by James Ross
J Dub took a quick glance at Julie. She had privately expressed to J Dub her dilemma with the sexual advances that Lew had made toward her.
“You two keep your damn mouths shut!” Lew screamed. The pressure of the IRS investigation had visibly shaken him.
Julie had reached her limit with Lew. “Go screw yourself . . . you lousy piece of shit!” She raced behind the counter and grabbed a video cassette. “If they don’t get you on tax evasion, then I’ll get you on sexual harassment!”
Julie grabbed her coat, flung it over her shoulder, and bolted out the door with the video cassette. She slammed the door so hard that the building vibrated.
J Dub glared at Lew. For years he had been a wonderful servant for Lew, but he too had reached his boiling point and now he measured his words carefully. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid you might not win against the tax man?”
Lew stared at J Dub, but J Dub continued. “Are they a little bigger than you and you don’t like it?”
Lew remained silent. J Dub was ready to release years’ worth of frustration. He kept going. “Or do you think that those black guys put up stiffer competition for your women?”
The anger was rising in Lew. His face started to redden. He bit down on his teeth so hard that his jaws seemed to pop out of the sides of his face.
J Dub kept pushing. “You’re no man! In fact if they dropped it off your name, do you know what you’d be?”
Lew started to clench his jaws harder.
“You’d be Lew Zerr! Which is exactly what you are . . . a loser! . . . A lifetime loser!”
Lew, shaking with anger, reached for the checkbook and wrote a check to himself.
“Go to hell!” J Dub shouted.
Lew ripped a check out of the checkbook and in an effort to mask his misery, glared at J Dub.
“Now get out of here!” J Dub hollered.
Bogey started barking as Lew headed for the door. Lew stomped out into the cold with Bogey chasing after him on three legs and barking incessantly. Once outside, Lew realized he was completely without transportation and frantically jumped on J Dub’s Truckster.
Lew was not at all familiar with operating the Truckster. As he turned the key and floored the pedal, the front tires unexpectedly raised off the ground, then lurched the vehicle forward to where Bogey stood barking. Lew heard the yelp and felt the thump as the wheels rolled over Bogey. “That’s what you get, you no-good mutt,” Lew hollered. “Next time maybe you’ll get out of the way,” he yelled as he delivered a kick to the dog. In seconds he sped off of the parking lot.
J Dub sprinted out of the clubhouse to where Bogey lay whimpering. Already his breathing was labored and a slow trickle of blood came from his nose. J Dub was on the ground cradling the dog’s head and whispering to him. “Bogey, you didn’t need to help me do the dirty work.”
On that dreary day in the howling wind, J Dub gathered Bogey’s broken body into his lap. There would be no need for a vet. He raised his knees, slumping forward and encircling the dog, bringing him close to his chest. J Dub felt his heart beat solidly against Bogey’s side. He rocked him tenderly, comforting him and talking to him. Bogey raised his head and looked into J Dub’s eyes. And there they stayed, connected as best friends in wordless understanding, until Bogey’s eyes fluttered to a close and his breath came no more.
Chapter Seventy-Six
The Next Day . . .
The cold front passed through. The weather was a little warmer and the sun a tad brighter the next day. J Dub shared his grief with Marcia at home the night before. After a sleepless night he came to a decision on where to bury Bogey. BT, Paul, Rollie, Paco, Elia, and Fred had finished their round of golf and had gathered at their table in the rear of the pro shop.
“I can’t believe the little guy isn’t around to go a few holes with us anymore,” Elia said sorrowfully.
“It happened so fast,” J Dub replied tearfully. “At least he didn’t suffer.”
“That damn Lew,” Fred cried out. “Somebody needs to slap him into tomorrow.”
“It’s over and done with,” J Dub blurted through sniffles. “Bogey was a good one.” J Dub took his handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “Say guys, you don’t mind if I tend to a little personal business by myself, do you?” All the heads at the back table shook from side to side. “Can you watch things for a while, Julie?”
