster. And then I found out you owned this course and some other buildings in town and so I thought you might be a real estate magnate who likes posing as a golf hustler." Frank said. "Yeah it's true I own a lot of property, but it ain't because I'm some great land speculator, I make a lot of money, but most of it doesn't come from my land holdings. I make ten times more hustling golf. And it's all in cash. The IRS knows nothing about any of it. That's why I always have these golf victims to lay out their wager in cash and agree not to tell anyone we had this golf date." Barney said. "Really? That still doesn't put me at ease Barney. We're six strokes down and that rich SOB you're paired up against is blowing you away. I'm even with his partner." Frank continued his complaining. "Look here Frank you're starting to get on my nerves with your whining. I'm sorry I invited you to be my partner in this deal. But I had taken a liking to you and was going to let you in on my little deal, put you in a situation where you could make a lot of money and in the process help me shore up my bona fides as a businessman. You know something to be gained by both of us. I usually play one on one with these rich guys–I only had you to come over because Jacobson brought along his pal. This was going to be a windfall for you but instead you insist on jerking me around and whining cos’ we're a few strokes down." Barney told him. "This hole won't do it Barney, it's the final blasted hole and it’s a par four and we're six, got that, six strokes down! Six strokes Barney how are you going to overcome that with the way that guy Jacobson is playing, there's no way you can catch him. I'm holding up my end of the bargain staying even with his chum. If Shirley finds out I took ten grand out of our account and blew it on one of your golf matches she's going to kill me! I mean it she'll literally kill me." he moaned.

As they arrived at the tee for the eighteenth hole Barney quickly jumped out and looked at his friend with increasing anger. "You didn't tell her you were coming over here did you?" Barney asked somewhat anxiously. "Of course I didn't. She knows you love to gamble. If she finds out that I was over here she'll for sure think I blew it wagering with you. I only got the money out because you said this was a sure thing. I should've heeded my mama's warning to me a long time ago." he confessed. "What warning was that Frank?" Barney asked with an exasperated expression removing his driver from his golf bag. "Never believe a gambler." Frank said dismounting the cart.
The duo they were playing Arthur Jacobson and Dick Murray, two rich men who had drove up from Palm Springs exclusively to play against Barney Martin, soon enough themselves arrived at the tee for the eighteenth hole. "We got you on your knees Martin. I don't see how you can beat us unless we fall completely apart on this hole, the final hole I might add. This trip here is going to prove very profitable for me and Dick. I make ten million a year, but nothing beats winning, kickin’ someone's butt on the golf course, especially someone whose rumored to be so good with his clubs." "It's no rumor Jacobson, but I never seem to perform as well on any other course like I can on my own." Barney Martin said as he put down his tee and settled the dimpled ball upon it. "Why's that? From what I've heard when you play on other courses you seem to have a run-of-the-mill game–nothing more than a scratch player." Jacobson said with a suspicious grin.
Turning about Barney said. "I guess it's because I'm just a real home body, I'm real comfortable playing you guys on my own personal course." And then with a devious grin he said. "Or maybe it's because I can lure you chumps up here to play me."

Jacobson looked about now at the glorious environment. "Well it's worth it because this is a marvelous course. My compliments.” "It sure is–who designed it?" Murray asked.
"As a matter of fact it was the last one Ray Shine designed." Barney said as he set into addressing the ball.
Now he stepped away for a few paces and took a few practice swings. "Ray Shine–the Ray Shine?" Asked Murray. "The same." Barney said taking his last practice swing.
"Ray Shine went mad didn't he?" "As a hatter." Frank said still brewing with agitation. "Can we get this over with?" he implored Barney.
Barney turned and looked at his angry partner. "This is the last time you'll play golf Frank!" he snapped. "The last time with you." Frank corrected him. Barney now took a big cut at the ball.
His club face met the ball and it sailed high into the air arcing toward the flag of the eighteenth hole. But Barney had hit it to hard in everyone's estimation. It easily went the 210 yards distance to the hole and even further finally coming down and disappearing in the rough beyond the flag. Barney who had shaded his eyes with his left hand whistled with the shot. "Hah that should do it." said Jacobson coming forward to take his turn at the tee. "Famous last words." said Barney. "Oh hell shut up Barney–you'll have to take three strokes to get onto the green. I'm going to lose ten grand because of you!" "You think so huh?" asked Barney with a fiery look in his eyes. "Christ man even Tiger Woods would have a hard time with the lay of that ball." Frank now said. "You know what Frank you are going to lose your money. I won't but you will. I'm gonna walk off this course with every bit of the money we have in that cart. The whole forty grand is gonna be mine."

