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

by James Ross

  Through it all Uncle Woo had gotten up and wandered around the room. Pork Chop looked like a groundhog waddling to water as he ran to corral his dad. “Pops, where are you going?”

  “It was too noisy at ringside.”

  “Ringside?”

  “Yeah, when that Giuterrez fellow knocked the champ down all the people started yelling and reaching over me and I had to leave.”

  “Where were you going?”

  “Into the casino. It’s too hot in here anyway.”

  “The casino?”

  “Yeah. To play some blackjack.”

  “Pops,” Pork Chop said before catching himself. It wasn’t any use to try to tell him they weren’t at a boxing match or in a Vegas casino. His dad would only insist otherwise. He grabbed his dad’s hand. “Let’s go take a walk.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  Pork Chop could only smile. “Yeah, I know, but let’s walk somewhere other than the blackjack table.”

  “That’s fine. We can go to the pool. All those models in the bikinis were doing a photo shoot earlier.”

  “Yeah. Good idea. Let’s head outside toward the pool.” The pair headed out the door.

  “We can get one of those drinks with an umbrella in it. I like the way those taste.”

  Aieshia and Julie sighed. “That’s sad to watch. I wonder if it is hereditary or something that just happens naturally.”

  “I always thought that alcohol might play a part.” The words from Carla came from nowhere. She was like a fly on the wall most of the time.

  “If that’s the case then Captain Jer has a bleak future.”

  “An’ Missus Porta too. She sho did tie one on a couple of nights ago,” Aieshia added.

  “What was the occasion?”

  “The sun set.” Carla deadpanned.

  “She sho do have it in fo’ dat boyfrien’ of hers.”

  “What did she do this time?”

  “It was dark. I was givin’ Pabby his medicine. Den I heard all of dis yellin’ an’ screamin’ comin’ from her cottage.”

  “Who?”

  “Both of dem—Missus Porta an’ Farley. At first it was hard ta make out cuz I guess dey were still inside. Den da door opened an’ Farley was outside pullin’ his pants up an’ tryin’ ta tuck his shirt in. He was holdin’ his shoes.”

  “Did any of the kids see it?”

  “I dunno. All dey had ta do was look out da window. She was yellin’ at him ’bout forgettin’ her birthday.” Aieshia’s eyes got big and she made a wide gesture with her arms. “Heaven forbids some man from forgettin’ yo birthday.”

  Julie laughed.

  “Den a wine bottle came flyin’ his way.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Followed by a bucket.” Aieshia flashed her teeth. They seemed to eat into her cheeks. “An’ dat po’ Farley he jus’ keep goin’ ta his truck strugglin’ ta keep his pants from fallin’ down ’round his ankles.”

  “She didn’t run after him?”

  “No. All she had on was a t-shirt. An’ dat po’ Farley couldn’t back his truck out of dere fast enough.”

  “You said that she must have it in for him. That doesn’t sound like it.”

  “Da story ain’t over. He was gone fo’ maybe fifteen minutes. He comes back an’ da lights dey shine on da cottage. He flashes dem a coupla times.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “She comes a runnin’ out.”

  “With more on than a t-shirt I hope.”

  “Yep. She put on a pair of jeans. An’ Farley gets out of his truck wit’ a present fo’ her. It was wrapped in a brown paper bag.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  “She sure musta thought so ’cause Missus Porta jumped up into his arms an’ wrapped her legs ’round his waist. I never seen her so happy.”

  “She was drunk?”

  “Ya betta believe it. She was toasted. After kissin’ out dere ’bout ten minutes dey went back into da cottage.”

  “For more of a birthday celebration.” Julie smiled at the thought of what might be going on.

  “That lasted ’bout ten minutes I’d say,” Aieshia said. “Den all hell broke loose again. Farley came runnin’ out da door wit’ his pants in one hand an’ his shoes in da other.”

  Julie started laughing as Aieshia’s arms were flailing around as she re-enacted the story.

  “Den she throws another bottle at him.” Aieshia acted like she threw a softball. “But this time it was full an’ she yells out dat it wasn’t da kind she likes. An’ da bottle breaks on da asphalt an’ all da wine splatters up against his leg.”

  “It doesn’t sound like she had a happy birthday after all.”

  “Dey jus’ go back an’ forth like dat all da time.”