She nodded. “Of course I can.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” J Dub said as he went out the door.
“What was he in such a hurry about?” Paco inquired.
“I think that he wanted to spend one last minute with Bogey,” Julie replied with tears in her eyes.
“Ole Bogey was getting around pretty well on three legs,” Rollie said. “We’re all going to miss that little guy.”
“Not as much as J Dub,” Julie cried.
“That little guy was a friend to all of us,” Paul stated. “J Dub will never be the same.”
“They did everything together around here,” Fred said.
“Bogey nearly made the coffee in the morning when we rolled into the pro shop,” Rollie stated.
“It’s such a sad day,” Julie said as she began to weep. “He was part of our family,” she sobbed as tears rolled down her cheeks. BT walked over and placed his arm around Julie. She reached for a tissue and wiped her runny nose. The sniffles wouldn’t cease. “I don’t think that J Dub wanted you guys to see a grown man cry.”
After the incident the day before J Dub had wrapped Bogey in his windbreaker that was soaked in blood. He had placed Bogey’s body in his bed and had covered it with a blanket. As he went to retrieve the body he grabbed a crate out of the cart barn and fashioned a makeshift coffin. J Dub loaded the remains onto the seat next to him and threw a shovel into a golf cart. He headed for the driving range.
J Dub finished digging the grave down by the driving range. He had shared so many moments with Bogey on the range that he thought that that would be the best place for his final resting spot. They would normally go over to the edge of the range. J Dub felt that it would be appropriate to put Bogey in the same spot where they had shared so much time.
In the past, Bogey had sat on the driving range on many days, cocked his head, and listened to J Dub vent his emotions. He would watch J Dub pound ball after ball to improve his game. When J Dub would take a break Bogey would roll over on his back and insist that his stomach be scratched. There was no doubt that this was where he belonged.
J Dub paused for a second and stared at the coffin that he had placed on the seat next to him. He grabbed the box that contained Bogey’s remains and slowly lowered it into the grave. After a brief moment J Dub did what he dreaded to do. With tears forming in his eyes, J Dub took the shovel and threw some dirt into the hole until the entire grave was full. J Dub angrily threw the shovel back into the golf cart.
Then he stepped back and sobbed.
It was over in a few minutes. J Dub gained his composure, got back into the golf cart, and began the journey back to the clubhouse. As J Dub pulled into the parking lot, Lew was parking the Truckster in his spot by the door. Dried blood was still on the front of the Truckster. “Big Shot” began to play. Lew bounced off of the Truckster and hurried over to J Dub.
“You can forget about buying this place now. It’s too late,” Lew announced as if it was punishment for the argument in the pro shop. He was oblivious to what J Dub had just done.
“What are you trying to do, kill me, just like all the others?”
“A deal is a deal.”
J Dub stood his ground. “And you’ve had home field advantage the entire time, haven’t you?”
“For a guy like me that’s worked all of his life, isn’t that the way the game’s supposed to be played?” Lew’s narcissistic behavior had reached a new level.
“Over my dead body,” J Dub blurted.
Lew reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a black velvet pill box. “Did you finally d
ecide that you want a little Nirvana?” Lew made reference to the cyanide tablets that he always carried, just like Hitler. “This will help serve the purpose.”
J Dub looked fiercely into the eyes of his partner. After biting his lip he turned and walked away. Lew had a pleased smirk on his face.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Thanksgiving 1997 . . .
J Dub lamented the fact that he lost his temper in the pro shop. He was aware that the blowup may have bruised Lew’s fragile ego so severely that fifteen years of hard work had been destroyed. True to form, Lew didn’t have the guts to walk into the pro shop to speak to J Dub. Instead, he sent a letter to J Dub addressed to the pro shop via registered mail. The notice informed J Dub to be at Walter Hancock’s office at three o’clock in the afternoon a few days before Christmas.
