Security Detail 2

Security Detail.

It seemed weird to be on a golf course this early in the morning and not have a club in my hand, or at least have a tee off time scheduled.

But there I was on this particular early Thursday morning, sitting and waiting as the course buzzed with excitement.

Ground crews, audio and video crews, food people, decorators, handlers, wranglers, you name it. The place was absolute chaos with a side order of bedlam thrown in just to even things out. The only ones that seemed unfrazzled, were us, the security detail.

My best friend and partner in actual, "crime stopping", Pete, was sitting next to me. Together, we waited for our assignments. Waiting wasn't anything new to us, so we picked a spot that was out of the way but had the best vantage point and used it to our advantage as we watched in the very early morning light, as everyone prepared for the only LPGA event in Ohio this year.

"Ana de Armas?" Pete asked. I knew that he was already bored.

"No way. I've told you a million times, I'm not playing." I told him.

"Humor me big boy. It helps me kill time and it helps with my sex life." Pete pled.

"You always ask the same names. I always give the same answers. And if your think for a minute that this is helping you with your sex life, then you need real help." I told him.

Pete always like to play a version of a game he called, "Marry, Murder or Screw". I knew it helped him kill time. He wanted to play at least once a week while we were cruising around in our unit, keeping Cincinnati safe.

"Answer dick head." He growled. He waited for my answer. Her always waited for my answer. I knew that we wouldn't move forward until we got a round of his game under our belts, so just like every time, I gave in and played along.

"Kill you...screw her and then marry your cute little wife. Who wouldn't?" I gave him the same answer that I always gave when he said her name.

"Keep my wife out of this you prick. Merritt Patterson?" was the second name he asked.

"Who?" Wow, finally someone brand new, but I had no idea who she was.

"Buddy, you gotta get a woman. Ginny makes me watch the Hallmark Channel with her and it's filled with little hotties like Merritt, I swear. She's a smoke show pal." Pete was trying to convince me.

"I'll take your word. Marry." I said because it was the easy choice.

"Marry? Dude, what the fuck? If you saw her, you'd want to do more than marry her. Stop being a pussy." His voice had another small plea in it.

"Make up your mind. You just told me to settle down. What's your problem? If she's a Hallmark girl, she's a safe bet to settle down with. Right?" I explained my reasoning, but without much luck.

"Not really. There are a few chicks in those movies that have whipped their titties out on the big screen. And let me tell you, for Hallmark, they pick some killers for us to look at." Again, he was very emotional while pleading is case.

"Okay, calm down. To keep you happy, I'll fuck her." Yep. I agreed to have sex with an actress from an imaginary movie, just to make my friend happy. The things we do to appease the ones we care about.

"Thanks Ryan, you know that I live vicariously through you." I laughed when he said it because he and Ginny had been married since he graduated the academy. She was a sweetheart and the mother of his children. "Florence Pugh?"

"What, are you just making up names so that I..."

"Hey, you two assholes. Stop the bullshitting and get the fuck in here." One the guys doing the interviewing and giving instructions thought that his rank amongst the golf world would be enough to give us some flack.

Assholes? This fucking prick was about to catch a slap. Pete and I were here because we were hired for security at this golf event. Apparently, some unhappy fan was sending hate mail and threatening letters to a bunch of the lady golfers, and at the request of the LPGA, the course campaigned the local police department and solicited the help of all the off-duty policemen available. They were worried that the ladies might be in some kind of danger. We were here to protect the golfers, not take shit from some flunky carrying a clipboard and handing out orders.

Stopping in the doorway, I turned so that my 6'3" frame shadowed his and looked him in the face.

"Who the fuck are you calling assholes, you fuck wad?" I asked the question because I wanted him to say it again, but it didn't happen.

"Okay, enough with the dick measuring. I want all the off-duty cops on the left side of the room. All the others to the right. And those of you that have P.I. licenses and permits to carry, get on the same side as the cops. And if I hear anyone else mouthing off to security, you can grab your shit and leave." We were later told that the lady now barking orders was Heather Grimes, and she was in charge of player safety. "Alright, if any of you have to piss or take a shit, now's the time to do it. Because once you're on the course with your golfer, you will be expected to be at her side until she finishes her round."

