James Ross - A Character-Based Collection (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  January blended into February. The snow and ice melted. The thaw turned the golf course into a muddy swamp. Tuey’s equipment broke. He was cold from the freezing temperatures. LeVournique bitched more. His money was running out. The sewer line job was four months behind schedule. And the insulated camouflage suit stunk more than ever.

  Dennis K. Sneed had called and requested that Tuey stop by the law office. The attorney had some things to discuss with his client.

  “How can you stand that?” Sneed asked as Tuey entered his office. He waved his hand in front of his nose searching for some fresh air.

  “What?” Tuey asked. A vibrant smile was splattered across his face.

  “That smell,” Sneed blurted. Caked mud, animal feces, and food stains coated Tuey’s coveralls.

  The lawyer was quite the liberal sort. Through college he aspired to be a pseudo-rock star and smoked pot on occasion. After getting his law degree he started a household that could have made a United Nations meeting look tame. He was known for wearing a wide brimmed cowboy hat, and he always looked like he was constipated. Sneed loved causes such as Tuey’s. Civil liberties were his backbone.

  “It can’t be’s any diff’rent dan da way dat dis office looks,” Tuey said as he looked around at the boxes, files, and papers that were strewn about.

  “I can apologize for the way things look. You can’t excuse yourself for the way you smell,” the lawyer said. He reached for a letter. “Look, the reason I wanted you to come in is because we didn’t get very good news on the lawsuit that I filed.”

  “I thought you’s sed dat we’s got us uh good case.”

  “I still think so, but the judge didn’t.” He paused before stating matter-of-factly, “He dismissed the case.”

  “What duz dat mean?” Tuey had a hard enough time in life let alone understanding the nuances of the justice system.

  “It means that the court doesn’t want to have anything to do with your case,” Sneed said.

  “What’s you mean by dat?”

  “It means that we don’t have a chance to have your case heard in a civil court in front of a jury.”

  “How’s can dey’s do dat?”

  “Judges can do what they want.”

  “Den what duz we’s do now?”

  “We can challenge the court’s decision. It came with no reason for the dismissal,” Sneed informed Tuey.

  “How duz we’s do dat?”

  “I can file a motion with the appellate court to challenge the court’s dismissal,” Sneed said, “but that will cost you.”

  “How much?” Tuey wondered out loud.

  “I want four thousand dollars,” Sneed said, “as a retainer.”

  “Ooooooo, weeeeee,” Tuey said. “I’s don’t have dat kinda money.” He looked fatigued. The ordeal had been weighing heavily on him. He raised his hands to press on his temples.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you feel good?” Sneed pried.

  “I’s tired uh aw uh da BS,” Tuey complained. “I’s got uh headache from aw uh dis crap.”

  Sneed felt for his client but realized that their cause was up against insurmountable odds. “Even though we might have a case, I don’t think that it will go anywhere. We don’t have the money to take care of the judges like the opposition does,” Sneed relented.

  “What duz ya mean by dat?”

  “Look, the way things work in Illinois is that the guy with the deepest pockets usually wins the case,” Sneed explained. “For that matter it probably works like that in every state.”

  “How can dat be?” Tuey wondered out loud. “Can’ts I’s gits my day in da court?”

  “You would think,” Sneed agreed. “But we don’t live in a perfect world. It’s all about money over here . . . and this state is as corrupt as any.”

  “Why is dat?” Tuey complained. “Aw uh dese peoples be doin’ me wrong.”

  Sneed thought for a minute to try and explain how the justice system worked in Illinois. His constipated look changed as he thought intently in front of the black contractor. “Look, the judges are lawyers. The politicians are lawyers. In a lot of cases law enforcement people are lawyers. They’re not necessarily concerned about right or wrong as much as how much money they can put in their pockets.”

  “Dat ain’t right.” Tuey paused for a minute. “Ain’t dere sumptin’ dat we can do ’bout aw uh dis?”

  “The government won’t touch this hot button. That’s the way they’re set up,” Sneed attempted to explain. “They’re more interested in murders and rapes and bank robberies rather than crimes like this. Prosecutors won’t get involved.”

