A Handicap of the Devil? (23 page)

"Look out, one of those dudes at the lift has seen us. Scram.” The dwarf broke cover and ran as fast as his wooden leg would allow him. The others followed, and they reached another thicket and entered it. It was dark and cool inside the thicket and there were many thick clumps of bushes there. They secreted themselves in one thick clump and remained there, trembling as the two deputised golf pros searched unsuccessfully for them. Finally the pros gave up and moved back to guard the elevator after telling the hiding quintet that they knew they were there. They also let them know that Satan would be bringing the hounds of hell back with him to sniff them out.

Now they were alone again, and they held a whispered conversation about how they might manage to retrieve their only means of transport back to Earth.

"You heard what that pro. said. Satan will return with the hounds of hell to sniff us out and I'm sure those hounds ain't gonna be gentle when they find us,” said Cowley. “We've got to get that lift back and quick."

The dwarf was angry and frightened. “Man, how did we manage to get into so much shit? Why couldn't God at least leave instructions in the elevator about how to return to Earth?"

"There's no point worrying about that now.” Marcie was the calmest of all. “We have to move forward and worry about recriminations after we solve the main problem, which is to get back to our world."

"If we can't use the elevator, is there some other way we can get back to Earth?” pondered Cowley.

"You mean there might be a staircase or another lift?” The dwarf was hopeful.

Cowley thought for a moment, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Does that mean that if our intentions are bad, we might go back?"

They all sat and had bad intentions for a few moments but nothing happened.

"There's no point sitting here waiting for the inevitable. Let's see what we can do.” Marcie stood up.

They came cautiously out of the bushes and moved along the verge of the fairway back in the direction of the elevator.

A ball landed near them and two golfers strode quickly toward them. “What ho,” cried the first of the golfers. He was a fat man with a very large chin. “What the deuce are you lot doing on the course without clubs?"

Jonathan thought quickly, “We're just out for a walk. Visiting."

"Visiting?” said the smaller of the two men. He wore a monocle and was knock-kneed. He wore a pair of tartan shorts which emphasised the fact. “Visiting? From where?"

"Earth,” returned Cowley quickly. “We're envoys doing a special job up there, and we have to come down to consult with the Devil every once in a while."

Big Chin looked in the direction of the concealed elevator, “Oh, you're responsible for that elevator thingy that appears over there on the ninth every once in a while? Jolly good show."

"Well, I'm buggered.” The other man was interested. “Envoys, what? That means you bally well get to go back, you lucky blighters."

"You're English, aren't you?” Marcie fluttered her eyelashes at the man with the big chin.

"By Jove, good guess.” The larger man was impressed by Marcie's perspicacity. “You're jolly well luckier than we are. A sight luckier. We came down on the escalator after we got hit by lightning at Royal London. Better trip on the escalator. You get to look at all those stars and planets as you come down."

"Jolly cold, though.” Knock-knees peered at them through his monocle. “If you decide to go back that way instead of your elevator, make sure you rug up nice and warm."

Marcie tried not to display too much interest. “Oh, an escalator, that sounds like fun. Whereabouts is it situated?"

"In the clubhouse. We'll show you later on and if you want to go back that way, we can wave you off from there.” Big Chin was enthusiastic.

Knock-knees was envious, “Pity we can't go with you. Stops if any of the residents try to go up on it. One-way trip after you're dead I'm afraid. Some of those lawyer chaps that are always coming down here to consult with Satan go both ways on it."

"Never liked those lawyer types,” said Big Chin. “Not when I was alive and particularly since I've been dead. The ones that come down here are the sleaziest of the lot."

"When do you go back?” asked Knock-knees.

"Any time we like, we've finished our work here,” returned Marcie.

"Oh to be able to come with you. We have to stay here for eternity playing bally golf.” Big Chin had tears in his eyes.

"And we're not allowed to break a hundred and twenty,” joined in the second man.

"No.” Big Chin wiped his eyes. “Not under pain of vaporisation. One chap accidentally shot a hundred and eighteen the other day, and the Devil knocked him off as soon as he saw the scorecard."