Jacobson was taking his practice swings near the tee. "How you gonna do that–is Jesus gonna come down and take over for you, even if he did you'd lose because the rules say no substitutes are allowed." Jacobson said with a grin. And now he took his cut.
His ball didn't get nearly as high as Barney's ball and they easily saw it as it plopped into the sand trap that stood in front of the green. " Whoa bad break." said Murray. Looking at his partner Jacobson said. "I meant to do that." "You meant to put it in the trap?" Murray said. "Heck yeah–it'll be much easier to get out of it than from that rough." "Oh yeah?" said Barney. "Yeah. I got the best sand wedge Calloway makes. All I got to do is give it a gentle stroke out of there. From the looks of that green I should get fairly close to the hole. I do that and it's just a matter of getting it in the hole in a couple of strokes."
"You think so?" Asked Barney. "Yes I think so–I got out of that one on the thirteenth hole easily didn't I? That wedge is a magnificent club." Jacobson replied. "It may well be, but getting out of that trap will be harder than you think." Barney said with a strangely menacing laugh.
"Yeah sure it will." Frank sneered at Barney as he passed.

Frank set his ball on the tee. He didn't bother with any practice swings. He took a vicious cut and despite his lack of preparation the ball tumbled onto the green and rolled to within eight feet of the flag. "Great shot." said Murray moving up to take his turn at the tee. "Yeah great shot Frank." Barney said looking at his friend. "Lot of good it's going to do us." Frank said moving listlessly toward their golf cart.
Frank had a seat and for a moment he considered taking off leaving the other three men there. He would grab his ten grand from the compartment beneath the driver's seat and head for his car. They couldn't catch him before he made it to his car. What would they do report him for welching on a bet? Hell no they wouldn't because such activity was illegal. The three of them were rich anyway. They'd still have their own money. If Barney wanted to give Jacobson his 10k conceding defeat that was his business. He was bloody mad anyway.
Not only because Barney had gotten him into this deal and then had the audacity to tell him that this was the last game he would ever play. What did he mean by that anyway– and what did he mean that he was still going to be the one to get the whole forty grand they had put up?

But Frank didn't run. He sat there in his seat his countenance growing increasingly sour. After several minutes Barney was beside him. He engaged the cart and set off down the fairway enroute to the green of the hole. He then sat into whistling a cheerful tune. "Must you do that?" Frank asked. "You know Frank I never knew you were such a child!" Barney told him.
Frank turned toward him. "And I never knew you was such a lousy golfer. And now the first time you decide I'm good enough to play on your personal course I lose ten grand–ten freakin' grand. Shirley is going to raise holy hell!" he said.
Barney looked at him. "Well that's an improvement isn't it–a few minutes ago you said she would kill you. By the way I thought you were the husband in your relationship." he said sarcastically.
"Just what does that mean?" Frank asked. "Because you're sitting there acting like a skirt." Barney said. "Anyone would get riled if they were going to lose ten grand like I am."

