by James Ross
After his enlightening conversation with Bogey, J Dub knew that he should just do his job and stay out of Lew’s way. Yet, he couldn’t help but rack his brain trying to think up an idea that Lew would admire in a sick, demented way, yet, at the same time, pimp Lew. Then it came to him one morning on the way into work. J Dub was just too damn mad to ‘play nice’.
J Dub was fond of the “oldies, but goodies” style of music. His radio dial was tuned into the station that broadcast the sounds of the sixties and seventies. A song named “Big Shot” by Billy Joel blared through the speakers. Instinctively, J Dub began singing along with the music, “ . . . Because you had to be a Big Shot, didn’t ya, Ya had to prove it to the crowd . . .” He stopped in mid lyric and laughed in spite of himself. By George, I think you got it, he chuckled.
“I know I said that I would mind my business and stay out of Lew’s way, but this is just too tempting. Sorry, Bogey,” J Dub apologized. The dog barked and wildly wagged his tail in approval. “Yeah, now I know why they call you man’s best friend. You agree with everything I say, don’t ya boy?” J Dub laughed.
“We can give ole Lew a taste of his own medicine, can’t we little buddy?” J Dub laughed and began planning on making a ‘special’ place for Lew to park out front. Let’s see, if I put the Big Shot sign right in front, everyone can enjoy the inside joke, when in reality, the vehicle, whether it was a motorcycle, sports utility vehicle, or pickup truck would get in the way of the traffic coming in and out of the front door. Oh this is beautiful, he smiled to himself.
J Dub was good at making subtle, little signs. He made a sign that read: BIG SHOTS ONLY, RESERVED FOR LEW. He then rolled out an eight foot by eight foot piece of Astroturf and glued that down by the front door. J Dub proceeded to lay a piece of hose across the Astroturf and hooked it up to a set of stereo speakers.
Any object that rolled over the hose would send a signal to the music and “Big Shot” would blare through the speakers. That device would indicate Lew’s arrival. It would also give everyone within earshot a huge chuckle.
A few days later . . .
The regular boys were sitting in the pro shop after finishing up an early round of golf. They were at their table in the back of the pro shop settling up their bets. J Dub and Julie were both working the counter.
Golfers were always coming through the door and the phone was constantly ringing. Between taking greens fees, booking tee times, fixing sandwiches, and serving drinks, there was quite a bit of hustle and bustle for the two of them.
Fred was the jokester of the group. He yelled at J Dub from the back of the room, “J Dub, were you in here the other day when that blonde asked Julie if she could buy some green golf balls?”
“No, I must have been outside.”
“Julie said, ‘Green golf balls? The grass is green.’ And the blonde says, ‘That way they’re easier to see in the sand.’”
All the boys got a kick out of that and started rolling with laughter. J Dub couldn’t help but snicker himself.
The beer was starting to flow pretty rapidly through the regulars. BT didn’t want to be outdone. Shortly afterward he sauntered up to the bar and asked Julie for another beer. As she was pouring the ale, BT asked her, “When is your dad getting out of jail?”
“ . . . Jail?” Julie responded. “My dad’s not in jail. Why did you say that?”
“Wasn’t he the one that stole the stars from the skies and placed them in your eyes?” BT grinned. He was quite the crooner in his younger days and had used that line on many unsuspecting women during his bachelor days.
“That crap may have worked in your heyday, but it won’t work on me now,” Julie said as she smiled back at him. “I appreciate the effort though, you owe two bucks!”
BT gladly reached into his pocket and paid for his beverage. He had gotten the opportunity to flirt a wee bit with Julie whose smile and quick wit radiated throughout the room.
Just then Marcia walked through the door. Gail’s face lit up with a bright smile when she saw J Dub. She ran to her daddy.
“Hey, girl!” Marcia called out to Julie. Marcia, already heavy in her second trimester, waddled over to J Dub for a kiss. Their three-year-old daughter tugged at her daddy’s pants’ leg.