An event coordinator ushered us into a different room where they had clothing that they wanted us to wear. Khaki pants. Black golf shirts with the course logo, and a greyish wind breaker with "SECURITY" on both the front and back. There were also golf appropriate footwear for each of us. After an hour of further instructions and demonstrations, we seemed to be ready.

"Listen-up. You can clip your badges to the belts on your trousers, but all guns must be concealed. We don't want anyone in the crowd or any dumbass cameraman making a big deal about this." The "Understood?" just brought a few grunts from those seated nearby.

The coordinator left with a huff when no one answered, leaving us alone for the next 40 minutes. Finally, when the time had arrived, we were escorted outside. From there, we were assigned a number and were once again told to wait.

Both Pete and I hoped that we would get players in the same foursome, but that didn't happen. His number was called, and he stepped to the tee box as Nasa Hataoka "launched" a ball. Yeah, Pete immediately started sending me everything he had on NASA and golf.

"You're up." One of the starters told me when I missed them calling my number. It had only been minutes but seemed like a couple of hours had passed since Pete's golfer had teed off.

I went to my position and scanned the crowd as my golfer got into position. As soon as she bent over to tee up the ball, her tiny skirt raised enough to show the entire golf world the round cheeks of her ass hidden behind a pair of tight under shorts. As soon as I got a good look at her "assets", I knew that I was in trouble.

There were always a lot of good-looking golfers playing in these things, and this weekend's tournament was no different, but in my opinion, none of them were quite as hot as the one waiting to tee off. This girl was put together. Solid body, accompanied with solid looks. Long blondish hair and a wickedly cute face. She was hot, and by the way she worked the crowd, she knew it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, from San Diego, California, Ms. Claire Hogle." Called out the announcer.

Claire had a nice swing. Her head down, eyes on the ball, and the perfect follow through. She held the pose and watched as her ball flew over the fairway. When it landed, her ball was probably twenty, maybe twenty-five yards shorter than all the other golfers that had landed in the fairway, but it was in the middle of the fairway, and she looked good, so she didn't seem to care. Nor did any of the guys that were looking at her instead of her ball.

Like any self-respecting security guy, I followed behind the golfer and her caddie, continuously scanning the crowd, which wasn't that hard to do. I mean only a dozen people were following our group, and most of those seemed to be dudes that were staring at Claire's every move and her very visible "assets".

At the end of nine holes, there was a short break. We all got a snack and a restroom stop. I found Pete busting a couple of other security guys for trying to sneak beers. It was a big no-no doing that sort of thing. Especially when you are on the job.

"Houston, we have a problem." I said as I snuck up behind him.

"Fuck. I'll tell you something Ryan. When that little thing hits a ball, it comes off the club face like it's loaded with a jetpack." He grinned and pointed over to where she was standing. "I think she's at four under. I haven't checked the leaderboard, but she might even be leading this shit. How's yours doing?"

"She's a couple over, but she doesn't give a shit." I could hear disappointment in my own voice.

"What? Why?" Pete asked, but I didn't get the chance to tell him. He was waved over to his golfer, and I was off to my next hole.

It was my job to watch "everything", and I did just that. I watched those around us, and those golfing with my charge. I couldn't help myself. I continued to watch how she played. It didn't take a pro to see that Claire had very good form. She hit the ball straight. She chipped and putted well, but there was something missing, and after a couple of more holes, I figured out that "something" was, it was a camera.

By the fifteenth hole, I was positive that I had it pegged. Claire played a better game when all eyes were on her.

Anyway, for most of the day, the eyes of a camera weren't always on her, and she finished 4 over.

When score cards were signed and it was all over, most of the golfers and caddies headed to the left. It was a large tent set up for hospitality. The rest of us went to the right and walked a half mile before we came to a barn that had an assortment of refreshments for us.

I found Pete and sure enough, he confirmed that Nasa was in the lead.

"You didn't tell me. What's your golfer's name?" Pete asked.

"Claire something. Hogge or Hogle. I really don't give a shit because she won't be making the cut." Again, I could hear my own disappointment.

