P1: The 19th Hole

E1: "If you ever… 24 liters!"

Sept 21st, 1928 London: Rory sat outside the office giving the once-over (for the 5th time) to the blonde beauty behind the desk, filing her nails, when the desk buzzer sounded. In her high-pitched tone she announced, “The boss will see you now.” Rory snuffed out his cigarette, straightened his tie and hat, and entered the mob boss’ office. Paul Miller continued shuffling paper as Rory took a seat. Without looking up, Paul asked, “Well? Did you line up a team as I asked?” Rory rattled off his crew:  

Rory Shaw/’the Fence’ (Riley K): 5’4” and maybe 140lbs wet. Knows what’s worth money, how to get rid of it, and how to make the money look legit.

Red ‘Doc’ Gordon/’the Cleaner’ (Thom R): Maybe some medical knowledge. The guy that knows how to make it so a body cannot be identified: how to extract teeth, how to remove fingerprints and tattoos.

Davey Mould/’the Driver’ (Kent B): A fairly small guy who drives the car. He’s squirrelly and has a beat-up looking face from losing a few too many fights in his late teens, early twenties. His ‘babes’ are the cars he drives.

Lenny Dobbins/’the Bruiser’ (Bill R): Mentally slow from the Great War trench warfare shell concussions. 6’4” 295lb muscular thug who uses intimidation first. Well maintained hair, nice shoes and coat, “Gotta look your best; reflects on the boss.”

Ian McDougal/’the Hooligan’ (Julian): Young street punk trying to make a name for himself. From Glasgow.

The Job: Paul continued, “As I suspected, one of my money launderers up in Scotland is missing. Arthur Edward MacMillian had been dumping our money into the renovation of the Thistledown Golf Club up near Dundee, Scotland. Been missing 2 weeks now. His ole lady finally decided to tell someone yesterday which is why I called you. Get up there and find out what’s going on. The trail is probably cold by now but where’s our money? Restore some order.”

Davey unfolded the road map as he briefed the team, “I read The Flying Scotsman locomotive made the London-to-Edinburgh trip in 7.5 hours last May. Of course, that was a publicity stunt without stops. Trains never run on schedule. Throw in real stops along the way, and it would probably be closer to 14 hours. I can drive there in 10 hours. I called the operator in Dundee. They have a quaint little Queens-Head Pub for room-and-board-and-beer. Pack your bags and be ready to leave in the morning.”

Oh-Dark Early: Doc and Rory made sure the young hooligan Ian knew his rung-in-the-ladder, “Don’t just stand there, load our golf clubs in the trunk. Careful you don’t scratch my shotgun also in the golf bag.” With Rory riding shotgun to Davey driving, Ian quickly regretted taking the back window seat with Lenny in the middle. It wasn’t just the bulk of the man; it was the hard edges of his body armor that pressed into Ian’s side. And Lenny knew better than to crowd the freak-show Doc, which meant Ian was pressed against the door the whole ride. Grateful for the occasional stop for gas and piss.

It was nearing sunset when they finally saw the sign announcing “Dundee, Population 169,784.” And knew they were in the right area with the other sign announcing “Grand Opening next Spring – Thistledown Golf Club.” Davey drove on into the port town of Dundee, north of Edinburgh, and parked in front of the Queens-Head Pub. A raucous crowd turned in their chairs to once-over the new patrons, before getting back to business of downing another pint. The barkeep reminded them of the late hour, “Kitchen’s closed mates. What’ll it be, fruit, cider?” Rory ordered for the group, “5 glasses and a bottle of scotch. And rooms for the night.” Rory signed the register as ‘Bob Smith plus crew.’

