“It’s on concrete, with muck all around it,” Terry said, pointing at the ball. “How am I….?”
“You move it, it’s a two-stroke penalty,” Darin said.
Terry was pretty sure Darin was making up rules as he went along. He thought about looking up the official rules on his phone, but reception was lousy on the course. Truth to tell, he wasn’t sure what he was doing golfing with Darin in the first place. Their mutual friend, Anthony, had set it up, but then called Terry and dropped out after they had both arrived. Terry had met Darin twice, but hadn’t liked what he saw either times.
Screw it, he thought, bending down to get the ball. I’m not breaking a club just to beat this jerk, unless I’m actually beating this jerk with the club.
“Whoa-oh! That’s two strokes,” Terry said. “Bing, bing!”
“Yeah, how about that?” Darin said, placing the ball on a better lie. He swung, and put the ball on the green.
“Hey, why did Anthony drop out again?” he asked.
“Thought I told you,” he said, approaching his own ball, getting a eight-iron out of his bag.
“Nope, you just said he couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, he was in a car wreck on the way here,” Terry said, swinging, and then muttering curses as the ball went into the sand trap.
“What? Is he okay?”
“I guess so,” Terry said. “Damn sand!”