"Fuck you. You're telling me that you're keeping an eye on Claire Hogle?" He seemed surprised.

"Sure am." I wondered if my partner had got a look at how hot she was also.

"You know that she's the hottest little number on tour, right?" When Pete spoke, a lot of heads turned in our direction.

"Well, you're not wrong. She has an ass and a rack that are killer." Some of the other cops smiled when I said it. They knew it was true.

"Look." Pete held up his phone for me to see. "She's fairly new and hasn't played a lot, but man, I gotta tell ya. Smokin hot."

There were pages and pages of Claire in various poses. She was very big in the Instagram universe, and not all of her pictures were golf related. No, she loved to show off what a hot unit she was when she was wearing a bikini and other skimpy attire. There were lots of comparisons to her and another golfer named Paige Spiranac.

That evening, I spent some time on my own, researching, and found tons of pictures and blogs on my golfer. It was interesting, but all I could think was that hopefully tomorrow she would up her game so that it would be a better day for her and make the cut.

In the morning, the shuttle bus dropped us off at the main gate. Today, we were ready to go. There would be no need to hand out cloths or to be given instructions. We knew what we were doing.

The dewy grass was green and groomed. Not a blade was out of place. Quiet, save for the mechanical sounds of sprinklers tossing water over the fairways and greens. The small but loyal crowd made their way to the holes they wanted to cover, or they got in line to be next to the golfer that they wanted to follow.

Such a beautiful morning to have it spoiled by a shitty round of golf. Yeah, like yesterday, it started out with hope and promise, but after a few holes, today's round wasn't going very well either. Claire had bogeyed two of her first four holes. The fifth looked like it had some promise, but as we approached the cameramen that were covering it, left to shoot something else.

Claire bent at the waist for the small crowd's pleasure as she sunk her tee into the turf. Her hips gave a slight wiggle to show off the black shorts/panties that lay beneath her peach-colored skirt, then she proceeded to drive the ball into the deep rough. In disgust, Claire slammed the driver onto the tee, driving the wood peg below the grass surface like a hammer would drive a nail into soft wood.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" My words came out too fast, and far too loud. They also slipped out without any coaxing. For me, this was a rare occurrence, because I didn't normally slip up like this. I have had many security gigs in the past, so I knew the protocol, so if I did say something it was normally said under my breath and not when I was so close to the person that I was bitching about, but today, my disappointment got the better of me.

I turned and looked at my golfer. For a second, I thought maybe my error in judgement had gone unnoticed, but it hadn't, and for the first time in two days Claire looked directly at me and spoke.

"I suppose that you could do better?"

She had an angry look on her cute face as she changed her path so that she was now walking only inches away from me as we headed toward her buried ball. Oddly, her getting closer to me only made me more upset. Because for the first time in two days, I noticed how good she truly looked and how good she actually smelled.

Usually, I would have just kept doing my job. I would have and should have, kept my mouth shut and walked away, but for some reason on today of all days, I felt compelled to answer her.

"Well, it looks like we're both going to be looking for work on Saturday, so I'll tell you. Yeah, I could do better. I can certainly hit it further, but I'm shit after that until I get on the green. But what makes me better, is that I don't give a damn who's watching me or if the camera guy will get my best angle, or a good shot of my ass."

"What the fuck? Who the hell do you think you are?" Her voice had caught everyone's attention, and the cameramen that were off in the distance, were now racing back toward us. "Go fuck yourself. Goddamn Rent-a-cop. I'll make the cut." Pure venom in her words.

The cameramen who now wanted the shot, were doing some leveling and adjusting, so I knew that I had time to sneak in my final words, if I was quick.

"Doubt it. They say even and under. Looks like you'll have lots of time to post some pictures for your fan base. Maybe if you spent more time concentrating on your game, and not your ass, you'd be a better ranked player." After I said it, I assumed she'd have me removed as her security expert. I was wrong.

Something in her game changed immediately. Claire's round after our little fairway bout improved. No more banging clubs. No more ass wiggles and no more playing for the cameras. She was showing me, and maybe herself, that when focused, she really did know how to play golf.

