Golf

A Story by KioneCookie

these guys are a******s

The Pariah Psychiatric Department offered executives up to three weeks of paid holidays, and Martin used to spend those burning w****s in the suburbs of Murmansk. This year, however, with Kione on the team, he’d found a golf buddy without talent yet an equal lack of morals. They had decided to go to Spain instead. “Girls galore, minus freezing your dick off.” Kione’s commentary had been, to which Martin hadn’t really had a retort. Installed at one of the many Pariah Private Resorts near Almeria, the executives wallowed in vice and in the knowledge that with a snap of their fingers, they’d be catered to whatever insane wish they had in mind.

“Shoulda gotten that s**t years ago” Martin laughed while carefully pressing his fingertips to his scalp. “Feels real, and you can’t see any difference either.”

Kione looked up from the hotel’s pamphlet muttering. “Are those broads even legal? They don’t look like they’re over -Huh? I dunno, Marty, was that even necessary?”

“Are you coming on to me, Kione?” Martin laughed, tossing a toothpick at his befuddled colleague. “You should really get rid of that whole professor look.” The executive added, waving a hand towards Kione’s big glasses.

“Your mother didn’t seem to mind last night, buddy.”

“My mother’s dead, you sick f**k!” Martin spat with a sneer.

“I rest my case.”

Martin spat out his drink, laughing. “F*****g hell, that shirt was Armani!” With a growl, he waved one of the waitresses over and ordered her to bring him a new top, and pronto. “No hard feeling?” Kione asked, not hiding their obvious amusement, “Coolio. Had me worried for just a second there!”

Martin muttered some incoherent swears and slipped into the clean shirt. “How about we hit the greens before he hit that?” Martin suggested, tossing an empty cocktail glass after another servant, which turned out to be the pool boy.

“You surprise me every time we meet, I tell ya that much,” Kione grinned, but got up and nodded. “Course I’m up for some of that fancy pants sport.”

Martin’s icy grin only widened. “Alright then! But...let’s make it interesting.”

Kione threw him a narrowed glance. That tone of Martin’s usually promised something vile and illegal, but Martin understood it masterly to sell his ideas as nothing more than boyish crimes. A middle-school bully would’ve looked worse trying to defend his actions. “What do ya have in mind?” the doctor asked.

Even though it seemed as if Martin was pondering and desperately searching for an answer, Kione knew that Martin had planned this whole affair, consequences included, long before even proposing a game such as this.

“Mhm...how about...how about the loser...has to do the caddy.”

Inwardly, Kione rolled their eyes; this was not Martin’s real suggestion. “Woulda done that anyways, Marty” they mused in a sing-song voice as they took off their glasses to polish them.

“Right”, Martin snapped, “the loser spends a night in an engine?”

Kione snickered. “We’re miles away from all that. Ain’t no anodyne in Europe, no siree!”

But Martin stayed calm. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty damn sure, buddy. Aaaanyways” Kione said as they stretched and they began to make their way toward the course, “how about the loser spends a night in Acker’s cell?”

“Or in Kirstein’s?”

“No, I’m too attached to my dick, thank you very much!”

They both laughed. “Not a guy for that whole tied-down-till-ya-die-affair”, Kione added after a few minutes of silence.

Martin flicked against his wedding ring. “Mhm, understandable. Buys you quite some favors though, going up...”

“I bet, heh. Still now. Never had any problems with your wife?”

Martin shrugged. “Never see her anyways. Pariah Tactical provides her with safety, with money. Got a kid or two, too, I forgot.”

Kione looked surprised at this admission, but Martin didn’t seem to care much about what he said. They took a little break after 14 and ordered some more drinks.

“Two martini lunch?” Kione laughed and Martin silently toasted.

“Amen to that. Though technically midnight. F*****g jet lags.”

“Fine excuse for everything” Kione trailed off, eye wandering over to the hotel. “Is it true what they say about Kirstein though?” they inquired in what they hoped wasn’t a too eager tone. Martin cocked an eyebrow. “What? The killing?”

“The slice-and-dice he pulled with Easton?”

“You bet your sorry a*s it is...funny how his name is now quite the oxymoron for that moron.” Martin snickered.

“But how-“

“F*****g idiot never read Kirstein’s case file. Thought I’d be wise to get himself some of that; patient had been behaving nicely, calm, yadda yadda yadda. Obviously a f*****g farce. So he walks in, pants down, and Kirstein just snaps. Grabs the closest thing to him-some comb, or whatever, and starts chopping.”

Kione shuddered. Goddamn idiot.

“Security has been paid off”, Martin continued, sipping his martini, “so nobody goes in to check if everything’ fine. Might be Kirstein’s scream for all they know. Might be Easton getting off. Next morning they find him-Kirstein-sewing some dress or something. Needles taken from Easton’s pocket. Easton hunched over in a corner, unconscious...”

“They gave him they good ol’ memo-wipe I head.”

“Yea...he’s still in, got some prosthetic I think.” Martin sighed. “Idiot. Shoulda killed him. Kirstein, I mean. But that looney blathered on about bridesmaid attire...”

Now it was Kione’s turn to laugh hysterically.