Barney took his hands off the stick of the cart for a moment and rubbed them together. "That forty grand is sure going to come in handy." he said. He then took control of the stick again.
"And what the do you mean by that?" Frank asked his anger almost to the boiling point. "Just what I said Frank–when I leave here today that 40k is going to be in my pocket." he said succinctly.
"Oh I'm not gonna get mine huh?" Frank said moving mere inches from his face. "Maybe you think I am some kind of sissy Barney, but unless you got some kind of weapon on you I beg to differ–I'll tell you right now I'll kick your behind right here on your own golf course if you want to have at it. Consider any relationship I had with you through after today!" Frank said pointing his finger mere inches from Barney's face. "Relax Frank relax–don't worry you'll get yours just like Jacobson and his pal Murray."
They were now near the green of the eighteenth hole. Barney sat into whistling once again as if none of the contentious conversation he and Frank had engaged in had ever taken place.
He removed the club he needed and proceeded over the knoll of the green to get to his ball that was not visible to any of them. Frank stood there and watched as he went. He shook his head mumbling something to himself dismayed at the way the man was conducting himself. He then removed the putter he would need from his own bag.
His depression with the situation was mounting. What in the hell was he going to tell Shirley? She'd want to divorce him for his idiocy. "Ten bleepin’ grand!" he said and then looked heavenward. He began mumbling a silent prayer to God entreating upon him to deliver him from this predicament. "Please Lord take me away from here–please let me keep my ten grand? I'll never do anything like this again and I'll never have anything to do with this creep again."

They could see Barney from the waist up and he was in position to strike his ball. He hit it and it came up and landed on the green.
After it landed it now began to roll on the downward slope of the green. It followed the curve and stopped just four feet short of the sand trap.
Jacobson was now ready to descend into the sand trap with his stupendous wedge. He was in a jovial mood gleeful with Barney's shot. "Terrible shot Barney. If you can make par maybe I'll buy you fellows a drink–hell I'll buy you the best bottle of champagne I can find and send it to you by courier. I might even get you a bottle from my very own cellar and send it.” he laughed aloud savoring his impending victory.
Barney arrived there where his ball was and after putting down a marker picked his ball up. He looked over at Frank who was looking down at his feet inconsolable that his prayer was sure not going to be answered. "Cheer up Frank this match is now about to be settled." he said. And once more he set into whistling his cheerful tune. Frank looked up seething with anger. "Shut up Barney just shut up will you?" and now Murray came over standing next to Barney.
"Hey man why don't you give your friend a break? Apparently he can't afford to lose the money like the three of us." "A sure thing–a sure thing he tells me." Frank said.
Jacobson now stepped off into the sand trap. His feet sunk unusually deep into the expanse of sand. He looked down at his feet as he moved toward his ball near the center of the obstacle. Looking over his shoulder now he remarked to Barney. "Hey what kind of sand is this?" he asked. "Some stuff that Shine came up with." he said. "I've never saw any sand with this much give–you can hardly walk in it." Jacobson said as he arrived at his ball and began to prepare to stroke it with his wedge. "Me neither." Murray concurred. "I believe he imported it from somewhere below the border." Barney said now. “American sand not good enough for him huh?" Jacobson said. "Not for what I needed." Barney replied. And then he lifted his right leg and stomped down on the ground as if he was signaling something or was trying to relieve himself of some cramp. Right after that Jacobson now began to sink deeper into the sand.
He tried lifting his right leg but it wouldn't come up. it was as if something had gripped his foot and refused to let it go. "What the hey?" he exclaimed. And now his leg continued on downward into the sand as if it was quick sand. "Jesus Christ what's happening?" he yelled. His left leg was also sinking into the bright substance.
It now dawned on him that his entire body was sinking into the sand as if he was someone trapped in a quagmire, a kind of dry quick sand. It was the strangest kind of sand he had ever encountered. Barney Martin was now laughing heartily as if he was witnessing something very funny.

