James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “Don’t take it personally, Pudge,” J Dub said, “but I oughta tell you to get your butt out of here.”

  The lawyer shrugged. “That’s the gist of what is going on.” He placed his file back into his briefcase and snapped it shut.

  “You don’t want to tell him about the other stuff, do you J Dub?”

  “What other stuff? As your lawyer I need to know.”

  J Dub sighed. “It’s not related to this case.” The prospects of more legal bills made him want to throw up.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know what is going on. It’s like there is a conspiracy out to get me.”

  “Oh, it can’t be that bad.”

  “I’ve never had a ticket in my life. A few weeks ago a cop pulled me over. I get a ticket for driving a couple miles over the speed limit. Then he adds that I had too much tint on my windows and my seat belt wasn’t fastened.” J Dub shakes his head. “After that the mailman delivers an empty package and we think a postal service employee stole the contents. The cops cite me for filing a false police report. Then a couple of days ago we have a logjam on the course. I go to speed up play and a golfer gives me a sucker punch. The cops come and say I instigated the confrontation and the guy was acting in self-defense. I get slugged and get charged with assault!”

  “That’s all on top of this lawsuit,” Curt said.

  “Do you need help?”

  “Of course, dammit!” In a rare fit of anger J Dub fired a magazine across the room and watched as it slammed into the wall.

  Pudge grabbed a calculator and plugged in some numbers. “Well let’s see. You’re going to need a lawyer for all of that.” His fingers worked overtime. “The traffic stuff we can get settled.” He pushed more buttons. “We’ll have to defend you against the false police report.” He looked at the numbers that he added. “Now, defense of the assault charge will be a little different.” He looked against the wall in thought, winced, figured some more stuff in his head and punched the calculator. “It going to cost you…”

  “How much?”

  “Somewhere in the neighborhood of another fifty thousand. With that and the lawsuit we probably should add at least another twenty-five thousand to the retainer.”

  “Do us both a favor, Pudge,” J Dub barked. “Get the hell out of here right now.”

  CHAPTER 58

  J Dub stormed out of the office and escorted Pudge to the door. The pro disappeared outside briefly, shook the lawyer’s hand and returned to face the gang that had congregated for their tee time. The air outside was brisk. Leaves were falling rapidly. The course was soggy. Cash was going to be tight the next few months. None of that improved J Dub’s mood.

  Trot was on his third Bloody Mary. Captain Jer had at least two shots to go with his morning beer. Pork Chop already had food stains down the front of his shirt and Fred was oozing crème out of the backside of a pastry. “Are we going to be able to take the carts off the path today?” Pork Chop asked.

  J Dub’s reply was terse. “No.”

  “What’s crawled up your tailpipe today?” Trot quipped. Julie was behind her boss waving her arms trying to alert the guys to lay off.

  “It’s wet out. I don’t want to ruin the course.”

  “I guess I can tough it out,” Pork Chop conceded. “I’ve been working out and getting into better shape.”

  Julie laughed loud enough for everyone in the clubhouse to hear. “What do you consider a workout? Walking from your car to a Waffle House?”

  “After he has a short stack of pancakes, three eggs, hash browns, ham, biscuits and gravy with wheat toast he scurries off to the bathroom,” Trot followed. “That little sprint is what gets his heartbeat up.”

  The comment caused J Dub to crack a grin. He looked at his buddy’s belly. The shirt was hanging out. Fresh air was hitting the skin below the navel. The belt’s purpose was to keep the stomach from sagging too much more. “I’m glad that walk from the cart path to the ball won’t wear you out.”

  “He’s almost as big as that guy that just left. Who was that?” Captain Jer asked.

  “A lawyer.”

  “Ooooo. A fat cat lawyer it looks like,” Trot adlibbed. “He hasn’t missed any meals either. That’s one well-fed guy.”

