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

by James Ross

  “Dammit! Get away from that creep!” she yelled.

  J Dub wanted to stay calm, cool, and collected. He knew that they had started a plan of action with the due diligence and he had no intention of abandoning it. “We need to gather more information.”

  “Then get a move on it! This family can’t lose you. I’m scared he’s going to drive you to an early grave, dammit!”

  J Dub went to her side and examined her hand. “It’s a slow process.”

  “At some point you need to crawl out of that divot and stand up to the guy!” Marcia shouted. She made reference to the day that his shot landed in the divot and his life changed.

  “This fight is not just for me. It’s for all of us,” J Dub explained.

  Marcia’s eyes stung with tears. She was angry, aggravated and scared.

  “Then cover your tracks before I have to dig a bigger hole! The last thing I want to do right now is have to bury you!”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Later During the Summer of 1996 . . .

  The government had reached the critical stage of the investigation into tax evasion against Lew Zerrmann and Walter Hancock. The initial interview had taken place and both Lew and Walter decided not to talk unless an attorney was present. Ellie Hackett, Peter Dooley, Thomas Booker and Daniel Hayden all knew that the timing of the next move was important. They sat around a conference table at the U.S. Attorney’s office and discussed various strategies. It was agreed that they would act in a matter of days.

  Enough preliminary information had been gathered to indicate that serious crimes may have been committed. The government needed original documents and hoped to turn up more information that would solidify their case. “I’ve authorized the search warrants,” Ellie declared.

  “We’ll coordinate the raid with the FBI, the ATF, and the IRS,” Peter announced.

  “Peter, make sure that everyone involved knows that we want accounting documents to substantiate tax evasion and fraud,” Ellie stressed.

  Peter nodded and gave her assurances that that would be the case. Ellie looked at Booker. She stared at Hayden. The look in Ellie’s eye indicated the adrenalin rush that was flowing through her veins. She had been close to catching Zerrmann many years prior to this, but she could only get one of his associates. “I want to get his ass this time! No screw-ups. Do you understand?” she stressed. The men in the room realized the seriousness of what needed to be done. They nodded in agreement.

  The sunrise was very much like many others that had preceded it. Darkness turned to a gentle haze. Ground fog blanketed the low lying areas. A bright orange ball began to peek out from the eastern sky. This particular morning was similar to many others in the past.

  J Dub pulled his pickup onto the parking lot. He was greeted by Bogey. The dog jumped up his leg with tail wagging. He lapped at J Dub’s face. The boys started to roll in one by one for their cup of coffee and early round of golf.

  Lew slept in, which was customary. The rising sun cast long shadows as it shined on the grain bins and barn. There was no need for him to be at the pro shop at daybreak. He knew that J Dub had things under control.

  Walter had just parked his car and stopped on the sidewalk to take in a nice breath of fresh air. The birds were chirping. Rabbits and squirrels scurried in and around the bushes. He stooped to pick the morning paper up off of the porch and entered his office.

  The tranquility was soon disrupted. All hell broke loose at the three locations.

  The raid had been very well coordinated. Two FBI agents, two ATF agents, and two IRS agents were present at all three locations. Getting raided is not a pleasant experience. It is a way for the federal government to show its force in addition to legally seizing documents.

  The agents offered a fruit basket at two of the sites. To get into the locations they posed as delivery men. That wasn’t needed at the pro shop. That business was up and running and several golfers were present. However, it was an effective way to get onto the premises at Lew’s home and Walter’s accounting office.

  One of the first things that they established was whether or not there were any weapons that were readily available. The last thing that the feds wanted was an early morning shootout over some accounting files.

  J Dub was told to place his hands on the wall and he was frisked. The boys were in and out of the pro shop. They had gathered to play golf and once it became obvious that they had nothing to do with the business, the agents let them tee off.

  The agents wanted accounting documents for the past ten years. J Dub easily accommodated them. He took them into the office and showed them what file cabinets stored the records. They confiscated the originals and after about an hour and a half wrapped up their business and left the premises.