  “It all sounds odd to me anyway,” Julie said as she took a sip of her drink. “They’re married but not too each other.”

  “It’s so crazy over dere when da two of dem get together.” Aieshia waved her hand through the air. “An’ den she wakes up da next day an’ goes ta work like nothin’ ever happened.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t think that you saw anything.”

  “She was too drunk ta care.”

  “Sounds like it is some sort of love-hate relationship.”

  “Either dat or she’s bi-polar or manic depressive.”

  “Or a functional alcoholic.”

  Aieshia’s smile was infectious. “She sho be dat!”

  Fred was pacing back and forth in front of Doc and J Dub as the horses were getting into the gate for the seventh race. “I don’t feel good about this one.”

  Doc shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only money.”

  “But we’ve come so far,” Fred shook his head, “and now we have money on a horse owned by a rapper.”

  CJ’s voice blared through the speakers. “And they’re off! Breaking early is Seedless Kiwi followed by Rocky Subway Ride, Closet Queen and Onion Ring Soufflé.”

  “Damn, this is the buffet race,” Fred whined.

  “Yeah, J Dub and I have the Special Pick Four.”

  “Go get some food,” J Dub said. “You’ve got plenty of time. They’re going a mile and a half.”

  “As the horses pass the grandstand Tupelo Trucker, Eggs ‘N’ Sour Cream, Springtime Corn Row and Toothpick Dilemma move to the inside. IdahoSpud trails the field.”

  “Idaho is a mountainous state in the northwestern part of the United States. Its capital and largest city is Boise. What most people don’t know is that it is larger than all of New England.” Suddenly the food that Shae had placed in front of Pabby was unimportant. “It is nicknamed the Gem State because almost every known gem has been found there. The Mountain Bluebird is the state…”

  “Shae.” Carla interrupted. The teen tilted her head, reached up and twirled the hair. “We’re here to watch the horse race.”

  She stopped as J Dub reminded Fred, “There’s a long way to go.”

  “Springtime Corn Row finds room on the outside coming out of the second turn! He’s followed by Eggs ‘N’ Sour Cream and Toothpick Dilemma. That trio is making up ground on the backstretch!”

  J Dub nudged Fred in the side with his elbow. “There they go.”

  “Go Springtime go! Let’s get them home!”

  “I played the Special Pick Four,” the pro said as he nervously tapped his foot. “I’ve got a lot more on this outcome than you.”

  “Into turn three Seedless Kiwi is fading fast and Rocky Subway Ride is having a rocky ride on the track. Closet Queen is looking for room on the inside and Onion Ring Soufflé runs wide.”

  “Get to the rail!”

  “Springtime Corn Row cuts to the inside to save track. Tupelo Trucker falters after some early success. Here comes Eggs ‘N’ Sour Cream running wide.”

  All the necks craned toward the monitor. Out of turn four the horses that the Prairie Winds crew needed were battling for position. “They’re all there!” J Dub yelled. “What are the odds we’ll hit it?”<
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  With the call CJ was on top of the action. “At the wire it’s Springtime Corn Row by a nose over Eggs ‘N’ Sour Cream. A half length behind in third is Toothpick Dilemma followed by Onion Ring Soufflé.”

  “He hit it!” J Dub yelled as he and Doc high-fived. The pro slapped Pabby’s closed fist. The teen had his head bowed and arm out as stiff as a shaft on a new driver.

  As the Prairie Winds gang celebrated J Dub positioned himself behind the teen and slipped his arms under Pabby’s underarms. He yanked him to his feet and gave him a big hug. “Are you my buddy?”

  “You better believe it! Always!” The round face, usually void of expression, broke into a toothy grin. Pabby wrapped his arms around J Dub.

  “That’s five in a row!” Elia yelled to whoever wanted to listen. Smiles were all around. The guys didn’t know who to share their genius with next.

  “Kool Kat Jay-Y delivered!” Fred yelled to Doc.

  “But the horse he has in the next race shouldn’t be a front runner.”

  “Which one is that?”

  GBz Q-Tip,” the vet replied. “Stay away from that one.” Emotions remained near fever pitch after TeaPartyRevolt won the eighth race. After struggling to pick a horse in the eighth race Pabby had blurted the winner and the guys ran with it. Neon Shoestrings, Milkshake Pillow, Oregon Condiment and Turquoise Wedgie were in the hunt but Pabby’s pick turned to gold for the guys from Prairie Winds.