  “With the fees he charges he can afford the food.” J Dub looked at the receipt tape. “No more freebies for you guys. It’s all going to the lawyers.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with our country,” Paul said.

  The comment was just enough to start J Dub on a rant. Lawyers had become more and more a favorite topic of the gang. “You know, it’s getting tougher and tougher to live. You got the taxes…”

  “And the way the politicians…”

  “Who are lawyers by the way…”

  “ . . . mishandle the public trust and sell the citizens of this country down the river.”

  “On top of that the insurance guys don’t want to pay claims. Then you have the price of gas going out of sight and food costing a fortune. The mortgage company wants their interest.” J Dub continued. “There aren’t enough golfers to run through the door to take care of it. A small businessman doesn’t stand a chance anymore.”

  Trot raised an empty glass in the air and signaled for Julie to get him another. He grabbed the broom.

  “Trot, if you start I’m not going to make one for you.”

  “Then I’ll start drinking some of Jerry’s beer.” He watched as she reluctantly poured a shot of vodka into a glass. A clearing of the throat followed.

  “We’re going to get a free performance,” Captain Jer said.

  “I can feel the excitement in the audience.”

  Trot raised the end of the broom to his mouth. “Have you heard what you call a lawyer that doesn’t chase ambulances?” Trot prompted his listeners. “Retired.”

  “Trot, pleeease,” Julie pleaded. “We’ve heard all of these.”

  “What do lawyers use for birth control?” The guys shrugged their shoulders. “Their personalities.”

  Julie rolled her eyes and looked to be praying for the nonsense to stop.

  “How can you tell when a lawyer is lying?” Nobody had a guess. “His lips are moving.”

  The guys chuckled while Julie saw an opportunity. She loaded his drink with Tabasco sauce, Worcestershire and cayenne pepper. Sniffles followed. Her nose was running.

  “What’s the difference between a dead skunk in the road and a dead lawyer in the road?” The guys were at a loss for an answer. “There are skid marks in front of the dead skunk.”

  Julie stirred the drink as the ice melted in front of her eyes.

  “What’s the difference between a lawyer and a liar?” The guys waited for the answer as Julie delivered the drink. “The pronunciation.”

  She handed him the latest version of a Blood Mary which was now lethal enough to run a nuclear reactor.

  Trot gestured happily as he took the glass. “Say Julie, how does a pregnant woman tell that she’s carrying a future lawyer?”

  “I’ve got no idea, Trot.”

  “She’s got an uncontrollable craving for baloney.”

  The guys were grabbing their sides as Trot took a sip. “Holy sh… ! What are you trying to do? Make me crap razor blades?”

  “You said you wanted it spicy.”

  “Let me ask you a question. If a lawyer and an IRS agent were both drowning and you could only save one of them would you go to lunch or read the paper?”

  “Trot! That’s terrible.” Julie turned and faced him. “Yours are so old. What do you call a group of skydiving lawyers?”

  The comic was tongue-tied. He gave her a bewildered look.

  “Skeet.” Julie turned and walked back to the register as the guys roared.

  Trot raised his glass in the air and feigned a toast. “Good one!”

  “You guys get out of here,” J Dub said as the gang scrambled to their feet. “The first tee is calling your name.”

  “Remember
that Saturday is the last date we’re posting scores,” Fred said as he looked at the poster board. “We play in the morning then it’s over to Hoof and Bridle Park for the Thoroughbred Challenge. J Dub got us reservations in the Turf Club.”

  “And after that we’re headed to Stub’s Missing Digit to wrap up the night,” Captain Jer reminded the guys. “BowTye is playing with Daddy Mac.” A smile and the “thumbs up” sign came from the shoeshine area.

  As the guys filed out the door Trot threw out another one-liner. “What did the lawyer name his daughter?” No one answered. “Sue!”

  Julie waved the guys out the door, opened the register and counted some money. She took fifty dollars and turned to J Dub. “I need to get some ones from petty cash.” She turned and went into the office and was startled after entering. Curt was on the computer. “Have you been in here the whole time?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You missed the show.”