  It was a little different situation at the other two locales. Walter, who by nature was a nervous person, just about had a breakdown. After the agents entered the accounting office they had Walter place his hands on the wall. He was then patted down for weapons. Once it was determined that he was clean, they asked him to lead them to the tax records for Prairie Winds Golf Course and Lewferd E. Zerrmann.

  He was very hesitant to be helpful. In fact, Walter resorted to pacing back and forth down the hallway. He kept whining about his wife and needed to be watched each and every second. It looked like he was exploring ways to bolt out the door at any moment.

  Walter was clearly in an uncompromising position. He had been receiving monthly reports from the golf course for years and had been compiling twelve financial statements a year for well over a decade. It was clear that the feds were going to get everything that he had logged into his system. He let them have a free run of the place and told them to take whatever they needed with the hopes that they might miss something.

  There was no way that the agents would miss anything. With that sort of freedom, the agents took everything that they could legally get their hands on. They spent the entire morning at Walter’s accounting office and confiscated everything that vaguely resembled Prairie Winds Golf Course and Lewferd E. Zerrmann.

  Agents Booker and Hayden accompanied the FBI and ATF to Lew’s residence. Booker especially wanted to intimidate Lew on his own turf. He had the search warrants from the U.S. Attorney’s Office and wanted to demonstrate to Lew what sort of might he possessed. To do it within the boundaries of Lew’s fortress with guns trained on him would make an even greater impression he thought.

  The agents got through the gate under the guise of UPS delivery men. Lew came to the door in his underwear and was served the search warrants by Booker and Hayden. Shortly thereafter, Lew had his arms up against the wall and his legs spread-eagled. One ATF agent patted him down while the other had a rifle trained on him. Lew stood in his underwear and faced the wall. An FBI agent asked, “Any weapons?”

  The agents had done their homework. They were well aware that Lew had a stockpile of guns at his residence. It was fairly obvious to all parties that Lew was going to stay in that position against the wall for the better part of the day.

  Lew nodded his head. He was disgusted that he was forced to stand in his underwear in his own home with his hands on the wall. The mere order belittled him. His mind had already been working overtime. He immediately tried to figure out who was behind the raid. He made a pledge to himself to get even with whoever was responsible.

  “What firearms do you have?” the FBI agent asked a second time.

  “They’re everywhere,” Lew replied. He was not lying. He had a cache of guns in the dungeon. Several rifles were out in the barn. It was hard to guess where else Lew had weapons in his home. They were probably stashed in his office or bedroom. That was not taking into consideration the likelihood of a gun or two being in his pickup truck or motorcycle, both of which sat nearby.

  Lew shifted his weight and let his arms drop to his side. “Keep your hands against the wall,” the FBI agent ordered. The ATF agent raised the rifle and took aim at Lew. One look down the muzzle of the rifle
was a clear indication to Lew that they meant business.

  Booker and Hayden entered Lew’s home office. They looked around and started going through desk drawers and file cabinets. Lew turned his head to look over his shoulder at Booker. A look of spite and hatred enveloped his face.

  Booker had a personal feeling of satisfaction. Years earlier Lew had run him off of the golf course because he was black. At that time, Booker had to bite his tongue and take every bit of discrimination that was directed his way. Now he could extract his revenge . . . on Lew’s own turf. He stared back at Lew.

  The two IRS agents continued down the steps to the lower level of the residence. They noticed the bar but walked right past it. Booker went straight to the Uncle Sam yard jockey. He and Hayden both forced a chuckle. They couldn’t keep a straight face. The irony of the attempted patriotism was more than they could handle.

  That all changed a few seconds later when Booker took the set of keys off of the yard jockey and opened the bomb shelter. He and Hayden were shocked to see the stacks of bundled cash. The other items were equally as numbing. The piles of newspapers along with the chicken noodle soup, bottled water, tomato juice, and pork and beans were clear-cut indications that they were dealing with someone who did not think along the same lines as the vast amount of American citizens.

