with a hangover so bad he thought he should be in an intensive care unit connected to life support. But, stalwart soldier that he was, he made a reservation for a flight leaving at ten for Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.* * *DeMarco sat at the bar sipping iced tea through a straw, the straw being the best way to keep cold liquid from cascading over his fractured tooth. As he sipped, he looked out at the marina, then beyond the marina, at the sailboats maneuvering on the water. There were eight boats all clustered together, having some sort of mini-regatta, and all the boats were flying brightly colored spinnakers. What a picture.He could get used to this: an ocean view and sailboats and cute barmaids in short shorts. And he’d picked up a little brochure at the airport while waiting for his rental car and it said that there were about eight zillion golf courses in the area, and except for the occasional hurricane, the weather was usually perfect.DeMarco wished that Mahoney had some sort of field office in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.He had decided he needed to see Rusty McGrath.