"That's Satan's best score to date. A hundred and eighteen, and we're not allowed to equal or better his score.” Knock-knees was almost crying now. His handicap on Earth had been six. He removed his monocle to prevent it becoming moist. “We're condemned to remain here for eternity playing two rounds a day seven days a week."

"Hey, tough turds, man. Don't youse never get to do nothing else?” The dwarf was genuinely sympathetic.

Big Chin's lips were quivering. These were the first people outside their clique of condemned golfers they had ever spoken to, and it was almost unbearable to be able to unburden themselves. “We're allowed to gather at the nineteenth hole and shoot the breeze with our fellow golfers after we finish our second eighteen."

Jonathan's knowledge of golf was as scanty as his knowledge of every other sport. “I thought there were only eighteen holes?"

"The nineteenth is the jolly old watering hole, old boy.” Knock-knees was recovering his equilibrium. “It's the bally clubhouse you see, where you gather for a drink or two at the bar. Trouble is that this is hell and I won't describe to you what you are allowed to drink down here. Suffice it to say there's no single malt or decent vintage."

"Cask wine. Nothing but ghastly cask wine. Most of it tastes like they've used brake fluid as preservative.” Big Chin shuddered.

"Which they probably have.” Knock-knees glanced back over his shoulder. “Must get on or those chaps waiting to tee off will be wanting to play through, and then we'll get hell if the Devil hears about it back at the club house. Tally ho and pip pip. Good luck and enjoy the rest of your stay, if that's appropriate.” He replaced his monocle.

"Please don't let anyone know what we've said,” added Big Chin. “It could be curtains for us if the furry chap found out what we've been saying."

"Your secret's safe with us.” Cowley and the others watched as Big Chin hit a soaring second shot smack onto the green a few inches from the pin.

"That'll never do,” said Knock-knees. “You'll have to ten putt at least.” Big Chin broke into tears at the realisation.

Knock-knees surveyed his unhappy partner. “We'll meet you chaps back at the clubhouse for a drink after we finish our round, and we'll point out the escalator then. We'll be through in an hour or so."

The others agreed and moved discreetly along the edge of the fairway keeping out of sight of the elevator on the ninth. When they reached the clubhouse, they kept a low profile by practicing on the putting green. The dwarf drew attention to them by sinking a sixty-foot putt at his first attempt.

"You're supposed to be practicing to miss,” hissed an outraged golf pro as everyone turned to stare at the dwarf. From then on they missed everything, as did all those around them.

Big Chin and Knock-knees hove into sight a little more than an hour after they got there. Jonathan and his party almost ran up to them.

"Hello again chaps.” Knock-knees was very pleased to see them. “We both managed to shoot a hundred and twenty one, so it was a draw, what?"

"Good show.” Marcie mimicked their British parlance as a means of ingratiation. “Would you chaps care to show us the escalator and we'll be on our way?"

Big Chin looked at the young woman and remembered other times and events when he was alive and young. “No, no, no. We won't hear of you getting away before we buy you a drink or two. Come into the clubhouse, and we'll have a couple of wets to send you on your way, don't you know?"

Marcie and the others protested that they had to be on the move, but Big Chin and Knock-knees were insistent.

They all went into the clubhouse together. It was a big, run down decrepit looking building with giant screen television sets in every available corner. These screens showed golfing programs non-stop. The seats and tables in the bar were black plastic, and there was dirt and dust all over the place. The dwarf and Cowley sneezed several times. Their two new friends excused the premises and the state they were in.

Men and women golfers were scattered around the bar and the lounge. All looked unhappy and depressed and conversation was sparse. Some people looked at the visitors but most looked away without interest. Visitors from the other world were not a rare occurrence, and most thought that they would simply be another lot of boring lawyers. A couple of people commented to one another about the dwarf and the unusual fact of a woman being with them.

Knock-knees offered to get the first round. “I'm afraid it's really poor quality stuff—not even top drawer cask. Still, it's that or nothing. When you've been here awhile you face up to the fact that you'll never taste a decent wine again."

