Mercy by Daniel Palmer Page A

The agreement was that if she left the tour on her own volition, the LPGA would not press charges, because they did not want the bad publicity that would result. If however, this information was ever made public, the tour would come after her personally and press criminal charges. The damages from litigation would be ruinous.
    “I assume we have an agreement.”
    Allyson stared at the paper.
    “I would like to hear it, Allyson.”
    “Yes, you prick. We have an agreement.”
    “Such language. Not a good way to start off our new relationship,” said Romey, as he swung his clubs over his shoulder and sauntered back to the clubhouse.

 
    CHAPTER 14
    Jordan Cobb sat at the kitchen table in the two-bedroom apartment of his next-door neighbor, Ms. Mae Walker, with an algebra book open and a sharpened number two pencil in his hand.
    Seated across from Jordan, with a scowl on his boyish face and his thin arms folded tight across his chest, was Emmett Walker, Mae’s middle son. Jordan came to the Walkers’ every Tuesday to tutor Emmett in math. Jordan wore his professional attire, a polo shirt and jeans, and looked about as hip-hop as Mr. Rogers. Emmett, who kept his dark hair trimmed short, was dressed in his full street regalia, including sneakers so white they looked like two giant teeth, baggy jeans, and a Rocawear hoodie.
    “Come on, Emmett,” Jordan said. “You know how to do this problem in your sleep.”
    Emmett leaned back in his chair, a playful hint in his big brown eyes. “Yeah? Keep talking about it and you’ll put me under. Then I guess I’ll figure it out.”
    Mae Walker, a full-figured woman whose kind face could turn threatening in a blink, stopped stirring whatever delicious concoction she was cooking and glowered at her son.
    “You mind your manners, Mister Walker,” she said. “Jordan is here to help and you’re here to listen and learn. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, Ma. Sorry, Ma.”
    Mae held her stern expression until she felt her directive had taken, then turned up the volume on the small television on the kitchen counter and went back to stirring the pot.
    Like a lot of the mothers Jordan knew (he tutored many of their kids), Mae Walker was both a stern disciplinarian and a loving parent. For kids like Emmett, it was an essential combination. Mr. Walker had not been a part of the family at any point that Jordan could remember, and Jordan had lived in the apartment next door since he was in diapers. In a neighborhood like this one—urban, tough, more sirens than birdsong—it was easy for a kid like Emmett to detour onto a crooked path.
    Dorchester could be a bit like a checkerboard of good and bad neighborhoods, five blocks trouble free and then five blocks a whole lot sketchier. The better the neighborhood, the higher the rent, which was why Ms. Walker and Jordan’s mom lived where a lot of the single mothers lived, in the not-so-nice part of town. Keeping kids in school meant keeping them off the street. That was good for the mothers and for Jordan’s tutoring business.
    “Come on, Emmett. We got this one. X minus three equals negative five. Now solve for X.”
    Emmett gazed out the window behind Jordan with a sullen look on his face. “Shit, man, I dunno.”
    “Emmett! Your language,” Mae called out.
    “Let’s go, buddy. Pick up the pencil, put it on the paper, and solve it. I know you can do it because you’ve done it before.”
    “And let me tell you, those Beats by Dre headphones of yours are gonna be resting on the head of another child who learns his math, if you don’t get this right,” Mae said.
    Emmett picked up the pencil and started to scratch. “Um … so it’s plus three both sides—right?”
    “That’s right,” Jordan said.
    “So, I get … um … X equals negative two.”
    Jordan held up his hand. Emmett gave it a halfhearted high five, but behind the boy’s tough exterior, he did look pleased with himself.
    “You got it. Now just thirty more of