  “That makes six in a row!” Fred hollered as the horse was led to the winner’s circle. He looked outside to the overcast sky that had settled over Hoof and Bridle Park and compared it to the sunny weather and photograph smiles that were being broadcast on TV. “I’d give anything to be in California now watching the last race live!”

  “California is the third largest state in the United States. It is located on the West Coast and borders the Pacific Ocean. California is the most populous state in the country. The capital is Sacramento. Much of the state enjoys a Mediterranean climate. The state flower is the California poppy and the state bird is the California Valley Quail.”

  “Shae!” Carla said.

  “You guys did good while I was gone!” Pork Chop said after he sat Uncle Woo at a table and joined the crowd huddled around the closed circuit monitor.

  “Only one more to go!” Fred shouted hardly able to contain his excitement.

  “I’m scared of this field,” Scotty P remarked.

  “Why be scared now?” Fred asked.

  “It’s a big field.”

  “So what? We’ve got the kid on our side.”

  “But there are fourteen horses in this race. A lot can go wrong.”

  “I don’t want to think how much the winning ticket might be worth,” BT said. “It would be the most I have ever won gambling.” The tote board was flashing the possibilities on the Seven is Heaven ticket.

  “My gosh! Those odds are in the thousands for most of the combinations,” Curt said. He looked at the ticket and saw the numbers grouped with Bumper to Bumper. “If we get the number six horse home in this race the odds are over 5,000 to 1.”

  “Goodness gracious,” Doc followed. He figured quickly in his head. “That’s over two million dollars.”

  The word quickly spread among the throng from the golf course. Pabby was treated like royalty. If the other patrons in the Turf Club weren’t aware of the group’s success it was only a matter of minutes before word spread. Sal was glad handing everyone that moved. The prospects of selling the winning ticket at Hoof and Bridle Park, a little track on the banks of the Mississippi for broken-down also-rans, was exciting. The track would get a small cut of the pie for selling the off-track betting ticket.

  Eyes were glued to the monitors as the horses marched out of the paddock area and were announced. They were paraded in front of the grandstand. Many turned around and trotted back to the fourth turn and galloped on the backstretch only to be led back to the starting gate.

  “Don’t lose that ticket, Doc!” Fred shouted. Half the field was in the gate. TodaysCut2morrowsScab balked and reared up in the air causing a slight delay. TooTightTankTop spun in circles and appeared to be juiced up on something illegal.

  CJ had the call. “As soon as FingerLakeFilly is loaded the race will start.” The handler led the horse to the outside gate. “This is a large field for the most prized race in horse racing.” He watched as gates opened. “And they’re off!”

  “MellowMuslim jumps to the early lead followed by Arizona Stinger, Kamloops Lass and Blue Sky Balloon. Looking for room is Tailgaiting. Running in sixth is Salem Trials. Breaking to the inside is Bumper to Bumper with LoneStarNag. Trailing the field is FenderBender.”

  Fred sighed. “Why do we always have to run at the back?”

  “So they don’t run out of gas too early,” J Dub explained.

  “That’s the way Pabby picks them,” Doc added. “He must know that and looks for the qualities that get them to the wire late.”

  “And in first place.”

  “Yeah, but this is too nerve-wracking!”

  “Running strong into the first turn it’s MellowMuslim.”

  “They can go back to where they came from!”

  “Hey, hey, hey that’s not politically correct,” Trot replied. “I don’t want that clown to ruin my party.”

  “Second by a neck is Blue Sky Balloon leading Salem Trials by a length. Looking for running room is FenderBender. Being squeezed is TooTightTankTop.”

  “Can’t blame that!” Captain Jer piped up.

  “Into the backstretch it is MellowMuslim falling back as Salem Trials sprints to the lead. On its heels is LoneStarNag followed closely by Kamloops Lass and Arizona Stinger. TodaysCut2morrowsScab comes up lame and is not a factor.”

  Pabby’s head was buried in the racing form. He raised it slightly and tugged on J Dub’s arm. “Now’s when he goes.”