Julie was astonished about Marcia’s condition. “J Dub, you never said anything about that!”
J Dub shrugged. “We try to keep our personal life at home.” He winked at Marcia.
“Are you able to drink leaded?” Julie inquired as she turned back to Marcia.
“Are you kidding? This ain’t my first time at the rodeo and any doctor that tells me I can’t have caffeine . . . well, let’s just say it will get pretty ugly.” Marcia quipped.
Jules laughed and poured coffee as Marcia effortlessly bellied up to the counter and sat on a nearby stool. “Is the next one a boy?” Julie asked quizzically.
“We don’t want to know,” Marcia replied.
“At least you could start preparing. Don’t you want to know if you should start buying pink things or blue things?” Julie continued.
“We’d just as soon keep it a surprise,” Marcia said as she smiled at Julie.
“Well, one thing’s for sure. You’ll definitely have nine pounds of baby!” Julie and J Dub shouted in unison. Even Marcia began to cry she laughed so hard.
“Big Shot” echoed throughout the room. The boys in the back stopped their cajoling and Marcia jumped in her seat. She was startled at the loud music. Julie glanced at J Dub and rolled her eyes. She instinctively knew that the mood in the pro shop was about to change. Gail started to cry.
“Yeah, me too, Gail,” Julie said before Lew walked in.
Lew busted through the doors of the pro shop singing the words to “Big Shot.” His boastful and jovial mood diminished when he noticed that everyone in the pro shop was enjoying themselves. It was disruptive!
He stopped, grinned at himself, and announced,” That sounds better and better each day.” Everyone stared at him as if he was a pathetic, pitiful excuse for a human being. After glancing around the room Lew stayed true to form. He looked straight at J Dub and declared,” Coffee break is over. We have some work to do, J Dub.”
Gail was still whimpering even though J Dub was holding her in his arms. She had gotten a small cold and was in an irritable mood. “Gail needs medicine. Can we add her to the insurance policy?” J Dub asked Lew.
Lew stopped dead in his tracks. He glanced at J Dub who was holding Gail. He noticed the coffee cup in Marcia’s hand. His eyes shifted to her bulging stomach. “Your wife stops in here for a free cup of coffee and now you want me to pay for your screwing?” Lew chastised him.
A hush fell over the room as everyone looked at J Dub, then to Marcia. For one brief moment, Marcia’s eyes grew hot with tears. Then, true to her hormones, she got up off the stool and strode deliberately over to Lew.
“What did you say, Mr. Big Shot?” Marcia challenged.
“Oh God, I think she’s gonna blow,” Julie cringed.
“You heard me! You expect me to pay for the sick kid and the one that’s about to pop out of your belly? Ya ever heard of birth control lady?” Lew angrily replied.
“Yeah, I have Mr. Big Shot. Let me just say this much. You’re the first person I ever met where the best part of you slid down your Daddy’s leg. So don’t lecture ME about birth control!” Marcia was sparring for a fight and was ready for Lew.
J Dub handed Gail to Julie and went after Lew who was backing away from Marcia.
“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever, speak to my wife or family like that again. You got me?” J Dub shouted. He shoved Lew backward toward the door. “Go on! Get the hell out of here. The sight of you sickens me!”
Lew looked all around and realized that he was the most hated person in the room.
“GET OUT!” J Dub screamed as he reached for the nearest object which was a stack of magazines and mail and threw them at Lew’s head. Lew angrily turned around and stomped out of the
room.
“That sorry piece of . . .” He stopped short of using profanity. Everyone in the room was glad to see that J Dub finally had mustered up enough nerve to stand up to the ego maniac.
However, in Lew’s eyes, he had been publicly embarrassed in front of a lot of people. He would never forget that moment.
Chapter Forty-One
Eight years later—1995 . . .