"I wonder what they drink in heaven?” Big Chin was gloomy.

No one enlightened him, and they all opted for a paper cup full of red or white, except for Jonathan.

"I don't partake of alcoholic beverages."

"What?” The barman was a very large man with a nose that had been broken many times, cauliflower ears, scars across his face and even more ominously, across his knuckles.

"He doesn't drink piss,” interpreted the dwarf.

The barman thought for a moment and then gave Jonathan a paper cup full of water. It smelled strongly of chlorine.

"Here's mud in your eye.” Knock-knees saluted them.

They drank and all pulled faces including Jonathan. “Why so much Chlorine in the water?"

"It's all part of being in hell. The Devil doesn't miss a trick."

"So you're not allowed to break one twenty?” The dwarf put his empty paper cup back on the bar.

"No way,” replied Big Chin. “You get vaporised if you do."

"And then get transported to a lightless dungeon, up to your neck in hot excrement listening to rap for eternity.” Knock Knees sniffed the wine in his paper cup and placed it on the bar.

"You shouldn't let him get away with it,” said Cowley.

"How do you stop the rotter?” Big Chin's eyes were misty once again. “You get zapped down here for so much as thinking of playing well."

"What would happen if everyone played up to their potential?” Marcie had only wet her lips with the wine.

"Well, gosh, I don't know.” It was a brand new thought for Knock-knees. “I expect everyone would be annihilated."

"He couldn't knock all of you off.” Sampson finished his wine and pulled another face.

"Perhaps not, but who wants to be the first to hand in a good score card, eh?” Big Chin wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.

"Yes, who wants to be the first martyr?” Knock-knees drank his wine in a gulp and shuddered for some time afterwards.

The dwarf was used to cask wine. He indicated Marcie's drink and she slipped it to him. She turned to Knock-knees, “How about you all play your usual game and hand in fake score cards. At least then you'd have the satisfaction of playing well."

Knock-knees shook his head. “He often has spies on the course. It wouldn't work."

They all thought for a while and then the dwarf pulled a bag from one of his copious pockets. “Try one of these?"

"What are they?” They all looked into the bag which the dwarf held open.

"Hash cookies, man. Eat two and your troubles are over—at least for a while. Eat more than three and you won't know anything for a couple of days. They are that good."

Sampson grinned, “This man tells the truth. I am here to tell ya. But not right now, little dude."

Everyone else declined and the dwarf munched on a cookie. Big Chin, Knock-knees and Jonathan had never been into drugs, and none of the others wanted to blur their thought processes at a time when they might need their wits well and truly about them. The dwarf had a second one but as he was a heavy user it made no discernible difference to him.

Jonathan and his troop drank as quickly as they decently could and tried to get away after one drink.

Big Chin insisted on buying a second round. “There's a lot we could tell you about the way things work on Earth.” Big Chin was thoughtful as he waited for the drinks to arrive. “For instance, did you know that the Devil controls train and bus timetables?"

"How do you mean?” Jonathan was the person in the room who had the most experience of trains. He had caught the 7.27 to town and the 5.31 back to Blofield West almost every working day for more than forty-three years.

"Well you see,” explained Big Chin. “The bally black furry chap has this mechanism that makes all public transport either run early, late or on time—depending on how many people are trying to catch what. He has a computer system that can detect if someone is running for a train or whatever, or urgently needs it to be on time, and he can alter the arrival time of any means of conveyance whatever to disadvantage people."

Jonathan nodded as he remembered all of those times his trains had been a minute or two early as he ran as fast as he was able in an attempt to catch them. He also remembered all of the times he had stood, cold and wet, on platforms, shivering and cursing the train because it was not on time. Suddenly the whole scenario of public transport made perfect sense.

They finished their second drink and, despite the two dead golfer's protestations, insisted on leaving immediately. They told their two new friends that they were regular visitors and would be sure to look them up on their next trip to the nether world.

Big Chin and Knock-knees showed them the escalator that was located in the almost empty back bar of the clubhouse. The visitors shook hands all round and after many tearful farewells, they finally got on the escalator and began the trip upwards.