Andrew Collins
With millions in prize money up for grabs, can the outcome of professional golf
tournaments be rigged? Such is the crux of this suspenseful, tender, sometimes
raunchy novel.
Charismatic up-and-comer Peter Frazier marries the daughter—and only
child—of wealthy Arizona industrialist Julius Giles. Frazier joins Giles’
company, becomes vice president and settles into a cushy lifestyle.
Meanwhile, North Carolinian Byron Pickens is growing up with a golf club in
his hands and the ancient-and-noble game on his mind. Uncommonly talented, the
baby-faced standout is wooed by college coaches. In a fateful decision he chooses
a nearby, traditional school where he finds the love of his life in tennis whiz
Lauren Cobb—and sees his own game skyrocket.
Frazier and Pickens meet when paired in a glamorous USGA golf tournament. A
friendship develops, and Frazier keeps the doors open to a potential superstar.
Turning arrogant, Frazier, a philanderer, finds his salary pink-slipped by
a disgusted father-in-law. After Giles suffers a stroke, however, Frazier envisions
supplementing his income through cunning abuses. One is a scheme apt to win
handsome payoffs by stealthily managing golf tournament outcomes.
When Pickens becomes Frazier’s target, can he be protected by golf’s
mythical but steadfast Guild of Honor?
One landmark sentence—“In 1896 Henry Ford putt-putted down Detroit’s
Bagley Avenue in the funny little machine with a leather belt drive that completely
revolutionized transportation.” —is credited by Andrew Collins with
launching his star, i.e., a sound education, a lifelong love of writing and, years
later, this novel.
Collins’ catchy opening, part of a researched essay entitled, “The
Value of the Motor Trucking Industry to South Carolina,” likely won him
his Pilot Freight Carriers scholarship to Clemson University.
Collins worked as a chemical engineer, completed a DMD curriculum and a MSD
orthodontic residency, and continues to practice orthodontics. He writes during
his “free” time.
The author’s next novel, No Other Gods, a human-genome thriller,
is due out in 2003.
Outside, Jason had been busy.
As Peter approached the putting green, he saw a string stretched above the
grass, tied to two aluminum stakes planted in the turf. The string, about six
inches above the ground, passed directly over a hole and extended out about
twenty feet.
(Jason’s string had one purpose: Its presence would convince curious
bystanders that a putting lesson or practice drill was underway.)
The driving range held few customers late on a warm Saturday afternoon. No
others used the putting green.
Beyond the green, mounted on a photographic tripod, Jason had positioned one
of the small Ultra-wave units. A gray casing resembling a commercial TV camera
housed the system.
Jason continued buzzing about, readying the setup. Presently he manned the
Ultra-wave device.
“Okay, Peter. Five balls. Put each one beneath the string at the far
penny and try to make it. Here’s a read: breaks to the right about half
a cup; the distance is eighteen feet.” Jason slipped a pair of dark glasses
to place.
“Are you positive you want old Cement Hands to try this?” Peter
asked. He addressed the first ball and set it rolling. It missed the hole. He
proceeded to miss four more tries and summarized the effort: “[Very] pitiful.”
Jason, not bothering to reply, fiddled with the equipment as he concentrated
on settings.
Moments later Jason continued, “Grab the balls again, and hit five more
from the same place. Give enough pace to reach the hole.”
Peter’s next ball rolled off the putter blade, wiggled a bit along the
way, and dropped into the hole.
“Who made that, me or you?” Peter asked.
Jason remained behind the equipment, working intently. “Try the others,”
he said.
Peter hit four more putts, each one rolling dead into the hole. He looked at
Jason and the Ultra-wave apparatus.
“[Expletive], Jason! Is this for real?”
“The power of wave technology. Now you see why I had to show it.”
“[Expletive]!”
“Okay, Boss, move closer, to five feet where that second penny is, and
try again.” Jason reset the controls as Peter gathered balls from the
hole.
Peter stroked the first putt from five feet and missed right. He adjusted alignment
but missed right again. The following three tries also missed right of the hole.
“No way I miss five damn putts from nowhere,” Peter said.
“No way you’ll make if I have your ball on Ultra-wave, controlling
the path.”
Peter reviewed the short distance of his missed putts. “[Expletive]!”