The old adage, ‘The more things change, the more things stay the same,’ rang true for the Prairie Winds golf course and those that frequented the club. Lew was still a proverbial pain in every sense of the word, which resulted in J Dub pounding a bucket of balls in frustration while Bogey wagged his tail in approval after each swing.
Marcia gave birth to two more children. The second child was another beautiful baby girl. Her name was Carrie. Four years after that she gave birth to a son, named Nick. J Dub had always wanted a son and now their prayers were answered at last. The family plan was in full gear at the Schroeder household. J Dub and Marcia normally had every minute of every day spoken for.
J Dub had made a commitment to Marcia to give up his weekends at the golf course, and he kept that end of the deal. Bolstered by Marcia’s catering income and in spite of Lew’s stinginess with the profits of the business, J Dub and Marcia managed to scrimp and save enough money to buy a home.
~ ~ ~
Eleanor Hackett aggressively worked her way up the ladder of jurisprudence. She became a governmental guru in prosecuting white-collar criminals. Her success rate garnered countrywide attention. She conducted national seminars and trained federal law enforcement officials on what to look for in tax returns and financial statements. The Attorney General of the United States called her away on a special prosecutorial assignment that lasted two years. Upon her return she was appointed the United States Attorney for her District.
Walter Hancock continued to fret over his role in the cover-up of the hooker’s death. The fact that he was remotely involved in the death of another person gnawed at his conscience. He remained a steadfast ally to Lew, despite the nagging from his wife, Nora, who was oblivious to the secret that he kept. Walter knew the tax code backwards and forwards and seemingly stayed one step ahead of the IRS in handling Lew’s accounting affairs. He managed the account for a minimum monthly fee. Of course, because of his role in the killing, Lew controlled the actions of Walter. Whenever his fidgety nature would get a little out of control Lew would more or less bribe him into a sense of false reality.
George Pierce enjoyed his time in exile on the island of Tortola, the largest island in the British Virgin Island chain. In an elaborate barefoot ceremony on the beach, he and Mary Jean Graham, twenty years his junior, got married. They re-established themselves, kicked back a little, and house-sat Lew’s paradise retreat. The money that he had fled to the islands with seemed to have an eternal supply.
Maurice DiMonte went off to a federal prison in Colorado that was famous for housing white-collar criminals. He appealed his conviction and used the prison library to research ways to get back at Ellie Hackett. If nothing else, those efforts kept his mind preoccupied and served as a way of survival behind the bars.
The popularity of Raymond Parsons soared. He was re-elected every two years and his constituency grew at an alarming rate. Not only did he carry a powerful stick in local politics, but he became a major player in the U. S. House of Representatives. The one thing that you could count on from Raymond was the loyalty that he gave to those that supported him over the years. Lew Zerrmann was an early supporter and was always given preferential treatment from his office.
One of the final pieces to the puzzle was the Morton Estate. The heirs, mother and son, had been swindled. Law enforcement wasn’t too keen on getting to the bottom of such a complex case. Their case was so unlike a bank robbery. With a bank heist the surveillance camera frequently captured a suspect in the throes of committing a crime. But with a crime like fraud, all of the circumstantial evidence needed to be pieced together. From a forensics standpoint, the methods of obtaining and providing proof beyond a reasonable doubt are totally different. When a scam is committed the entire diabolical scheme needs to be restructured.
After the initial disappointment from the U. S. Attorney’s office, Lucille and Matt set out on another course of action. Even though it was next to impossible for the government to get a conviction, they realized that their case could be easier to prove in the jurisdiction of a civil courtroom.
Something happened that they didn’t count on. Getting an attorney to bring a civil suit against Lew Zerrmann turned into a major undertaking. Lew Zerrmann was very connected in the political circles around town and he was no stranger to the courtroom either. For them to obtain an attorney Lucille and Matt needed to list the different accomplices that they felt had defrauded them.