Doc looked at Ian about to sit at the table, “What are you doing?! Have you unloaded our bags yet? Carry them up to our rooms. Rory and I are bunking in room 18 while you three get room 19. I’m sure they’ll give you a good corner to sleep in.” Ian did as told before finally getting back to the table only to find Lenny downing the last of the bottle. At least Doc was preoccupied in his own thoughts as he scanned the crowd and silently wondered, “I wonder how much chemicals it would take to do them all away. I just love the cleansing smell of sulfuric acid.”

As for Rory, he was in the phone booth reporting in, “Joseph, take a message for the boss. We arrived and will pickup his laundry in the morning. I’ll call back if they couldn’t get the stains out.” Meanwhile, Davey scanned the room for someone approachable. Almost all sported a ‘gin-blossomed’ nose with the telltale bulbous bumps associated with consummate drinkers. He selected one such ‘potato-nose’ patron in his 50s and delivered another bottle of scotch with 2 glasses, “Mind if I join you?” Cameron’s eyes lit up as he reached for the filled glass, “Cheers mate. What brings you to town?”

Davey sat and listened, “The golf course? Aye, I’m the foreman for its renovation. But we’re at a work-stoppage considering the paychecks have dried up. And union don’t work for free. Pain-in-the-arsk boss constantly over our shoulders inspecting. Complaining we’re behind schedule; too high a turnover of workers. Till about 9 days ago when he arrived to complain again before storming off onto the course. We locked up that night as usual even thou his car was still in the lot. Ain’t seen hide-nor-hair of him since. I’d say good riddance if it weren’t for the fact no one’s writing our checks.”

Davey prodded for more info. Cameron rubbed his throbbing temples, “Sorry mate, this job has been one hell of a headache. What were we doing? Remodel, refurbish. The course was an original Alister MacKenzie design. It was closed in the Great War to support them Yanks that came over. Barracks and airfields. We had to replace the groundskeeper shed that was damaged by soldiers training. As for the clubhouse, we completely gutted the insides. Plumbers, pipers, carpenters. You name it, we got them. Now unemployed till Mr. MacMillian returns from his bender or whatever.”

Meanwhile, Rory chatted with the barkeep, “I understand the MacMillians run the local golf course. Mind telling me where they live? Why? We work for HIS boss and were sent up to check into the work stoppage. Right, Crow-Wood Hall beyond the course to the west. Is the course open yet? We brought our clubs and could use the time to inspect the progress.” Rory turned to the tables full of patrons, “6 shillings each to the first 2 men who join us tomorrow morning for breakfast and golf.” Bleary eyes stared back at him as the short silence was replaced by the original chorus of grumbling.

Doc joined Rory’s side as they climbed the stairs to their room. “From the sound of it, the workers didn’t kill their boss. No paychecks. Maybe his wife did him in for insurance, but why at the golf course? If he ran off with the mob’s money, Arthur knew a crew would be sent after him. But faking his death would slow the hunt and give him time to catch a freighter to a distant British colony. I think we need to check in on Mrs. MacMillian.” Rory agreed, “And check his books to find the money flow problems.”

Davey retired early to tend to the car, cleaning off the road-dirt before sliding into the backseat as his bed. He preferred the solitude over the noise and smell of the inside. Lenny emptied another bottle as he tried playing darts with the locals. He was impressed his challenger could actually throw straight, “Triple 20s.” Even more impressed the man didn’t cower to his intimidating bulk. Lenny gladly paid up as the loser before retiring to the room. As for Ian: he finally enjoyed being alone from the others and used the opportunity to climb on the stage and pull out his squeezebox. The drunk crowd was not impressed. Closing time sent Ian to the room where he pleasantly found an empty bed. But he quickly realized even the pillow pressed against his ears couldn’t drown out Lenny’s loud snoring. It was going to be a long and sleepless night.