  “You’s mean dat dey don’ts care ’bout da peoples dat be wronged?”

  “Maybe on a cold day on the equator,” Sneed deadpanned. “They’re not interested in discrimination stuff and civil rights. It’s too tough to prove.” Sneed looked at his client and saw a defeated man. “If you want to fight then it will be at your expense and frankly there won’t be any lawyer that will take a case like this.” He stopped again to reflect. “I took the original deal thinking that we might get our day in court, but the courts ruled otherwise. I don’t have the resources . . . time . . . or money to pursue it any longer.”

  “What dem peoples be doin’ . . . I’s mean . . . it jus’ ain’t right,” Tuey lamented.

  “No kidding, but that’s the way it works. We live in a corrupt state,” Sneed said.

  “Den let’s prove dat,” Tuey argued.

  “That’s impossible to prove because no one will squeal on the others or talk. They cover for one another,” Sneed said. “It is what it is and we’re not going to be able to do anything about it.”

  “Ooooooo, weeeee,” Tuey wailed. “Den’s we’s lose.” He snapped his fingers. “Jus’ like dat.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Sneed acknowledged. “But it was still worth a try. At least we’re on record for trying that.” Tuey looked sad. The attorney felt for his client but added, “But that’s not the least of our problems.”

  “Dere’s mo’ to it?”

  Sneed rifled through the papers on his desk and handed a letter to Tuey. “Harold Syms has sued you civilly. He claims that you have been causing him undue delays in getting his subdivision open. He wants money from you.”

  “Den let’s git dat dere judge ta dismiss dat lawsuit agin me,” Tuey said with full knowledge of the tit-for-tat.

  “It’s not going to be that easy,” Sneed countered.

  “Why ya bin sayin’ dat?”

  “For the same reason,” Sneed said. “Harold Syms has more money than you and he will pay the judges to keep the lawsuit alive.”

  “Dat ain’t right!” Tuey yelled as he jumped out of his chair and pounded his fist on the lawyer’s desk. Then he paced across the office carpet and put his foot through a cardboard box of files.

  Sneed was visibly shaken. He had not imagined that a man of Tuey’s size could erupt so instantaneously. It caught him off guard. “Calm down. There are some things that I can do to delay the process.”

  “So’s what? It ain’t right,” Tuey protested.

  “We may feel that way, but if Harold can prove his case then we’ll have to let the jury decide that,” the lawyer advised.

  “Den nuttin’ much good has come outta dis meetin’.” He constantly stuck out his tongue and ran it over his lips.

  “But that’s not all of it,” Sneed informed his client. More bad news was on the way.

  “What’s can be worsa?”

  “Harold Syms had the backup contract on that land that you were trying to buy. When you didn’t get the special-use permit from the city, the seller accepted Harold’s offer.”

  Tuey pounded his fist on the desk again. This time the eruption was more forceful. “Dat ain’ts right either!”

  “We live in a cruel world,” Sneed said compassionately. “It looks like the city officials are more likely to work with him and his development plan for the prop
erty.”

  “What’s he plannin’ ta do wit’ it?”

  “Put in a shopping center,” Sneed advised his client.

  “But I’s still gotsta property unda contract.”

  “No you don’t. When the city turned you down for your request, the contingency on the contract expired. Harold is in first position to buy,” Sneed said

  Tuey slumped in his chair. He rubbed a steady hand over his head and face. His lower lip jutted out in a pouty look. His head was throbbing as he applied pressure to his temples. “Have mercy on dem aw.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  “You got your teeth fixed!” Ricki blurted as Father Blair approached her desk at the bank. She got up from her chair and doted on the priest. “Let me see!”

  Alpha Bear flashed his choppers at Harold’s assistant. “Do you like them?”

  “They turned out beautiful!” Ricki commented not hiding any excitement.

  “They should have. It cost me a lot of money.”

  “Hold on. Let me buzz him.” Ricki told Harold that the priest was waiting then returned to her conversation with Father Blair. “Didn’t insurance help you?”

  “Not as much as I wanted. They had an apple clause in the policy,” the priest said mildly perturbed at the fine print in the insurance documents.

