I, Racki (Part IV)

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“What you need to do is go call your mommy and daddy to come pick you up and have them take you home. Whining like a little bitch isn’t going to change the fact that your drives are short, you can’t read greens, and evidently you can’t handle pressure. It must have been tough for you, what with getting the first tee time and then having everybody play through you and seeing you suck. Then Hannibal drops his nuclear warhead of a golf game on you, the scout gets a woody watching him play, my boy drives off in his Corvette, takes the Homecoming Queen to the Prom and if you gave him a scratch-off ticket he’d win five hundred dollars on it. Kinda covers it, doncha think?”

My knuckles were starting to itch. They get like that when I feel punchy.

“Whatever you say, I don’t accept the fact that he’s better than I am,” he said.

Holy freaking cow.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” I told the little twerp, “what matters are the numbers on your scorecard. Course record. You don’t tangle with this guy. He’d rather eat broken glass than lose. And I’ve got his back in case you’re thinking of trying something funny now. You look like you want to try something. What’s more, I kinda wish you would try something. I like to pound on sore losers. Man, I should slap you right in your freaking eye, just looking at you is making me sick. Golf etiquette is important and I was thinking I was going to be nice to a fellow golfer but then you go and be a little bitch. You come to my town after you get beat fair and square and act like you’re going to do something… just so you know, it takes a lot to get Racki Turkz angry and you’re pushing all the right angry buttons.”

His lower lip had gotten all puffy and his widened eyes were glistening. “Don’t tell me you’re going to cry now. That just makes me madder. Here comes the beating of your life. Here comes the part where they scoop you off the sidewalk.”

I whipped him face first into a light pole. I had just split his lip when Officer Grout came up.

Nodding, Officer Grout said: “That’s quite a hook you got there, Racki. Don’t forget to work the body.” He stepped back to let a pair of geezers with butt bags walk by. “Say, I can’t remember when we’ve had a nicer race day. The sights and smells, the roar of the go-kart engines, P.J. Skipjack scratching out beats at the gazebo, the parade this morning and the fireworks tonight, we should have this every year.” All of a sudden, there was a guttural rumbling and the ground shook. “Come to think of it, we do have it every year don’t we?”

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