Chapter 10

Later in the day he was scheduled to golf with Ricky Matthews, a boring and cocky forty-six-year old American, and Ronnie Rocher from Canada. He would have given one of his fingers to play with Russell Lee instead. It had always been his dream, and now he wished for it more than anything.

He was thinking about this while exiting the elevator, his hands deep in his trouser pockets—beige this time, the same color as his zip vest—as he headed into the restaurant.

In the doorway he halted and caught his breath.

Seated at a table at the end of the room, among a small group of players, was Russell, concentrating on his breakfast. He was next to a window and a ray of sun sweetly caressed his hair, making it shine, lighting up his features.