  “Running hard on the inside and saving space is Bumper to Bumper as Tailgaiting is trying hard to match the pace. Blue Sky Balloon is sucking air as the speed proves too much. LoneStarNag and Arizona Stinger falter.”

  “The mile and a quarter distance is getting to them,” Doc shouted to Pabby. The teen smiled, bowed his head and extended his arm.

  “Coming out of the fourth turn in tight traffic it is Bumper to Bumper, Tailgaiting and FenderBender bunched together like grapes on the vine.”

  “It sounds like a helicopter reporter describing an interstate pileup,” Trot quipped.

  “It’s a three horse race to the wire!” CJ shouted.

  “Come on Bumper to Bumper!” Pork Chop urged. “Tailgaiting takes the lead by a neck as FenderBender looks for running room outside. Bumper to Bumper surges under the whip on the rail. And at the wire it’s…”

  “Who won?” Fred yelled.

  “I couldn’t tell.” Pork Chop answered. “Who saw the end?” He turned and asked the other guys.

  “It was too close for me to see,” Curt answered.

  “I couldn’t tell either,” Doc replied.

  “What happened?” The guys gazed at the monitor.

  “It’s a photo finish,” CJ called. Slow motion replays showed the ending over and over. “And now a word from our sponsors.”

  “The fix is on!” Fred yelled.

  “We’ve got a couple million riding on this snapshot,” Pork Chop replied. “Could any of you guys tell who finished first?”

  “From my angle I couldn’t see.”

  “This is killing me,” Fred complained. “Now we have to wait on the track official.” His head moved back and forth. “I just know they’re going to screw us.”

  “They have to call the race as it is,” Doc countered. “There are too many people watching.”

  The word PHOTO flashed repeatedly on the board. The race was still unofficial. Each second added to the agony. “How long are they going to take?”

  A moment later the word froze. The track put the number 6 up as the winner of the race. Pandemonium broke loose among
the group from Prairie Winds. “We won! We won! We won!”

  As much as Doc was celebrating he also had one eye glued to the tote board waiting for the Seven is Heaven odds to be posted. Up flashed 5222. His mind calculated the total. “Holy shit. J Dub, that’s a little over 2.1 million.”

  The head pro smiled. “Well, that just solved a few of my legal problems.” He shook the vet’s hand. “Unless the lawyer’s get all of it.”

  “Are we still buddies?”

  “You better believe it!” The teen got up from his chair and extended his arm to tap fists. Then he put his arms along his sides and jumped up to tap shoulders with J Dub.

  CHAPTER 62

  Daylight savings time had ended for the year. Darkness had already set in. The celebration was going to continue well into the night. Doc and J Dub picked up the tab for the Turf Club with a hefty tip to the waitress, chef and hostess. They even slipped a couple of hundred bucks to Sal. Pork Chop had arranged for a van to pick up Uncle Woo and take him back to the retirement home. The kids jumped into the Footprints of Hope van for the trip back to the foster home. The adults would continue to frolic.

  “Call a limo to take us to the Digit,” Captain Jer coaxed. He surprisingly paced himself very well through the afternoon. Twelve beers had not fazed him.

  The idea was quickly discarded. A plan was in place so the entourage set it in motion. The main difference was that the group was in a celebratory mood. No one in their wildest dreams expected the group of public golfers to parlay a few hundred bucks into a 2.1 million dollar jackpot.

  It was between six thirty and seven when the group arrived at Stub’s. The joint was so unique that half the world called it “the Digit” and the other half called it “Stub’s.” But everyone in the St. Louis area knew the eatery/bar/entertainment hub was one in the same and the place to mingle with as diverse a crowd imaginable.

  BowTye was scheduled to fill-in with Daddy Mac and the Furkinators, but that show wasn’t to start until eight. He used his connections to make sure that the boys got a reserved table next to the stage. Once seated it was a mere formality to join the festive mood that had been building since noon.

  A mortal would think that after four trips through the buffet line at the Turf Club Pork Chop and Fred wouldn’t have any room left for peel-and-eat shrimp. But before the entire group was united the pair had found a way to have their cardboard shrimp buckets filled with a dozen critters and hot sauce. Everyone had a serving of free popcorn placed in front of them courtesy of the two runners, YouWho and Elia. Doc, J Dub and Paul went straight to the food line to get the order placed. That normally was a block long and wasn’t any different on this particular night.