  The cheap detective magazine photos and Tupperware collection inside the bunker were disturbing to Hayden. The Nazi uniform and KKK robe sent shivers up Booker’s spine. “What the hell is this guy into?” Booker questioned.

  “It explains why he tried to intimidate you,” Hayden commented.

  Booker picked up Mein Kampf. “He must think that he’s a little Hitler.”

  “And by the looks of this fortress he might be . . . at least in his own small way,” Hayden added.

  Booker picked up a bundle of fresh one hundred dollars bills. “How much cash would you say is there?” Booker asked.

  “At least a million, maybe two,” Hayden guessed.

  “Ellie is certainly going to be interested in this,” Booker declared.

  “More than you can ever think,” Hayden replied.

  “Why do you put it like that?” Booker inquired.

  “She’s Jewish.”

  The mere mention of that caused Booker to bury his face into his hands. “We sure are getting more than what we bargained for this morning. Come on. Let’s see what else is down here.”

  The two men exited the bomb shelter and continued down the hall. They stopped outside the door to the dungeon. Booker jiggled the knob only to find that the door to this room was also locked. He tried several keys until one finally unlocked the door.

  What was in the dungeon shocked them more than what they had just seen in the bomb shelter. They took one step into the dungeon, stopped in their tracks, and peered at each other.

  Tied to the bondage apparatus was Lois. She had a gag in her mouth and had been beaten until her eyes were swollen shut. Her face was black and blue. She was dressed in black leather boots, crotch-less panties, a garter belt and wore a bra that allowed her nipples to show. “Who is this guy?” Booker whispered to Hayden.

  “Man. This opens up a ton of questions.”

  “But a lot of what we’ve just seen is out of our jurisdiction,” Booker conceded.

  Lois could feel the presence of people in the room. Her back had been facing the door. Due to the swollen condition of her eyes and the position that she was in she could not identify who was there. “Lew, is that you?” she meekly mumbled. Her voice choked on the gag.

  “No. This is special agent Thomas Booker and special agent Daniel Hayden of the IRS,” Booker stated.

  Lois squirmed. She was embarrassed to be caught in such a demeaning fashion.

  “Do you want to be released?” Booker asked.

  Lois shook her head in a negative fashion. She clearly was strangling on the gag. “I’ve been a bad girl,” she mumbled in a muffled tone.

  Booker and Hayden shook their heads at the pathetic site. They panned the room to see the Swastika, the cache of guns on the floor, and the large collection of sex toys. All they could do was turn and head toward the upper level.

  Hayden went through the desk and cabinets and catalogued everything that was related to Prairie Winds Golf Course. He rapidly boxed up the pertinent information and attempted to finish his portion of the job as quickly as possible. What he had seen in the lower level alarmed him. He felt as if he needed to get out of there so that Lew could return to the basement and release Lois.

  Booker snooped around in the office for more incriminating documentation. After over four hours Booker was satisfied that they had gotten everything that they needed to get. He moved toward the door. In so doing he passed dangerously close to Lew who was still standing spread-eagled in his underwear with his hands against the wall. “You’re disgusting,” he whispered in Lew’s ear. He was so close to Lew that Lew could feel the breath on the back of his neck.

  Lew cocked his head and peered out of the corner of his eye. “You get your black, monkey-ass out of my home. I don’t like your kind in here,” Lew said defiantly, “it smells up the place.”

  Booker turned and laughed out loud in his face.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Lew was miffed and sulked, but he was wise enough to know that he needed to get a lawyer right away to get the misunderstanding with the IRS settled as quickly as possible. He contacted Grady Patterson who had helped him out of the lawsuit with the Morton heirs.