J Dub had a small number of days to prepare for what might happen. Another meeting was scheduled with Marcia, Curt, and Hank Lowery. “He told me that it was too late for me to buy the place,” J Dub admitted moments after sitting down in Hank’s office.
“That’s his prerogative,” Hank conceded. “It looks to me like it is the classic minority partner freeze out,” Hank offered.
“What is that?” J Dub asked.
“It sounds like he has already employed one of them,” Hank started. “In setting up the lease payments to himself he siphoned profits out of the corporation.”
“Is that illegal?”
“Not really. He controls the decisions made by the corporation.”
Curt butted in. “It sure sounds unethical.”
“It’s extremely unethical!” Hank stressed. J Dub was sick to his stomach. The possibility of throwing fifteen years down the drain was becoming a very real situation. “Can I get you something to drink?” Hank offered.
J Dub nodded. “Anything wet.”
Hank’s assistant brought sodas in for all of them.
“He’s a real clever guy. You’re up against a pretty shrewd adversary,” Hank ventured. “He doesn’t sound like much of a partner.”
J Dub was clearly worried about his future. “What move is he going to make next?”
Hank got up, walked over to the mini-refrigerator that was in his office, and grabbed more ice. His mind was buried in thought. “You won’t like what I have to say,” he started.
J Dub turned to Marcia and had a resolved look on his face. “My wife has prepared me for the worst.”
“It’s highly unlikely that he will sell you the business.” Hank paused a second to let the news sink in. “What he’ll probably do is one of several things. He could either sell off assets . . .”
“Is that legal?”
Hank nodded. “ . . . or he could transfer the assets to another corporation that he controls one hundred percent and dissolve the old corporation.”
“I suppose that is legal too.”
Once again Hank nodded. “ . . . or he may decide to merge or consolidate the company under a plan that is unfair to you.”
J Dub placed his hand to his brow and applied pressure. “It sounds like my butt will be sore by the time he gets done with me,” J Dub deadpanned, “despite the partnership agreement.”
Hank agreed. “He can do what he wants to you. He’s probably figuring that you don’t have the financial resources to fight him.”
“If it boils down to all of this, can you help me?” J Dub asked.
“Possibly from a consulting standpoint,” Hank answered. “You’d probably be better off taking some referrals from me and getting a top notch firm to help you. It’s more work than my practice can handle.”
“Thanks for enlightening me,” J Dub announced. “It sounds like I’m going to get an expensive lesson on what it’s like to live in the real world of business.”
Hank nodded. “ . . . From someone that will put up the fight of his life,” he said.
~ ~ ~
The investigation of Lew and Walter by special agents Booker and Hayden of the Criminal Investigation Division of the IRS had run its course. The evidence had been gathered, compiled, and presented. What remained was in the hands of the U.S. Attorney’s office.
Ellie and Peter had been working overtime on the case. Ellie’s tenacity had made her a very effective prosecutor. Her experience in the white-collar crime area was unmatched. After looking at all of the evidence and presenting it to the attorneys for the government in Chicago, she and Peter realized that the legal nuances involved did not make a slam dunk case. Yet Ellie was willing to personally put her efforts behind the scenes just so she could get Lew Zerrmann.
The two of them had many discussions concerning the complexities of the case. They thought that it would be wise to invite Booker and Hayden over for a brain storming session to see if everything was covered or some minute detail had been omitted.
Nothing glamorous can be stated about a business-like meeting in a conference room. There were no windows to shed daylight on the gathering. A pot of coffee and a pitcher of water sat on a tray at one end of the table. Booker and Hayden came prepared with their evidence. Booker had meticulously prepared a time line and documented every little detail in building a circumstantial argument.
“Have we uncovered every loose stone?” Ellie started.
“We know that it’s a complex case,” Peter added.
Booker was proud of the work that he and Hayden had done on the investigation. They had methodically gathered information and cross-referenced their sources. “Nothing has changed from our first analysis,” Booker said. “Except now we are more prepared with accurate and original documents.”
