by James Ross
Chapter Thirty-Six
J Dub was still seething from the video camera incident later that night when he helped Marcia with some prep work for a catering job that was scheduled for the next day. It was one of the rare times when they were able to spend some quiet time together. He placed bananas, apples, and oranges in baskets to simply help out. J Dub was more than glad to spend a moment or two doing the time consuming things that Marcia needed to have done, so that she could devote her time to creative issues.
J Dub hoped that this time together would be conjugal instead of an argument session. After a long hard day J Dub wasn’t fond of what seemed to be entering the picture on a more frequent basis. J Dub asked a thoughtful question after the baskets had been prepared. “Do you need any more help with this tomorrow?”
Marcia’s reply was curt. “What if I did? You would be at the course kissing Lew’s butt rather than helping me. Don’t ask if you don’t mean it.”
“It’s my job to be at the golf course. You keep forgetting that the course will be ours one day.”
“If things don’t improve around here, then the money from my jobs will contribute to the down payment on my next house.”
J Dub kept his silence in an effort to calm the situation down for a moment. It was bad enough that he had the hassles with Lew all day; he didn’t relish coming home to hear how unhappy his wife was. It wasn’t like Marcia to make casual threats and such permanent ones made him feel even more vulnerable.
“What are you talking about?” J Dub inquired.
“I don’t like the fact that I’m second fiddle around here.”
“Marcia, that doesn’t make any sense. I’m up before dawn, working until dusk to provide for us and our family,” J Dub retaliated.
“And I’m getting the short end of the stick. It’s safe to say that you’re putting in way too many hours up there and not spending nearly enough time around here,” Marcia complained.
Feeling the frustration of trying to balance time on the job with family life, J Dub pleaded with his wife. “What am I supposed to do? We have bills to pay. Somebody has to put in the hours in the pro shop to get the job done. I can’t be two places at one time.”
“It just seems like your priority is the golf course.”
“It’s a big part of my life, no doubt. But it’s for our future. It’ll be ours someday.”
“I’m not so sure that we have much of a future. If things don’t improve around here, then I don’t know if you’ll be included in my future.”
“Oh come on, Marcia.” J Dub was in no mood to deal with these issues on the home front. “You’ve known all along about the time demands that the golf course would require.”
“I understand that J Dub. Asking me to live alone for all intents and purposes, even though we are married, take care of our child and run a catering business by myself is unreasonable. You and I are going in opposite directions. We’re growing apart. If things don’t change, then I’m going to make my current life as a single parent permanent.”
Marcia’s comments hit J Dub square in the stomach. He despised fighting like this and felt as if he was on foreign ground. He had put too much into the course to throw in the towel now. He stepped outside to sit on their porch. He stared at the moon and finally pondered to himself, Now what?
~ ~ ~
U. S. Attorney’s Office—Next Day . . .
The day of reckoning had arrived for Maurice DiMonte. He and his cronies had decided not to talk. It is hard to defend yourself with the silent treatment. However, some defense attorneys prefer to keep their clients off of the stand rather than subject them to some tough questioning.
Ellie Hackett was ready for him and had quite a little dossier compiled to convict him. She wasn’t about to let him wiggle his way out of this jam.
DiMonte was a bright, but shrewd, lawyer. He made the decision early in his career to step over the line and associate himself with an undesirable element. His plan was that he was basically above the law and that no one would be smart enough to catch him.
Through a series of, or better yet, a maze of electronic transfers, DiMonte had shifted, hid, altered, broken up, and reallocated millions of dollars of funds. To muddy the waters and create confusion, DiMonte had withdrawn funds, redirected monies, and minimized transmittals over and over again in an attempt to hide what was taking place. There was no doubt that reclassifying transactions was his forte’.
Ellie Hackett caught him with his hands all over the transactions. In her mind he was tied to Lew Zerrmann and Raymond Parsons but she couldn’t tie them to DiMonte. So she did the next best thing. She got what she could.
If DiMonte wanted to take the fall and protect his buddies, then that was his call. And so it was.
When the gavel came down and DiMonte got nearly twelve years, he practically went into shock. He couldn’t believe that a person with his status in life and his connections could be convicted as a first time offender and be required to serve a prison sentence. After all, he had been a prominent lawyer in the area. He had political connections that would be able to bail him out of difficulties. He couldn’t fathom that the case against him would hold any water.
However, as is often the case with white-collar criminals, they believe that they are above the law, so to speak. That may be the situation for those that don’t get caught. However, for those that do, the government wants to know what happened. His reluctance to talk further complicated his position.
As DiMonte was led past Ellie on his way out of the courtroom, he had one last opportunity to talk to his prosecutor. In a whisper that was barely audible, he lip synced the words, “You fucking bitch.”
It was the only bit of “come-uppance” he could muster for the woman that took a decade of life from him. After all, that was what it was going to amount to. Federal sentencing guidelines require that people convicted must serve at least eighty-five percent of their time. The length of time that he would have to serve was depressing news. But equally as depressing was the facility with which he was going to have to serve his time.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
1987 Golf Season . . .
The daily shenanigans continued at the golf course. Different things happened on different days, but a few things stuck out in J Dub’s mind better than others. J Dub would be hard pressed to forget the day that he was helping a couple of his regular players after their round. He had been walking from the cart barn to the pro shop when the two old-timers, Harold and Ferell, both in their sixties, stopped him.
