The crowd was huge; people everywhere scrambled to the next hole for good position.
After the announcer explained the sudden death playoff, both men hit excellent drives down the middle of the fairway. Howard was first to hit his second shot, and with just the right touch, he landed it on the green. They walked another 15 yards to Reid’s ball. He lined up, went through his preshot ritual and swung. His shot landed on the hill just to the left of the green and kicked right, ending on the dance floor, too.
Reid walked to the green, flanked by his tight circle of security, as the crowd cheered. Howard had a 14-foot putt. Reid was about three feet closer to the pin on the same line. Reid marked his ball’s position and stepped away, leaving Howard to study his putt. Reid was pleased, knowing he would get an education from Howard’s putt. Howard walked to his ball and took a few gentle practice swings. He lined up, slowly brought his putter back and swung through the ball. It rolled, broke a little toward the hole and slowly stopped about three inches short. Howard’s body slumped as the crowd moaned. He walked to his ball in aggravation and tapped it in for par.
Reid was up. He and Buddy studied the putt from both sides. Having watched Howard’s putt gave Reid a tremendous advantage. He saw the break and just had to follow it with the right speed. Howard had hit the right shot just a little too soft. Reid stepped up and took a couple of practice swings. He closed his eyes for a moment, raised his head to the sky and took a deep breath. He looked down at the ball, then to the hole, then back down again. He pulled his putter back and hit his putt. The ball rolled, following the same break as Howard’s, slowing a little on its journey.
Suddenly, a loud shot rang from the woods. Reid felt something slam into his chest. He was knocked off his feet and flew backward crashing to the ground. He felt the tremendous weight of his bodyguards as they landed on top of him. Each one squeezed out a little of what air he had left in his lungs. He felt intense searing pain in his chest. His head felt as if it had exploded. He couldn’t breath. His gasps for air were fruitless. The pain was unbearable. He thought, So this is what it feels like to die.
Shane, Joan and the others arrived at the hospital 20 minutes after the Medivac helicopter had delivered Reid. Tension and tears filled the waiting area. Was Reid alive?
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, there was still no news. Buck, who had been sitting alone in absolute silence, could wait no longer. He stood up, walked to a nurse in the hallway and asked abruptly, “Excuse me, we need information. Reid Clark has been in the emergency room for more than 30 minutes and we have no idea what’s going on. Is he alive? Is he going to live? Get a doctor out here now, please.” “Sir, please stay calm, I’ll…” Buck cut her off, “Calm? I am calm. Believe me, you’d know it if I were upset. Look, I don’t want a lecture; I want a doctor, now.” “I’m sorry, sir. Let me see what I can do.” She turned and walked briskly through the oversize double doors. Another 10 minutes passed, but there was still no word. The hushed, somber atmosphere was broken only by an occasional sob. Some sat quietly; others tried to console each other. All had moist tissues in their hands.
Finally, a doctor came through the doors. The group converged around him. “I’m very sorry for the delay. First, I want to tell you that, although there are some complications, Reid is alive.”
A collective sigh of relief emanated from the group. Joan and Betsy both let out loud gasps. Shane was holding her breath, her teary eyes riveted on the doctor.
The doctor continued. “Although his vital signs are good, he remains unconscious. The vest he was wearing stopped the bullet; in fact, it was still lodged in the vest when we took it off. The bullet hit fairly close to the center of his chest; even without penetration, the impact to the heart could have killed him. We’ve brought in a cardiologist and a neurologist, both the best in their fields. They’re running tests now. Dr. Kutscher, the neurologist, is unsure why Reid has not regained consciousness; the blow to his head from hitting the green was not that hard.”
“He had a serious head injury a long time ago while playing college football,” Joan interrupted quietly. “The doctors said another severe blow to his head could kill him or cause permanent damage. That’s when he switched his focus to golf.” She put her hands over her face and began to cry. “Ma’am, do you know where we can get in touch with those doctors?” Buck chimed in before Joan had a chance to respond. “Reid keeps an explanation of the injury and the doctor’s contact information on a note in his wallet.”
“I have his golf shoe bag right over there,” Buddy said. “His wallet should be in it. Let me check.” He pulled Reid’s green bag out from under a chair, unzipped the outer pocket and said, “Yeah, here it is.” He handed the wallet to Buck.
Buck opened it and flipped through the contents. He pulled some cred it cards out and found the folded note. He opened it and nodded, saying, “This is it.” He handed it to the doctor.
Looking at the note, the doctor said, “Post concussion syndrome, trau matic brain injury? Alright, now things are beginning to make some sense.” He turned to head back through the double doors. “I’ll be back in a little while to give you an update.”
They ran a battery of tests on Reid’s brain. The final results would take time. There was nothing to do but wait until he regained consciousness. The electrocardiogram had confirmed his heart was in good shape.
They moved him to a private room. Joan and Shane stayed with him overnight. Everyone else remained in the waiting room.
Shane fell asleep holding his hand. Around 4 a.m., he squeezed her hand lightly as he began to regain consciousness. She woke up before he opened his eyes and quietly said, “Joan, wake up. I think he’s coming to.”
Joan woke and reached for his other hand. Reid slowly opened his eyes and silently observed his surroundings. “What happened?” he slurred.
Shane explained everything through a haze of tears. Joan slipped out to inform the others. The on-duty nurse was making rounds, and with no one to stop them, they all went into Reid’s room. Tears flowed as they entered. They each took turns gently hugging him.
Always the comedian, Reid quietly said to Joel, “Guess your save record is still unblemished, huh?” “Thanks to the vest,” Joel sighed. The doctor came in and was taken aback at the sight of the crowd in the room. “I’m sorry to do this, but I have to ask everyone except Mrs. Clark and any other family members to leave the room immediately. We still don’t know the severity of Reid’s head injury. He needs to rest until all the tests come back and we have some answers.”
“Hey,” Reid said quietly as they began to leave. “I have two questions. First, who shot me?”
“You remember the guys that Art had faxed us the report on?” Buck said.
Reid shook his head. “Not really. I’m a little foggy, Buck. Refresh my memory.”
“Art sent us a report about two guys we kicked out of camp. One of them was a guy named John Morgan. Well, the shooter was his brother, Joe. The take-down was pretty intense. The police found him in the woods right away. He was perched in a tree about 15 feet off the ground. They surrounded him with guns drawn, so he threw down his rifle and surrendered. A cop climbed up and pushed him from his position. He dropped like a rag doll, hitting branches before landing with a thud. He was a bloody mess when they dragged him from the woods. They cuffed him and threw him into a waiting patrol car. Jay has been interrogating him. We’ll know more soon.” Reid nodded with a slight smile. They all started to leave the room again. “Hey, I said two questions,” Reid blurted out. “Easy, Reid,” the doctor said. “What’s number two?” Betsy asked. “What happened to my putt?” Everyone laughed. “You sunk it. Congratulations, you won,” Buddy said. Reid smiled and sighed. “Now I can rest.”