"Don't go getting impatient, junior. I'm just showing you how it's done. He turned to the chauffeur. "This really brings back the memories, doesn't it, Spec?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Hagen. Sure does."
"Junior, this is Spec Hammond, the same guy who was with me at Deal for the British Open in '20. The sumbitches wouldn't let us in the clubhouse, so we showed 'em something didn't we, Spec?"
"You bet, Mr. Hagen." Spec poured coffee without a change of expression.
"You have to understand what a statement old Spectator and I made. Me finishing a round in the British Open and having my man Spec here pull this thing up behind the 18th green. Served me lunch right behind the 18th green. Just like this—fine linen, fine wines, crystal and all. It was sweet, junior."
Haig was wearing beige knickers, argyle hose made of cashmere and a light-colored sport coat. His white shirt was freshly ironed, and a red cravat was the centerpiece of the outfit. Hagen looked like a man who had won 11 majors. "I've got me a slippery eel to hook today," he said.
"Who's the victim?"
"It's actually a fellow I've never played with before. Just heard a lot about him, so I wanted to see him in the flesh."
"Who is it?"
"Ever hear of Titanic Thompson?"