Disclaimer: I don't own Constantine. I don't own any of the characters in Constantine. I don't own Shia. I don't own Keanu. I don't own golf. I don't own any golf courses in California. I don't own Harry Vardon. I don't own Tiger Woods…….did I get 'em all?
NOTE: A few times in this chapter I'll use the word 'Vardonic'. For those who don't know, Harry Vardon was one of the best golfers who ever lived- and one of the most intimidating to compete against. Therefore, if a person is called Vardonic, it means they put your nerves on edge for one reason or another. There's so much more I could say about Harry Vardon, but I'm sure you don't want a history lesson…
When Chas came to pick John up the next morning, it was the first time he'd ever seen the man out of bed before eleven. John was smoking a cigarette, standing by the door of the bowling alley, waiting for Chas to show up.
"Relax, kid," John said with a chuckle, sliding in the backseat.
"I am relaxed. Why wouldn't I be relaxed? I'm relaxed."
"…My point exactly."
Chas simply conceded that point, drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green.
"So you've been doing this every morning all along? Getting up at six and playing a round of golf?" John asked.
"Uh huh."
"No wonder you practically fall asleep at the wheel by eleven. You could've told me, you know."
Chas shrugged. "I just didn't think it was that big of a deal. Life off the job stays off the job- you told me that."
John actually laughed softly at that. "That I did, Chas."
They arrived at the course fifteen minutes before Chas's usual tee-time, and Damon's eyebrows flew up at the sight of John stepping out of the back. As John headed toward the door, finishing his cigarette, Damon rushed over to Chas as the teen pulled his golf bag out of the trunk of the cab.
"Chas…is that who I think it is?"
"Yeah, it is."
"What's he doing here?"
Chas sighed. "He, uh…caught one of my practice swings, to put it simply. He wanted to come watch."
Damon looked back at Constantine for a moment, smirking. "He's, um…intense."
Chas snorted. "Let's play. Just…ignore him."
"Vardonic?"
"Quite a bit."
They headed out to the course, Constantine following but not interfering on their conversation. Chas felt like a Q-school scout was following him on the course, and it was unnerving. Vardonic indeed.
"You lead today," Chas said, and Damon nodded. Damon teed off and sent a beautiful drive right onto the green.
Chas set up his ball on the tee, quickly realizing that the pressure of John watching him like a hawk was quickly getting to him. His breath wasn't even, the club didn't feel right in his hands, and he wasn't sure whether to take the ambitious shot for the green despite the dog-leg, or to play it safe on the fairway.
He picked up a few blades of grass and let them go, testing the wind. There was a good chance he could get this on the green in one, then two putt in for par. He'd done it so many times before, he didn't see why he couldn't today.
He set up the shot, trying to relax his shoulders and hands and failing miserably. He was gripping the club too tight from the very first moment of his backswing, and the stiff follow-through sent the ball slicing off to the right. Off the fairway, in the rough, only 100 yards out.
Now it would be a reach to even get par.
Damon stared at him in shock for a moment, but Chas avoided both his and John's gaze as they headed out to his ball. It was buried in the rough, a hard lie.
"You'll have to chip it out, then pitch it up to the green and hope for one over par," Damon said, and Chas shook his head.
"I'll use an iron, try and smash it out to the edge of the green."
Damon shrugged; Chas had gone for harder shots before and made them, so who was he to tell the ambitious teen how he could and couldn't play?
Chas set up the shot, trying to ignore how John simply leaned against a nearby tree, his eyes locked on Chas as he took a practice swing.
Just ignore him, he thought, though he could already feel his subconscious screaming at him- Ignore John Constantine? Yeah right.
Chas knew from the moment the club made contact with the ball that it was a bad shot- a really bad shot. He looked up a fraction of a second too soon, anxious to see how his ambitious shot would fare, and he almost completely missed the ball. The club topped it, sending it skirting across the grass, only 30 yards forward onto the fairway.