  Ricki laughed. “Everybody wants a way out of paying, don’t they?” She looked again at his mouth. “The dentist did a wonderful job matching the color.”

  “Yes he did. Now I’ll just have to work on staying away from the fruit bowls.” Father Blair laughed at his own humor.

  “Have I been waiting to see you!” Harold said enthusiastically. The banker cocked his head and looked closely at his visitor. “You got your face fixed.” For a little guy it was surprising that he didn’t get cold-cocked. “Come on in.”

  The priest followed the banker into his office. “I’ve got a bit of news for you as well,” Alpha Bear said as he took a seat in the leather chair opposite Harold.

  “Me first,” Harold said. “Ha ha ha ha ha. We pulled it off.”

  “What?”

  “I got all of the money transferred and nobody knows anything happened.”

  “Did the money get to Namibia?”

  “Yes it did,” Harold confirmed. “And we got ours off of the top.” The banker got up and went to his personal safe. “I’ve got it all in here for both of us.” He dialed the combination, opened the vault door, and grabbed several bundles of hundreds. He threw one at the priest. “There’s enough in there to take good care of both of us for a long time.” Most of it is his, but I’m not going to tell him that I used mine to put in Ms. Harris’ account.

  Father Blair fanned the bills against his face. In spite of his compassion for his fellow man he was a slut for cash. “A lot of mine is already spent.”

  “What news do you have for me?” Harold asked as he closed the door on the safe.

  “The diocese has gotten the funding for the school and is ready to go forward.”

  “That’s fabulous! We should get zoning approval and the alteration to the city’s master development plan at the next meeting,” Harold gushed.

  “Maybe we can make some more for ourselves there,” the priest suggested.

  “That’s going to be trickier,” Harold said. “I’ve got a partner and you’ve got others to answer to. There are too many papers that work as a checks and balance.”

  “Find a way,” Alpha Bear said. The stack of hundreds whet his appetite.

  Ricki knocked on the door and stuck her head inside after Harold motioned for her to come in. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Not right now,” Harold said. “The priest and I might go out for a martini lunch.” He shook his head up and down enthusiastically at Alpha Bear. “Since we got the rest of that land for the shopping center and that business venture with that black church, and now the diocese coming through, I have plenty to celebrate.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  More and more sunlight crept into each day as the brutal days of winter were behind. The cold weather, ice, and snow that accompanied November, December, and January seemed to be removed from the touches of spring that were on the next pages of the calendar. Once in a while a heavy, wet snow would arrive in February and March, but for the most part everyone’s mood seemed to improve with the spring months on the doorstep.

  February saw the Cardinals, always a hot topic of talk in the Gateway City, break camp in Florida during the third week. The month brought warmer temperatures with each passing day. The move to daylight saving time had been pushed up a week to the second weekend in March. That meant more afternoon business for the owners of golf courses. It wouldn’t be long before the sunset was going to be pushed back to the eight o’clock hour. That was inching closer.

  The guys started showing up and hanging around the clubhouse at Prairie Winds more frequently. One unseasonably mild day with temperatures climbing into the low fifties, the guys gathered to shoot the breeze and catch up on a gin game. Tuey did his best to deal with the water runoff from the melting snow. A ball would easily plug. A divot after a shot would spray mud all over a golfer. It was more advisable to stay in and joke around with the guys . . . and in Captain Jer’s case, pound down a lot of cold ones. Despite the conditions, the guys were itching to get out and play. So they voted to give it a try as long as they could clean and place their ball. But mostly it was a round that was unenjoyable due to all of the sloshing around in the mud.

  Dr. DV, Pork Chop, Captain Jer, and Scottie P were in the first foursome. They were followed by Fred, Elia, YouWho, and Paul. As the first group came by the maintenance shed Captain Jer thought that it would be a hospitable idea to stick his head into the metal building and throw around a little banter. Tuey was sitting innocently on the couch petting Puddles who had curled up on his lap.

  “When I get old I wish that I could have a job like yours,” Captain Jer cried out when he saw Tuey. Fanbelt and Asia mingled near the mowers.