Jacobson's friend Murray moved to the edge of the trap shouting. "What's the matter Arthur can't you get out of there?" he asked. Jacobson looked at him and Barney. "Just what kind of sand is this Martin–what have you gotten me into you–you miserable fool!"
Barney said nothing. He just laughed like he was in some comedy club and was experiencing the greatest comedian to come down the pike in the last fifty years. Murray turned around and looked at him. "Listen Martin–how–how in the hell does he get out of there?" he demanded.
And now Barney stopped laughing long enough to speak to him. He was now trying as best as he could to repress his laughter, but it was difficult to do so. "Well–well I got to tell you Murray–ha, ha, I tell you–ha, ha–to be honest nobody has ever gotten out of there–at least no one that I've ever played out here with and was unfortunate enough to put his ball in there–ha–ha–ha." "What are you saying–that he can't–he won’t–get out of there?" Murray demanded.
"Yes indeed." Barney now said. "We got to get him out of there we got to!" Murray insisted.
Jacobson was now down in the sand up to his waist. He was certain that soon he would be breathing the stuff that he would literally drown in the sand, that he would be buried alive. Meanwhile Frank was staring at the scene in complete shock.
Murray now turned to his friend who in his desperation was clawing to get out of there. He looked like a swimmer who was trapped by an undertow and couldn't overcome its force.
"Please Dick hep me–please you got to get me out of here?"

Now Murray started removing his belt. He then turned to Frank. "Take off your belt!" Murray demanded. And now Barney reached out and shoved Murray into the hole. Dick Murray stumbled backward and fell into the hole. He was in there lying on his back and it seemed the sand almost immediately engulfed his body. He disappeared within a few moments. Seeing this Frank ran over shaking with intense anger. "Good God Barney what in the hell is the matter with you?"
Barney smiled an evil smile. He reached behind his back and quickly brought out a small pistol. "Nothing at all Frank–and by the way as you can see I do have a weapon. I hit my ball into that rough intentionally just like poor Mr. Jacobson there put his in the trap. I did it because I've always kept a gun over there hidden in a little bush. I use it when my competition proves to be to much for my game. And now that you've jerked me off and I'm gonna have to use it on you."
Frank was terrified. "You don't have to do that Barney–I didn't mean any of what I said, I didn't mean a bit of it!" He stuttered. “I was just worried, you know, like anyone would be?”
“And you’d crack under the least bit of pressure.” Barney suggested. "I told you it was a sure thing, but no you couldn't believe me–you thought I was just some con artist that was going to lose your ten grand. I told you not to worry–I told you it was guaranteed, but you refused to believe it–wouldn't believe it. Next thing I know you're threatening to kick my butt on my own damn property. Well I can't allow you to disrespect me like that. I told you I was going to get the whole forty grand and I never go back on my word."
He had a look of madness about him. "Now make it easy on yourself Frank and join those two in the sand trap. It's marvelous stuff you know. Some that crazy Shine discovered in South America. It sucks the victim down and by God devours them once they're completely covered. It's almost like those piranha fish down there only better. They don't leave anything, not even the first freakin’ bone."
Frank had no choice and moved toward him. But it did him no good. Barney shot him in the chest. He fell there at his one time friend's feet. The last thing he remembered seeing was Barney's face as he rolled him toward the trap. Barney moved him to the very edge and then rose to an erect posture.
He looked down at Frank and smiled. Then he took his club and used it to tilt him on into the trap. After doing so he stood there briefly watching Frank as he was engulfed by the strange matter. He wondered if it was really sand or just some strange silicone creature that Shine had discovered. No matter it had proven to be very useful. He was now forty thousand dollars richer.
The only problem that faced him now was that he had two cars and some golf gear to dispose of. Then he thought maybe this bloody stuff will consume metal. He made a note to himself to bring a bit of metal out here tomorrow and toss it in there. At present he walked over to the golf cart and had a look at the forty grand under the seat he had sat on. He also had some rope under the seat Frank sat on. Had the others known it was there they would have certainly wanted to use it to try and save Jacobson. He could tie it to the other cart and drag it behind him as he made his way back to the small clubhouse of his course. He had to return it.
He certainly knew had he chosen to test the sand's reaction to metal as he intended to soon do and decided now to conduct this test by using the cart, its disappearance could arouse the suspicion of any investigator who might arrive inquiring after the rich men, had they in any way mentioned their golf date with him to someone despite his requirement that they keep it secret. As he set off he began to whistle once more. He was forty grand richer and all was right with the world.

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