  “What show?”

  “Trot was giving us a sample of his act.” She switched out the money for the one dollar bills and noticed Curt shutting down the computer. “What are you doing?”

  “Some research.”

  Julie walked toward the door. “Yeah right. You’ve been spending a lot of time on the computer lately. Do you have a girlfriend or something?”

  CHAPTER 59

  “Pabby, we missed you,” J Dub said as the foursome from Footprints of Hope entered the clubhouse. The lad had not been able to stop by for two weeks because of the pizza fiasco. During that time October had passed into November. The pro came over and shook Pabby’s hand. “Now come on, give me a firm handshake and not that wet fish grip.” The kid remembered.

  “You’re my buddy.”

  It was Saturday morning and the guys had already teed off. They were expected back any minute. The chilly weather had caused them to bundle up and their object was to play a speedy round. The course was clear and it wasn’t unheard of for them to complete eighteen holes in about three hours.

  “Are you ready for the Turf Club?” J Dub asked.

  Pabby grinned. He had several racing forms in his hand. J Dub and Doc made sure that he was getting up-to-date information. The Thoroughbred Challenge was a once a year event that attracted horses from all over the world. This year the event was to be run in California and wagering on the races was heavy. Virtually every horse racing track in the country had a closed circuit feed. Hoof and Bridle Park had already closed for the season but they were open for business as usual for the Thoroughbred Challenge. The guys from Prairie Winds wanted to ride Pabby’s picks to the winner’s circle.

  Shae twirled the hair by her ear around her finger. She could do that for hours a day. But that ceased when she heard a tune playing on the radio that Julie had behind the counter. She had memorized all the words to “Loving My Lover” by Rolenza Fontaine. Shae stopped, tilted her head to pick up the tempo and moved to the center of the room. Her voice repeated every word as she sang along with Rolenza.

  “That’s her favorite song,” Carla said.

  Pork Chop was the first one through the door and headed straight to the counter. “I need to get something to drink before I get Pops.”

  “You’re bringing him to the Turf Club?” Julie asked.

  “Yeah it will be good for him to get out of the retirement home.” He rubbed his nose. “Hand me a Diet Mountain Dew.”

  His wide frame hid two barstools from view. He stood gazing out the window as the others filed through the door. A simple task like walking into the clubhouse caused him to pause and catch his breath. His breathing was labored as he savored the taste of his first sip.

  “Are you going to stand there all day or get moving?” Julie asked.

  “I’m relaxing for a minute.”

  “There’s a line forming behind you.”

  Pork Chop turned and saw Elia waiting to be served. “You’re quiet. I didn’t hear you.” His mind was somewhere else. He wondered if he was as out of shape as his body told him.

  “I must walk like an Indian.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t Scotty P standing there with his pants down. Then I would have had something to worry about.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Julie said. “I doubt that you’re his type.”

  Pabby sat in a booth with his face buried in the racing form. His eyes were four inches from the type. Doc and J Dub had told him that they needed to have winners in every race. While he was grounded he studied the horses. After watching his success percentage soar few doubted that he knew what he was talking about.

  Fred removed the poster board from the wall. “We’ll post today’s scores at the Turf Club.” He rolled the scoreboard into a cylinder and traded the tacks to Julie for a rubber band. “We have to leave in ten minutes. The first race goes in a little over an hour.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Pork Chop said. “I’ve got to swing by the home and pick up Pops.” He left with half of a can of Mountain Dew. The rest of the guys weren’t far behind.

  The caravan wound down the entrance road and cascaded off the bluff. The cars traveled along the Mississippi then turned to cross some of America’s richest farm land. A hodge-podge of zoning decisions placed trailer storage lots next to salvage yards. Railroad ties, slag piles and rock salt sat next to an abandoned foundry. A vacant hog slaughterhouse was now a shelter for the homeless. Graffiti-covered rail cars sat idle on the tracks. A semi-pro baseball stadium was a few hundred feet from a light airplane landing strip.

