Free Drought by Graham Masterton

you’ll know what I mean.’
    He led the way out of the lounge and through the open door that led out on to the golf club verandah. Twenty or thirty golf club members were sitting under green striped parasols, talking and laughing and drinking and eating. Most of them sported bright-colored polo shirts and lurid checkered golfing pants. But it was the tall, gaunt man at the very far end of the verandah who immediately caught Saskia’s attention. He had an iron-gray flat-top buzzcut, and he was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and black pants and he was leaning over the railing, smoking a long thin cigar. As far as Saskia knew, there was a no-smoking rule out on the verandah, but it looked as if none of the waiters had summoned up the nerve to tell him to put it out.
    â€˜Is that him?’ she asked.
    â€˜That’s him,’ said Halford.
    â€˜He looks pretty mean to me. Like a gunslinger out of one of those Spaghetti Westerns.’
    Halford nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right. That sums him up exactly.’
    They walked across the verandah with several of the golfers swiveling around in their chairs to stare at Governor Smiley and to admire Saskia’s figure. The only person who didn’t turn to look at them was Joseph Wrack, who continued to stare into the distance, blowing out occasional clouds of smoke, which hurried away from him like frightened ghosts.
    â€˜Joseph!’ called Halford.
    Joseph Wrack stood up straight. His face was Slavic, almost skull-like, with a high forehead and a sharply-chiseled chin. He had deep lines in both of his cheeks, and pursed-up lines around his mouth. In spite of that, his eyes were large and brown and liquid, which made Saskia feel as if he was much more sensitive than he appeared at first sight – more like a starving poet with an ax to grind than a gunslinger.
    â€˜Hallo, your honor,’ he said, in a harsh voice that was little more than a whisper. He made no attempt to hold out his hand. He looked at Halford for a moment as if he were making a critical assessment of his white suit and his bright orange shirt, and thinking how the fuck can the Governor of California come out in public dressed like the owner of a second-rate Reno casino? But then he turned his attention to Saskia and she could immediately tell that he liked the look of her.
    â€˜You’re Sasha, then?’ he whispered.
    â€˜Saskia.’
    â€˜What kind of a name is that?’
    â€˜Czech, originally, although some people think it’s Dutch. It means “protector of mankind”.’
    â€˜That’s appropriate.’ He transferred his panatela to his left hand and held out his right. ‘Great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Saskia. You’re a beautiful woman.’
    â€˜And you’re a very scary-looking man.’
    Joseph almost managed to smile. ‘I like to think so. It’s part of my job description.’
    â€˜So what’s the job, Joseph, and why do you have to look scary for it?’
    Joseph pointed across the golf course, to the second green, where sprinklers were busily jetting water across the emerald-green grass. ‘You see that?’ he said. ‘It’s not going to be long, and that’s going to need protection. Like,
physical
protection.’
    â€˜I’m surprised the sprinklers are even going at all,’ said Saskia.
    â€˜Hey, that’s bent and poa annua grass,’ said Halford, as if he were surprised at her ignorance. ‘Have to keep it well-watered.’
    â€˜What was that you said about “we’re all in this together”?’ Saskia retorted. ‘I know you’re planning to allocate a more generous water supply to some districts than you are to others. I wasn’t born just before breakfast. But to irrigate a golf course, Halford, when you have hundreds of vulnerable people with nothing to drink and no way of washing themselves or flushing their toilets