John didn't plan on going up to the main tournament, he really didn't. He wasn't sure he could handle that kind of suspense for two days straight. But after not being able to resist taking a few large bets on Chas's success, he was forced to go for those 'business reasons'.
He arrived at his hotel at about 6am, after having convinced Hennessey to drive him up here. But when he walked in the lobby, he was faced with an early morning commotion he hadn't been expecting.
People were all gathered around one of the lobby benches, and someone was yelling for ice and some bandages, and yelling for someone to call 911. John set down his bag and gave Hennessey a confused look before pushing forward through the group.
"What the hell's going on?" He asked a man standing near the back. The man had a camera looped around his neck, obviously a journalist.
"The Kramer kid, the golfer. Someone just took a good whack at his hand with a crowbar, took off out the back."
John's heart leaped into his throat, and he practically threw people aside getting to the front of the group. Chas was sitting on the bench, his injured hand cradled to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut with agony.
"Chas…Chas, it's alright. Hang in there," John said, sitting down next to him. Chas looked up at John, his surprise masked by obvious pain.
"J-John…"
"Ssh. Let me see," John said, tugging at Chas's arm until the teenager let his hand fall away from his chest.
John practically groaned himself. Chas's knuckles and wrist were a bloody mess, the slice from the crowbar almost 7 inches long, cutting down his the back of his hand and his wrist.
John pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the injury, getting a yowl of pain from the boy.
"Hennessey, start the car. He needs to get to the hospital," he said, helping Chas stand up. Hotel security arrived, but upon seeing the injury, they told John to get the boy out of the hotel and to a hospital.
"My tee off time…it's in two hours," Chas choked out as John helped him into the back of the car.
"Don't worry about that, kid, not right now," John insisted, keeping a steady pressure on the cut on Chas's hand. Chas choked out a sob of pain, and John pulled him close, stroking his hair and trying to keep him calm.
It was a ten minute ride to the hospital, but it seemed to take forever. Someone had called ahead and the doctors there were ready, taking him straight back into the ER.
"He'll be alright, John. He's a tough kid," Hennessey said, laying a comforting hand on John's shoulder.
"I should've come with him up here," John muttered, staring at the door they'd taken Chas through. "I should've been there to watch out for him."
"You couldn't have known this was going to happen. Nobody knew."
"Oh, come on, Hennessey. A teenager jumps into this big important tournament thing, shows up a CEO in the practice round…I should've seen it coming. I should've known!"
Hennessey sighed heavily, obviously unsure about what he could say or do to make the situation seem better than it was. John, meanwhile, was already plotting everything he was going to do to Balthazar when he got his hands on the pinstriped demon.
"Mr. Constantine? He's asking for you."
John turned around, and the nurse who'd spoken ushered him into the room where they were still working on Chas's hand. John cringed when he saw that the doctor was halfway through the stitches.
Chas looked up at John, his eyes fogged over with pain.
"Call the country club and tell them not to pull my entry."
John's eyes widened. "Chas, you can't-"
"There's nothing broken. It's just a cut. I'm going to play today."
There was such determination in Chas's voice that it was unnerving. John looked over at the doctor, who simply shrugged.
"I told him he'd be in no shape to play, but he won't listen," the doctor said, and John gave Chas a look.
"There'll always be other tournaments, Chas."
Chas shook his head fervently. "Someone did this so I wouldn't be able to play today. I'm not gonna let them have it that easy."
"Well, you're sure not going to show them up with your hand mangled like that."
Chas hesitated. "I never did expect to win, John. But I won't stop before I've finished all eighteen holes."
John was about to argue more. He really didn't want Chas to go out there and embarrass himself by playing two hours after his hand had been sliced open. But there was a determination, an intensity in Chas's eyes that he knew he couldn't let slide.
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, and then he met Chas's gaze again.
"Alright. Fine. I'll call them and let them know."
Chas seemed immensely relieved, and John turned and left the room. He made the phone call to the country club, letting them know that Mr. Kramer would not be withdrawing his entry from the tournament, and that he would be on time to tee off.
He put down the phone, and then for a brief moment considered calling the people with which he had bets going on Chas's success in the tournament. He lifted the phone, started to dial, and then hesitated and put the phone back down.
Everyone is going to be withdrawing their bets on him, John. Let him know that there's at least one person out there who still believes he can pull this off.