Bangers-and-mash: Doc was already up before the crack of dawn for a smoke. He rapped on the car window to wake Davey before returning inside for the announced 7am breakfast. Even Lenny woke in time for breakfast. Ian had no choice but to join them, despite his throbbing headache from lack of sleep. Rory was surprised to see 2 patrons from last night sitting in wait, “Well, I see someone took up my job offer. And who might you be?” The man reading ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ put down his book in reply, “Abernathy, sir. I love a good mystery and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sure knows how to spin a crime. The dog of the story reminds me of our local legend of ole Black Jamie.” The other man stood, “Gimels, sir. Pipe fitter but I can do whatever needed. If yer wantin to play golf, we’ll need the gate key from the foreman.” They divided up. Rory accompanied the 2 mooks to the foreman’s pub room while the others drove over to the MacMillian estate.

As Davey drove past the golf course enroute to the estate, Lenny saw the padlock dangling from the gate. “Don’t know why Rory thinks we need a key. I can pick that easy.” They continued up the road and soon entered a tree-lined private driveway. They gawked at the 17th century Scottish mansion before them. “Crow-Wood Hall. I see Arthur is laundering money in more than just the golf course.” Davey drove past a barn converted into a garage where someone was working under a car. At the house, Ian was selected to make introductions. Long silence after banging the knocker. Davey used the delay to walk back towards the barn. Dressed in a tux, the butler (Gerald Keating) finally answered the door, “Yes sirs, may I help you? And who might I say is calling? If you’ll step into the parlor, I’ll see if Mrs. MacMillian is available for guests.”

Meanwhile, Rory pounded on the foreman’s door. He recognized the bleary-eyed drunk from last night, Cameron Nairn. “I’ve come for the keys to the club gate.” As soon as Cameron pulled the keys from his pocket, Rory made a grab. And failed. [failed Push] As Rory pulled out his wallet to bribe, Cameron pulled the keys back while slamming the door on Rory’s foot-wedge. “I’ll need to run this by Mrs. MacMillian.”

Davey approached the garage and peeked under the car, “Need help? I’m a bit of a mechanic myself.” The man rolled out on a dolly to chat, “Peter’s the name. Caretaker. Just changing out the plugs and oil. Busy work what with the Mrs inside the house. Teetotaler she is. Stuffy. I prefer the outdoors and would rather sleep in the loft.” Davey understood, “Kindred spirit. Yeah, I prefer the solitude of my car versus the stuffy indoors. So, what happened to Mr. MacMillian?” Peter explained how he’d searched the woods around the golf house and even chatted with neighbors. Nothing.

As the others waited in the parlor, they noticed portraits of both Arthur and Crystal MacMillian. Decadent gold frame to go along with the other opulence of the estate. Doc mused, “I see the man has been using mob money for his own pleasures.” Lenny on the other hand was more concerned about the empty decanter on the serving bar. And that’s when the sliding doors opened and Crystal entered, “I see you noticed how well Arthur cares for me. Inheritance? Oh no, I’m from a modest family. Arthur is the one with the money. Dabbles in the stock market. I miss him dearly. And who might you be?” Doc spoke, “We’ve come from his financers. Pray tell, what took you so long in reporting his absence?”

Crystal motioned for Gerald, “Bring some tea for these gentlemen.” She turned to Doc, “I last saw him, what was it, Sept 14th. Dreadful mood. I must say we had a little spat. But then he never returned. I called the foreman and even spoke to the neighboring farmers. Nothing. Arthur always told me never to call the police. I had to dig into his study to find where he wrote down his boss’ number.” Gerald arrived with the tray and poured the tea. Lenny took his and emptied the contents into the nearest planter to then fill the glass from his flask. Which shocked Crystal, “Oh my! I’m a teetotaler and discourage alcohol in the house.” Lenny didn’t miss a beat, “It’ll be gone in a jiffy.”