Lo and behold, they found that nearly every law firm they approached could not take their case due to a conflict of interest. What they also soon learned was that attorneys are really no different than any other practical businessman in the world. Lawyers and law firms look at the complexities of the case and assign a rate of success to it. If a lawyer doesn’t believe there is at least an eighty or ninety percent chance of succeeding, they simply will not take a case on a contingent basis.
The major law firms all passed on the case for the Morton Estate for one or both of those reasons. That created a dilemma for the Morton’s. They felt as if they had major civil damages, but no one to turn to for help. They clearly needed a stroke of good luck. Acting on a referral from a friend of a distant relative’s acquaintance, the Morton heirs stumbled upon a proprietary office. That was when Dennis K. Sneed entered the picture.
Dennis K. Sneed had an office that was located on the second floor of a rehabbed historical building. He operated a one-man show. The office environment promptly bore that out. His name was stenciled on some frosted glass that comprised the top half of his office door. Lucille and Matt knocked and poked their heads around the door after a voice yelled, “Come on in!”
Lots of times initial meetings can leave lasting impressions. Lucille and Matt weren’t disappointed. It wasn’t difficult for them to stop in their tracks as they entered Denny Sneed’s law office. Boxes and law books and papers were stacked and strewn around the room in a manner akin to the destruction left by a tornado. In fact, Denny had to throw some papers off of a chair and onto the floor just to offer Matt a place to sit.
Denny Sneed was in his mid-forties. He was considered a maverick attorney in the legal community because of previous civil lawsuits that he had filed. Early in his career he was quite rebellious and undoubtedly controversial. Denny was the third of four sons born to Melvin Sneed, a wealthy landowner and farmer in southern Missouri. Denny had a solid family upbringing. He followed his two older brothers off to college and strayed a little from the conventional path.
Like most college kids, he experimented with smoking pot and occasionally stayed up cramming all night while pumped full of uppers. However, his love was playing the bass guitar in the hottest band on campus. He had let his hair grow halfway down his back and he let his creative juices flow. Besides strumming the bass guitar he dabbled with songwriting.
Somehow he stayed on course and made it through law school. From gazing at the certificates on the wall it was hard for Lucille and Matt to determine if his accreditation came from an online university, a mail-order house, or an actual law school. Nevertheless, Denny had passed the bar exam and was licensed to practice law.
The pictures that adorned the wall revealed another surprising tidbit about Denny. He had met a foreign exchange student from Bombay, India. They dated, fell in love, got married, and adopted two babies. One was a Vietnamese girl and the other was an Ethiopian boy. To add to this unique lifestyle his wife had influenced him to get involved with yoga and meditation.
In a nutshell, Denny had a wider range of life experience than most. He had gone from a privileged youngster, to a pseudo-hipp
ie, to a responsible law student, and ultimately to a non-traditional family man practicing Far Eastern customs. It was quite a journey.
Denny’s ego was huge, unparalleled. He would often walk into the courthouse wearing a wide brimmed cowboy hat. As Lucille and Matt looked around the room, they noticed it hanging on the hat rack. The brim must have been eighteen inches in diameter and atop it was what looked like an inverted coffee mug. That hat was Denny’s trademark piece of attire in addition to his usual jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers.
“We need some help,” stated Matt.
One other distinguishing characteristic about Denny stood out. Before he would answer or comment he would look at the client with the wide eyes of a fascinated child. His facial expression would resemble that of a person with chronic constipation. It was almost as if he was letting the time lapse away and he was counting up the dollar signs on the invoice that was to be generated.
For one not familiar with this trait, it was a revolting few moments before Denny would produce a response. All the while Lucille and Matt were wondering if Denny had dirtied his drawers. His breathing became slow and deliberate. It appeared that he had lapsed into a surreal state of meditation before he would elicit a response.
As Denny walked to the window to ponder his next comment, Matt said, “We believe that we were defrauded and swindled out of our property by a group of people that were involved with a fellow named Lew Zerrmann.”