  After hearing that Lew had problems with the IRS and taxes, Grady referred him to Garrett O’Connor, an high profile attorney who specialized in tax matters. Garrett looked imposing and distinguished. With touches of gray at his temples, he commanded attention when he entered a room. His voice was strong and clear, like that of a radio announcer and he used it to his advantage frequently booming to intimidate an overzealous foe.

  Lew set up an appointment and immediately got in to see Garrett. After hearing Lew’s version of the raid Garrett wasted no time placing a call to the U.S. Attorney’s office. The call that he placed got right through to the U. S. Attorney.

  “Ellie Hackett.”

  “My name is Garrett O’Connor. I have been hired by Lew Zerrmann. He wants to know what is going on.”

  “His home and business were searched yesterday.”

  “What does it involve?”

  “Lewferd E. Zerrmann is under investigation for fraud and tax evasion.”

  “Please have no further contact with my client. Send any correspondence to my office. He feels as if his rights were violated during yesterday’s raid.”

  “He was served with search warrants.”

  “I want you to have no further contact with my client,” Garrett said emphatically. The tone of his voice signaled that he was mad and meant business.

  Garrett ended the conversation right then and there by hanging up the phone. He turned to Lew who was sitting across the desk. “Now keep your mouth shut and don’t talk to your accountant either.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Life continued at the golf course as if nothing had happened. The boys joked with J Dub a little about how cute he looked with his hands up against the wall and his legs spread wide open. They got to go out on the course and play golf during the raid. Their lives were not impacted in any way, shape, or form by the actions of the government. So, to them, it was business as usual at the course.

  One morning as the ’96 golf season was winding down, Paul, BT, Rollie, Fred, Curt, Paco, and Elia were at the back table settling their bets. Bogey parked himself in his usual spot to take a nap. J Dub and Julie worked the counter. Paul yelled from the back of the room. “J Dub, you should have been out there today! We get to number six and BT stripes one right at the stick.”

  “It takes two bounces and goes in!” Rollie shouted.

  J Dub was well aware that BT had made several holes-in-one. “How many is that, BT?”

  BT had a smile from ear t
o ear. Getting a hole-in-one was every golfer’s dream. Many can play all of their life and not get one. Yet, if a person takes enough swings, then sooner or later the odds start to improve.

  There were countless stories about how guys had made aces by hitting the ball off of a tree, or off of a golf cart, or off of a rock, or rolling one all the way to the green and seeing the ball disappear. Those are only a few of the untraditional ways to score a hole-in-one.

  However, with BT it normally meant that he had hit a perfect shot. BT had the lean, lanky physique that allowed him to have a gorgeous golf swing. So his answer was not surprising. “That was my ninth one.” Many had come at one of the par three’s at Prairie Winds Golf Course.

  Fred thought that he would continue the story. “Bogey was down by the green when the ball went in the cup. He started going crazy.”

  Bogey heard his name and raised his head from the snooze that he was taking. He muzzled a soft bark. “Bogey, show J Dub what you gave BT for his hole-in-one,” Elia coaxed. Bogey, jumped up, ran to the corner of the pro shop, and fetched a pair of panties. He sprinted to the center of the pro shop. All the guys burst into laughter.

  “This was what had been lying next to the panties,” Fred hollered as he held up a plastic six-pack holder.

  “It must have been quite a night for some high-school kid down by that green,” Paul suggested.

  The afternoon amusement persisted until “Big Shot” boomed through the speakers. Julie looked at J Dub and rolled her eyes. She knew that the festive atmosphere was about to come to an end. “Oh crap. Here he comes again. You know, one day, I wouldn’t be surprised if Billy Joel sued us for associating his song with Lew.”

  Lew marched through the door. The laughter ceased. The energy level disappeared. Lew appeared ecstatic in front of all the occupants of the pro shop. “I fixed the first tee box!” Lew exclaimed.

  The first tee box had been a sore spot for J Dub since the first day that they walked onto the site. “That only took fifteen years,” he said facetiously turning to Lew. “What did you do?”