As Chas stared at the ball in shock, Damon reached over and pressed his hand to the boy's forehead.
"Are you okay, Chas? This isn't like you," he said, genuinely concerned. Chas muttered something not quite discernable, once again afraid to meet John's gaze as he walked out to his ball.
"I'll go for the green…hope for one over, if I one-putt the green," he said in hardly a whisper, and Damon nodded. It seemed a good idea for Chas to play it safe from here on out, after he'd choked on the first two shots of the first hole.
Chas ended up getting a double bogey on the first hole- two over par. As long as he could remember, he'd never double-bogeyed the first hole on this course. Very few had.
The next five holes were much the same- Chas was missing fairways and stabbing at putts left and right, earning quiet encouragement from Damon and Vardonic silence from John. Then, after the sixth hole, Damon finally stopped Chas and pulled him aside. John looked pretty much bored, smoking a cigarette and watching some golfers flub bunker shots on the next hole.
"Alright, what's wrong?" Damon asked, and Chas shrugged a bit helplessly.
"I'm just off today, that's all."
"This isn't 'just off', and you know it."
Chas looked down at the ground, his face flushing with embarrassment as he tapped his driver on the ground. "M'just not used to him watchin' me, that's all."
"He isn't."
Chas looked up at Damon with a confused expression. "Uh…I'm pretty sure he is, Damon."
Damon smirked. "I've seen you when you really start playing the game, Chas. I could put an airhorn right up against your head when you set up a shot and you'd never know I blew it until your ears started bleeding."
Chas couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Somehow I doubt that…"
"Alright, so I'm exaggerating…but you get my point, right? Go up to this tee, find your shot, and don't worry about your damn boss. Just the ball and the shot. You know how to do this, I've seen you pull off this course better than the local professionals. Just do what you always do, and you could still even have a chance at trouncing me…again."
Chas took a deep breath, glancing at the overly-bored John, and then out at the fairway. 310 yard par four. This had always been one of his favorite holes, and one of the hardest on the course, with two sand traps and a water hazard easily fallen into from a tee shot.
"Alright. I'll give it a shot."
Damon patted Chas's shoulder and then gave him a gentle push toward the tee.
This is it. If you don't make this shot, John's going to walk away, and he'll always assume that one shot at the apartments was a fluke.
He looked out at the fairway, then at the green. Only once before had he tried for the green from the tee and made it, but suddenly, his intuition gave him a kick in the ass.
Take the shot. You'll make it.
He could see the shot, clear as day, and he could see where it would end up.
He stepped up to the tee, set up the shot, and all the sounds of the day faded into the background. His driver didn't feel like a clumsy piece of graphite anymore, but an extension of him, and without hesitation he pulled back and wailed on the ball.
It screamed down the fairway with a height and distance better than any shot yesterday, and then dropped on the green, the backspin sending it into a curve ten yards from the hole. Damon blinked in surprise, and Chas vaguely saw out of the corner of his eye as John's cigarette dropped to the ground.
The rest of the round was a blur. It was swing after swing, each as effective and on-mark as the last, putts dropping one after another like well trained ferrets. Chas was so focused that he barely noticed Damon and John conversing in-between holes during the last fourth of the game.
When his last putt dropped into the hole at the eighteenth, Chas let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding since the seventh tee. Still holding his putter and the ball, he gave John an impish yet shy smile.
"So, uh…that's it. Um…yeah."
John took one last drag off his cigarette, and then tossed it into the fringe and stamped it out before looking back up at Chas.
"Now I think we're getting somewhere, kid. Let's go get you signed up for the tournament qualifier on Saturday."
The color seemed to drain from Chas's face. "What? How'd you know?" Even without getting an immediate answer, Chas looked over his shoulder at Damon.
"You are very dead," he said, though he was less worried about getting revenge on Damon than he was about figuring out why John was so interested- that man always had a hidden agenda. And Chas knew he didn't want to get caught in the middle of one of those...