And that’s when they heard the car approaching. Rory entered the house with the butler leading the way. He grumbled, “That damn foreman slammed the door on my foot! Wouldn’t give over the keys to the gate.” Lenny perked up, “You need me to convince him boss?” And that’s when Rory noticed Crystal, “Sorry mam, didn’t mean to curse in front of you. Mr. Nairn should be on his way with the key, asking for your authorization. In the meantime, care if I take a look at your husband’s books? Maybe we can get a clue to who might want to do him harm.” Crystal called for the maid, “Kaiti, will you please show… Mr. Shaw to Arthur’s study. And ready the guest rooms for I’ll insist they stay here while they look for dear Arthur.”

At the sound of another car, Doc was already up and walking to the front door. Yep, Cameron. Doc didn’t even let the car come to a complete stop as he grabbed the door, and ‘helped’ the foreman out while twisting his arm, “If you ever… 24 liters. That’s how much acid it would take to remove your body from this earth.” For further emphasis, Doc grabbed the car-key from the ignition and stormed back to the house. Davey, Peter, and the 2 mooks who had accompanied Rory, stood around the garage with dropped jaws. “Damn! The man is fucking crazy!” Davey shook his head in disbelief but then quickly scolded the mooks, “I said wait BY the car; not on it! Get your butts off my car.” They quickly jumped while hoping and praying Doc didn’t answer the call. Davey pulled out his handkerchief and began rubbing out the butt-smears.

Rory chatted with the young Kaiti leading the way, “Anything interesting around here? I heard rumor of your local black dog.” Kaiti grew excited, “Black Jamie is our local legend. But I’ve seen ghosts. Well, one a few evenings ago. In Mr. MacMillian’s office! It was a balding man in a suit. Not that I got that great a look. You know, just at the corner of my eye. But I remember that distinct smell of ozone from a lightning strike.” At the door to the office, Rory excused himself, “You’ll have to tell me more later. Right now, I need to check the books.” It didn’t take long to find the ledgers. Normal procedures till a month ago when stock market losses took a toll. Seemed ole Arthur was using mob money to cover his losses. 

But among the books, Rory also found a blueprint of the club remodeling. An Edinburgh architect. Rory turned at the commotion outside and peered out the window. A grin crossed his face as he watched Cameron slink back down the driveway on foot.

With key in hand, they excused themselves as they climbed into both cars: Davey driving the gang while the mooks followed in their car. Beyond the now open gate, deep ruts told the passage of numerous trucks hauling renovation supplies. As they pulled up to the clubhouse, they noticed the dusty car in the lot.

Davey let out a whistle, “Damn fine car under that layer. 1440 Humber. Coupe, 5-seater can get up to 100km/hr.”

But Doc [Spot-extreme] interrupted Davey’s drooling, “Did anyone else see that silhouette pass by the 2nd floor window?!” Doc was already up and running to the clubhouse front door. It took Lenny a little longer to follow, considering he had to unfold himself from the backseat. With the door locked, Doc rushed around towards the back to find another way in. Lenny already had his lockpicks out but failed to open the door. He was about to resort to his backup key, his shoulder, when Rory called from the car, “Hold it, big boy! We’ve got the keys.”

[POW-99] Lenny jumped at the tug on his scalp. He quickly looked up to see what was tugging as he swept his hands thru his hair. And swore he felt someone’s fingers! [Sanity -1] “Nah, can’t be! Musta been a spider web. Or a swallow swooping by.” He easily discounted the lack of webs in his fingers or the sound of birds.

The others joined him on the porch as Rory unlocked the door, “Something bothering ya Lenny?” Lenny blew it off, “Nah, I was just anxious to break something.” Rory led the way in past a flight of stairs on the immediate left going up. He paused [Spot 01] in quizzical wonder. A bank of stained-glass windows over the stairs, yet the middle window was pitched black. No sun. “Nah. Probably paper left covering it so the workers could paint around it.” And that’s when Doc entered from the rear door, under the stained windows. “Did anyone else see the lights out in the woods back here? I’d swear they were bouncing along like some kind of will-o-wisps.”

Link to Part2 - https://rigglew4.blogspot.com/2022/06/p2-19th-hole.html