  “We’s jus’ takin’ our lunch break,” Tuey said rubbing the cat near the jawbone. Puddles purred loudly. He moved his free hand about his face as if he was swatting away flies.

  An unopened can of spam and an uneaten banana sat on the couch next to the contractor. “Aren’t you going to eat?” Captain Jer said when he noticed the food.

  “I’s don’ts tink so today,” Tuey said. “I’s not real hungry.” His breathing sounded labored, almost like he was out of breath.

  Dr. DV had an affinity for animals. He reached down and patted the cat on the head. “You found yourself a friend, didn’t you?”

  “Me’s an’ Puddles be real tight,” Tuey drawled. “Ain’t we?” The cat cocked its head, opened its eyes slightly, looked at the contractor, and roared its motor louder.

  “Are you still talkin’ to those animals in the cave?” Captain Jer asked.

  “Prolly three days uh week,” Tuey said lethargically. “But we’s had uh li’l fallin’ out lately.”

  Captain Jer laughed at the very thought of the black guy crawling into a cave and conversing with animals. The guys had gotten wind of Tuey’s activities and begun to wonder if things were right in his mind. “Over what? Didn’t they like the seven-course meal that you were serving them?” He had had several cocktails and chuckled at his own creativity even if no one else did.

  “Dat Bandit . . . he mean,” Tuey said. “An’ I’s don’ts trusted Deputy Matt or Socks or Nuts. Aw dey’s wants ta do is fights wit’ each udda ova da food. Aw uh da uddas do what dat Bandit tells ’em ta do.” He picked Puddles up off of his lap and let the cat nuzzle against his jaw and throat. The cat purred louder. “Now dat Mista Slime an’ dat Ms. Slitha . . . now I’s don’ts know ’bout dem.” Tuey paused and reflected on the time he had spent in the cave. “Dey’s kinda nica ta me . . . an’ I’s can’ts figa out why.” He stopped again. “Maybe its cuz dey’s don’ts eats da same food as da uddas.”

  “What do you feed them?” Cap
tain Jer asked playing along.

  Tuey looked down at Puddles. “I’s takes dem mice dat da cat catches.” His head nodded downward and he eerily looked out of the top of his eyes at Captain Jer. “Dey’s ’specially like it when dem mice ain’ts aw uh da way dead.” He paused again. “When dem mice wiggles uh li’l when dey’s be eaten den Mista Slime an’ Ms. Slitha . . . dey’s really like dat.”

  The very thought disgusted Captain Jer. Dr. DV stared at the contractor. He couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or if Tuey’s throat was experiencing spasms. The cat pulled its head back as Tuey’s throat quivered. Tuey let out a small cough. His breathing continued to be restricted. “Are you feeling okay?” the doctor asked.

  “I’s jus’ tired aw uh da time. An’ it’s so tough fo’ me ta breathe any mo’,” Tuey conceded. He looked like a worn out, beaten man. They noticed that he smiled less and had started looking haggard. “I’s tired uh fightin’ dem peoples down at da city hall. Dey’s sapped aw uh my energy.” He stroked the cat by its ears. “Dis is ’bout my only frien’ dat’s left.”

  Captain Jer wanted no part of the negativity. “Let’s get back to the course, doc. He’s wearing me out,” Captain Jer said. He lifted a can to his lips. “We just wanted to stop and say hi, not get a cram course on how to beat insomnia.”

  “And compliment you on a job well done,” Dr. DV added. He had always thought that Tuey was polite, personable, and well-intended.

  “I’s sho’ wishes dat da banka felt da same way ’bout my work.” Tuey paused and decided not to let the others know about the lawsuit that had been filed against him. He took another labored breath. “He bein’ mean ta me too.”

  “Good luck,” the doctor said as he and Captain Jer joined Pork Chop and Scottie P. The foursome played a few holes and came along the section of creek where Tuey had his excavating equipment parked. The boom box was blaring.

  “How can you hit with all of this noise?” Captain Jer complained. The rap of D. Wayne Smith/Shriek Caramel U-Hop echoed across the fairway.

  “Just tune it out,” Pork Chop advised. “Your game is so lousy it shouldn’t matter much.”