Rod Lindsey, Storyteller

 

 

After a brief absence to chase the almighty buck a bit I'm back to work on Skyshooter.  A sample from Chapter 21:

 

***

Once he made the connection between her and Harold Hesse, Hoot would act – Jesse had been sure that he would; his track record made it clear he was very predictable that way.  The question, as her father had so pointedly put it, was how would he act?  Usefully?  Or not?  And now here he was, standing alone in spotlighted darkness on the deck of the Playa Rocosa Golf Club, looking entirely out-of-place and determined as hell; just as she had expected he would be.  A relentless two-legged hound on her scent.

“Hello, Hoot.  Do you golf?” she said to his shadowy back.  His hair was a halo of shimmering light, the glare of spotlights in the mist backlighting his tall and slender form without revealing details.
 

“No,” Hoot answered, still facing the beach.  There was a slight breeze out of the southwest, the underlying aroma of the sea – definitely different here than back home around the tidewaters of Puget Sound, but still the same; living and dead smells stirring it up.
 

“I can’t recommend this golf course,” Jesse said.  “This isn’t a good course for beginners.”
 

"Yeah?  All the bad guys and bullets make it hard for a newbie to concentrate?”
 

She snickered and replied, “Too much crosswind here; exaggerates hooks and slices.”

“Hooks and Slices,” Hoot parroted.  “Sounds serious.”
 

“Yes.  Very serious…if you’re serious about the game.”
 

“It’s a goofy game, golf.  I never could see the point of it.”
 

“Maybe that’s because the point often has more to do with being in the game and very little to do with actually playing the game.”
 

“Precisely why it isn’t my kind of game.”

“What is your kind of game, Hoot?”
 

He stood silent a moment, as pale and still as carved marble, ethereal stone both at rest and on guard.  Then he slowly turned to face her and said, “Solitaire.  Sometimes I win at Solitaire.”