There's an old saying, that if you are caught in a storm and are afraid of lightning, hold up a 1-iron, because even God can't hit a "one iron". Turns out that that saying is untrue. Claire's ball wasn't sunk in as deep as we both thought, and she whacked the living shit out of it with her trusty one iron. When it landed, she was on the fringe in two and was looking across the green at a long, but very makeable eagle putt.

For the rest of the day, not once did she look for the camera crew, but more then once she shot me an evil glare or a "go fuck yourself" when she sunk a putt, and when she handed in her scorecard at the end of the round, she was sitting at even par and was waiting to see if she had indeed made the cut.

When all the score cards were counted, she was 8 shots back from the leader, but she would be teeing it up on Saturday.

Pete invited me out for beers, but I had plans. In the end, I should have gone with him, because my mind was on what tomorrow would bring. And when we arrived at the golf course, we found out. Saturday morning brought out a much bigger crowd.

Whether you are a weekend hacker out for a round with your friends, or a pro, it all comes down to simple basics, drive for show, putt for dough. That's why on Saturday's, the crowd and the golfers all were very aware that every shot meant money. Make the shot and your paycheck goes up. Miss, and you might lose a zero off the end of it, so nerves were more on edge, and tensions are always a bit higher.

The sounds of her spikes scrapping the asphalt as she walked to the tee box caught my attention. That and the short skirt trying its best to cover her hidden assets but did nothing but accentuate the tanned muscular legs waiting to carry her over the course.

Claire tossed a ball in the air and caught it with the opposite hand. Then she changed up and bounced the ball repetitively with the face of her 9-iron. Finally, we made eye contact and I said, "Good morning."

She surprised me with a "Suck my cock". She spoke quietly enough so that only her caddie and I could hear her. Claire had an angry look on her face, but she appeared to be focused, so I backed off, and that's how our day started.

Some golfers have good rounds, and some golfers have great rounds, and sometimes the score doesn't always reflect the quality of the round. Today was a great round for Claire. She shot a four under sixty-eight, but it just as easily could have been a five or six over. With the cameras focused on her every move, Claire made a number of perfect recovery shots that saved her cute little ass. At one point she even threw me a grin and a wink. It was a big, "go fuck yourself".

Because of the crowd size, I stayed close-by even after the round was complete. Claire went to the Marshall's tent to do all of her after round paperwork, and an entire gallery of fans and reporters wanted to speak with her. Good rounds never go unnoticed, and with a tip of her visor, she was a popular person once again.

After she had completed her paperwork, Claire was being pulled in every direction. Everyone wanted a piece of her. A selfie. An autograph. Anything. It was during all this that I noticed a man of about forty-five years of age grab her wrist. He appeared to be about twice Claire's size and it appeared that he wasn't looking for just a handshake. "Claire, will you come with me for a minute", he said as he pulled her to himself. Claire pulled back, but his grip was tight, and he was much stronger than she was.

Everything was happening in a flash and it was something that I thought could become dangerous if it escalated further, so I jumped in.

The scene looked like one of those movies where the characters put their hands in and say, "all for one, and one for all". Claire had grabbed the arm of someone close to her, her assailant's held onto hers, my right hand joined the pile and wrapped his wrist, while my left hand clamped to the back of his neck. Four of us joined together as one.

"Let her go." It sounded like a growl when I said it.

"Bbbbbut...bbbbbut, I just want her to ssssign my..." He said with a bit of a nervous studder. His body immediately beginning to perspire. He eyes shooting back and forth between Claire and me.

When he refused to release Claire, the fingers on my hand squeezed tighter and I watched for him to make a move with his spare hand, but he didn't move, nor did he look like he was about to release his grip.

"Let her go, or I'll put you facedown, on the ground right here in front of all these cameras." He turned his head toward me and saw by my look, that I wasn't joking. His eyes continued darting back and forth between me and the young lady of his desire. With a noticeable bead of sweat forming on his upper lip, he lifted both arms so that I could see them and backed away.

"Leave now." He grinned while backing away. Something about him concerned me, so I watched his every move until he was gone. My concern was Claire, but I should have followed my instincts and question her crazy fan.