“He evaded taxes and we know how he did it,” Hayden included.
“It’s all right here,” Booker stated as he stretched his arms to show all of the evidence that had been spread out across the table.
“We have a few problems to deal with,” Ellie explained.
“It’s all circumstantial,” Peter clarified. “You know that we don’t have as great of a chance for success when we go that route.”
“We’ve got a ten-year history all written down,” Booker whined. “Between what the partner gave us, and the evidence taken in the raid, and the interviews, everything points to the obvious.”
“It doesn’t solve our basic dilemma though,” Peter stressed.
“Zerrmann hired Garrett O’Connor,” Ellie offered. “You know that. He’s the best in the business. He told his client to shut up.”
“Everything that we have is circumstantial,” Peter reiterated. “We have to get around that. It becomes too confusing for a jury to follow. We might not get a conviction.”
Booker and Hayden glanced at each other and shook their heads. They had gone above and beyond the call of duty in putting the case together. The last thing that they wanted to hear was that their efforts were not good enough. “We’ve tried everything that we know,” Booker conceded.
“Including a wire?” Peter suggested.
“You know about the fine line between avoid and evade,” Ellie put forth.
“All too well,” Booker said as he reluctantly nodded his head. His many years of experience had seen several targets go scot-free on technicalities.
“Garrett O’Connor is maintaining that it was an innocent mistake that his client made. It went unnoticed for a long time by the IRS, therefore the client thought that he was doing everything properly,” Ellie explained.
“He’s suggesting that his client avoided taxes rather than evaded them,” Peter chimed in.
“That’s a bunch of BS,” Booker lamented.
“Both of you know that and Peter and I know that,” Ellie agreed.
“But he can make a convincing argument to a jury,” Peter continued.
“So much so, that it puts the case in peril. You know how skittish our guys get on a fifty-fifty deal,” Ellie stated.
With the taxes that he avoided added to penalties and fines he owes us nearly four million,” Hayden interjected. “That’s easy to determine. We had
that figured out in the first forty-eight hours of this thing.”
“And we’ve got nearly a half million invested in the investigation,” Ellie added.
“The case is written down in black and white,” Hayden cried. “It’s not going to change.”
“And it’s all signed by the two of them,” Booker added.
“But we can’t prove intent if nobody talks,” Ellie conceded. “We need a taped confession. Look, I’m ready to take a chance on this case. I want his ass worse than anybody. But without a confession, everything’s down the drain. The thought of that disgusting racist spitting out the hook a second time absolutely nauseates me.”
~ ~ ~
J Dub notified Hank to meet him at Walter Hancock’s office a few days before Christmas. Julie was instructed to take care of things at the golf course. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he felt that his last days at Prairie Winds Golf Course might be numbered. For some reason it hadn’t seemed the same around there. Easy Earl was no longer around. Bogey was gone. The struggle to hang on had affected his attitude about life in general. That, coupled with the gloomy winter weather, brought about a mood of despair.
There was one thing left for J Dub to do prior to the meeting. He picked up the phone and telephoned a confidant.
“I might be ready to take out that insurance policy,” J Dub started.
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like in order to help myself . . . I have the opportunity to help you too.”
“What did you decide?”
“Where do you want me to be fitted?”
“Glory be! This will give all of us a better chance,” Booker exclaimed.
J Dub headed over to the Internal Revenue Service building and allowed Booker and Hayden to get the proper measurements for him to wear a wire. Even though the technology was quite sophisticated, the bug was actually simple and easily hidden. The quality of the sound was outstanding, too.
It was now up to Booker and Hayden to do what they did best. They assured him that they would be close by in a van and that plenty of reinforcements would be around the corner in the event that anything went wrong. J Dub wasn’t too excited about having his fate in the hands of investigators, but he had come to the conclusion that he needed to gather some evidence on his own in the event a civil suit was to occur at a later date.
