the Sixteenth Surgeon

Chapter 8 "Ballroom Blitz"

"I hate golf." Roman sighed.

"Then why are we here?" asked Carla.

"Because it challenges me, it hones accuracy and exaggerates the effect of wind and rotational drop that you can't visually see with a bullet. A good marksman need to familiarize himself with all forms of velocity and accuracy, and by taking an extreme example of this and making it observable, I can better understand how the environment changes the trajectory of a moving projectile. Also, I have friends who golf and I would like to actually beat them occasionally." He smirked.

"Seems unnecessary and high-risk, standing in an open field with your attention focused solely on a recreation you don't enjoy, while any number of people with rifles could be hiding far out of visual range and targeting you.

"Hence the hat, Carla. It looks ridiculous as hell but it will stop a 30-06 from 500 yards and nobody shoots for the neck." He said swatting a ball downrange.

"Even with a steel interior, a 30-06 to the head could cause a severe concussion and put you off your prime enough to make you vulnerable." She insisted.

"You worry too much. Life is meant to be enjoyed and you can't worry about stray bullets all the time. That's why I have you. I've lived a productive life, I'm happy, and if I die then I die, the world keeps rotating. You plan for the most likely events, and then try not to worry about the slim chances and the unpredictable events. Right now I am concerned with getting that ball in the hole in 2 or fewer shots and nothing more. When this is done I will be concerned with my dinner plans. Perhaps after that I can hide under the bed and worry about stray bullets." He joked.

"I'm sorry, I just don't share your view entirely." She said standing stiff and professionally.

"You know what? Cancel dinner, make a reservation somewhere else...somewhere you would like to eat and never have." He insisted.

"Sir?" she asked.

"I'm taking you for dinner and dancing. You need to loosen up and relax a little." he said hopping in the cart. She got in and began rolling.

"I...how am I supposed to stay alert if I am dancing?" she asked.

"You don't. I have other guards who can handle it for a while. Surely you can be replaced by the next 3 best Surgeons I have under my employment." He said.

"And you trust them as well as you trust me? Do you trust them enough to pass up 16 million dollars?" she asked.

"Not remotely, but I trust them to keep anything off your back long enough for you to enjoy a few hours of dancing, and I will worry about myself for a while. They'll keep you alive, so tomorrow you can keep me alive. I know you disagree with this philosophy so I am making it a direct order as your employer. Try to have fun for a few hours and let me handle things. I am after-all the Great Roman Blue, I think I can watch my own back from time to time." he smiled. "Pull over here." He said. She did and he got out, looking happy to see someone. A friend maybe.

"Bayler, you old shit." He hollered, twirling his golf club and using it like a cane. The man smiled and they began chatting like old friends. She waited in the golf-cart and gave the surroundings a good scan for anything suspicious.

"This is Gerald Bayler, good buddy of mine. This little guy can beat me by 3 shots or better every single time we play." Roman chuckled.

"Ah, luck, every time it is just luck." He politely lied.

"No, you just practice more then I do, and you have a better feel for the clubs and the course. No modesty needed." Roman said as they got in and headed to the green. Roman lined up his shot and made a good par 3. Bayler made it in 2.