Bogey was following closely behind him as he strolled over to their car. His easy-going nature was so deeply embedded in J Dub’s character, that it was a knee-jerk reaction to assist the old timers with their golf bags. He placed them into the trunk of the car.
“Did you fellas shoot your age today?” J Dub wondered. It was always a good sign for an elderly man to post a score that was identical to his chronological age. The closer to par, the better, was their mantra.
“Maybe by the fourteenth hole,” was Harold’s disgusted reply. All of them enjoyed a hearty chuckle at the familiar golf course humor.
As they were laughing it up and visiting, Lew pulled his motorcycle onto the scene. Lois, wearing white hot pants, a bright pink tube top, and stiletto heels sat with her legs spread behind him. The wind had exposed and magnified her dark roots and the nickel-and-dime sunglasses she wore made her look like a figure out of a comic book. Being the anti-social person that he was, Lew bypassed all the pleasantries of making a customer feel welcome.
He immediately parked the cycle next to the group, peered into the basket attached to the back of the cart, and turned to whisper something to Lois. He eyed a number of golf balls and reached into the basket to grab one.
Harold was cleaning out the golf cart, changing shoes, and putting his watch back on. He took offense to Lew grabbing the golf balls and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Where did you get those golf ba
lls?” Lew queried.
“I found them on the course,” Harold replied.
“Yeah, we found them in the woods and the lakes,” Ferell added.
“That’s golf course property and I want them back,” said Lew. To him that meant money out of his pocket. He reached into the basket and started to stuff golf balls into his pants’ pockets.
“Get out of there! I found them!” exclaimed Harold. He hurried to the back of the cart.
J Dub tried to stave off an ugly confrontation. “Leave them alone,” he said as he turned to Lew.
“Those balls belong to the golf course and I’m taking them back,” stated Lew.
“My ass you are!” Harold yelled as he pushed Lew away from the basket.
Golf balls started to bounce on the parking lot as Lew lost his balance. A small scuffle ensued between the Harold and Lew. Bogey started to bark and growl as he sensed Lew’s aggressive behavior. Lew scurried after the balls.
“What kind of a jerk are you?” Harold demanded of Lew.
“I want my property back,” Lew insisted.
Ferell added, “I’ve never seen anything like this. J Dub has taken good care of us over the years. I’ll be darned if I ever come back. This is my last time!”
“Take the damn balls!” Harold yelled as he reached into the cart basket, grabbed a handful of shag balls, and threw them in Lew’s direction.
Lew chased after the balls and stuffed them in his pockets. Bogey barked uncontrollably at Lew.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ferell said to his golfing buddy as they entered the car. They backed up and drove off of the lot.
After stuffing the balls into his pockets, Lew chased after Bogey who was barking louder and louder. He tried to kick the dog after it started to nip at his pants.
“Stop it, Lew! Jeez! What are you trying to do? Get rid of all our customers?” J Dub asked as the two irate customers exited the lot.
“We can clean these up and put them in the fishbowl for resale. Every little bit helps,” Lew replied.
“What kind of idiot are you? We lose two regular players so that you can make fifty cents!” J Dub was incredulous.
“You can’t let the customers run your business, J Dub.”
“Yeah, Bogey. Better to lose all our customers than miss the chance to sell golf balls for fifty cents,” J Dub muttered sarcastically to the dog knowing full well that Lew was in earshot. He began to walk across the parking lot and toward the clubhouse.
“If you want something to do, quit bothering the customers and fix the first tee box! In the meantime, I’ll check with Jules to see if she can break the bank for that small of a job,” J Dub mockingly yelled over his shoulder to Lew.
Not only had Lew done a good job of alienating J Dub, but he had roused Bogey’s animal instincts and set them on edge. It was as if the dog could sense his evil intentions. Lew’s behavior toward Bogey was a far cry from J Dub’s and the animal sensed wickedness.
Not more than thirty minutes later another customer issue came to the forefront. Even though the business continued to be profitable, Lew seemed to be at the center of another chaotic episode. Four young men, all in their twenties, had paid in the pro shop and continued out to the course for a nice relaxing day of friendly competition and camaraderie. As they were waiting to hit their drives on the third tee box the sounds of Lew’s muffler broke the calm serenity of the golf course.
Perry turned toward the other members of the foursome and said, “How in the world are we supposed to tee off with that racket going on? Look at that idiot out here. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
Will was by the ball washer and said, “Doesn’t he know that this is a golf course? Motorcycles out here should be outlawed.”
Stan was digging into his bag for another golf ball and replied, “That’s half the reason I come out here. I want to get away from all of that stuff.”
“I don’t know who the heck he thinks he is, but he’s headed our way. It looks like he’s got some babe out for a joyride,” stated the fourth member of the group who was nicknamed Tutti. He happened to be a large, heavy-set, red-headed, country boy that liked to drink a few beers while playing golf.