  Nightclubs with nude dancing, pawn shops and liquor stores occupied strip malls as landlords covered vacant storefronts with FOR LEASE signs. An auto detailing shop sat next to a tool and die shop. Some billboards were littered with graffiti while others had sections of messages peeled away. A grain elevator looked like a lone New York skyscraper rising out of the plains. Finishing touches were being placed on a local MooseMart complex that attempted to resurrect the faltering economy.

  Doc negotiated the pot holes that were scattered at the entrance of Hoof and Bridle Park. He rolled the lead vehicle into the valet parking area. Since live racing was closed for the season only a fraction of bettors would attend the closed circuit broadcast. General Manager Sal Lucci planned to open the main pit under the grandstand to the racing faithful that needed their afternoon fix. The more sophisticated horse fan would be wined and dined in the luxury of the Turf Club. Leather chairs, plush carpeting and tablecloths set a totally different mood and kept the high rollers away from those that hadn’t shaved, showered or bought clothes made from China at the recently opened MooseMart.

  Sal, fresh from a facial trim and dome razor cut, was all smiles as he led the Prairie Winds party to their reserved section by the window. Plasma television sets were installed on each table. An unobstructed view of an empty track, tote board and finish line set the mood even though the live races would be run in California. A private cocktail waitress made Captain Jer’s day. A chef sliced slabs of prime rib at one end of the buffet. Assorted cheeses, fruits, salads and veggies were available along with an ice sculpture loaded with fresh shrimp for those that wanted to peel and eat.

  J Dub had made arrangements with Sal. The guys all pitched in evenly. They felt that if they had to itemize much of their day would be spent figuring out the bill. The group totaled twenty people but the tab was going to be divided thirteen ways to accommodate the guests. It was the end of the golf season. The guys wanted to treat Pabby, Shae, Aieshia, Carla, BowTye, Uncle Woo and Julie. Even Captain Jer benefited from the generosity. The liquor tab was going to be divided evenly, unless someone won big. If the winnings were substantial the guys left it to the discretion of the winner to pay for the whole day. Doc and J Dub planned to bet heavily.

  The guys were shooting for the Seven is Heaven special betting option that was available on the gambling menu. The object was to pick the winning horse in races three through nine. Any bettor across the nation that did that looked to cash in with yet-to-be-determ
ined odds. In past years the pot had topped several million dollars as the task was almost impossible to achieve. If a person has a better chance to be struck by lightning seventeen times than win the Powerball, then picking seven straight winners in the Thoroughbred Challenge was almost as difficult.

  “Hey Doc, who is in charge of the pot?” Fred asked as Pork Chop arrived late with Uncle Woo. The old man had his hair slicked down and was wearing his Sunday clothes.

  “I am. You guys can put as much as you want in the Seven is Heaven pot and if we hit it we’ll divide the pot percentage-wise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I bet a couple of hundred dollars and you only bet five bucks then my share will be forty times greater than yours.”

  “I didn’t know you were that good with math.”

  “What are most of the other guys putting in?”

  “It’s going to vary.” Doc got out a pad and pen and started writing down names. “I’m sitting in the window taking bets for our group. Come on over here and let me know how much you want to put in.”

  “Are you ready, Pabby?” Pork Chop asked. Outside of Doc and J Dub he was probably the biggest gambler of the bunch. The teen looked up from the racing form meekly. He moved his head ever-so-slightly. “Good. I’m in for a fifty.”

  “What’s the consensus in the first race?” BT asked. “I want to see how he starts off.”

  “I’m going with Toronto’s Allure,” Elia said.

  “Huh? Wrinkled Raisin is the favorite. You have to bet that horse,” Paul countered.

  Curt looked up from his program. “I like the number six horse.”