Not only was the sound of the muffler annoying, but Lew’s constant weaving between various groups of golfers was distracting and dangerous. It was hard to say what his motivation was other than feeling he had to be the marshal of the course. That was difficult to fathom since he didn’t know anything about the sport. At any rate, he was speeding over to the foursome of young men who were equally as content to keep playing golf and enjoy their day in the sun. With Lew’s arrival on the tee box that was all about to change.
“What’s in that cooler?” Lew stammered.
Tutti replied, “Beer.”
“Did you buy it in the clubhouse?” Lew inquired.
The foursome shook their heads.
With that response, Lew bolted off of the motorcycle and grabbed the cooler as Lois steadied the bike. He popped the tabs and started pouring the beer on the ground.
Tutti had already had a few and was known to have quite a thirst for a beer or two on the golf course. He wasn’t in any mood to see the iced down beverage flowing across the cart path. “Hey! It’s hot out here!” he exclaimed. “Cut it out!”
“Listen, Porky. I own this place. I’ll do what I want,” Lew replied.
“Then so will I!” Tutti yelled back as he reached into his bag for a golf club. “Get out of here before I wrap this around your neck! I’m thirsty!”
With a hot red head and a thirst to match, Tutti chased Lew back to the motorcycle. The club was cocked to make solid contact. Lew was genuinely scared by the actions of the kid and with good reason. He kicked started the cycle, waited for Lois to hold on tight, and popped a wheelie as he sped off.
“What a jerk!” Perry exclaimed. “How are we supposed to enjoy this round with that kind of nonsense going on?”
“I don’t know, but it’s too nice of a day to throw in the towel. Let’s forget about it and keep playing,” said Will. So, the young men continued playing. Two holes later the earlier incident was nearly forgotten when one of them noticed a police car with lights flashing coming down a fairway.
“Can you believe it? First a motorcycle and now a cop car,” Stan said as he stood over his ball to take a shot.
“On a golf course,” exclaimed the bewildered Will.
“That wacko called the cops!” yelled Perry.
Within seconds the police car rolled to a stop near the young men. A young-looking, rookie police officer as well as Lew and Lois exited the car. As they headed for the group Lew stammered. “The red-headed one came after me with a club.” Lois nodded her head.
The police officer was clearly faced with a dilemma. Being out on a golf course was out of the ordinary for starters. However, his allegiance was to the business owner that was making the complaint. “Is that true?” the officer asked the foursome.
Tutti tried to defend himself against the absurdity of the situation. “He came up to us and started pouring our beer out!”
“That doesn’t give you the right to go after him with a lethal weapon,” the officer replied.
“I wouldn’t consider a golf club a lethal weapon,” the red-headed, country boy pleaded.
“In certain situations it could be,” the officer insisted.
“We were out here playing golf and that guy came over and started bothering us,” Perry interjected.
“It’s his property. He can do what he wants,” continued the officer.
“Not on my dollar bill. This will be the last time we come here to play golf,” Will said.
“Let’s go in for questioning,” the officer stated.
“Right now?” Stan asked in total disbelief. He was ready to hit his next shot.
The officer was as serious as could be. He nodded his head affirmatively.
“Can’t we finish our round?” Will asked inquisitively.
Th
e officer shook his head no.
Perry then made a request. “Can we get rain checks for the holes that we didn’t play?”
Clearly caught in an impasse, the officer nodded toward Lew. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Lew had the law on his side. He was feeling awfully secure and felt that he was in entire control since he had the needed backup in his hip pocket. “It’s not raining today, boys. We don’t need your kind around here.”
The four young men found themselves in disbelief with the ludicrousness of the circumstances. Their relaxing round of golf was being turned into a trip to the police station. Tutti grabbed a can of beer and shook it vigorously. He popped the tab and sprayed beer in Lew’s direction. “Now it’s raining, asshole” he said.
Lew and Lois scurried for cover and raced to the security of the police car.
“We might have to look at resisting arrest charges now,” the officer countered.
J Dub and Julie had been working in the pro shop when they saw the police car speed through the parking lot and head down the fairway. They couldn’t leave the pro shop and the cash register unattended, but both knew that Lew had found the trouble that he had been looking for. Now the police car was returning from the golf course with two golf carts following closely behind. “It sure doesn’t look like the punishment fits the crime,” Julie said to J Dub as she peered out the window.
“What in the world has he done now?” J Dub asked. He bolted out of the pro shop, with Bogey in pursuit, and ran toward the police car as it was entering the lot.
Lew quickly got out of the squad car and yelled at J Dub, “See what happens when they take their own beer!” Bogey began to growl at Lew.
J Dub stood in stunned silence. He then tried to defend the golfers the best that he could. “It’s ninety degrees out.”
“They get drunk and cause trouble.”
“Did you put the radar gun on them or something and catch them speeding?”
Perry shouted from a golf cart. “We want rain checks!”
Lew reprimanded J Dub and said, “Get rid of them.” The tone in his voice caused Bogey to bark and growl.