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

by James Ross

  Over the years he had kept his hair cropped short but let his sideburns grow to the bottom of his ear. Dave had a cleft chin and a heavy beard that forever produced a five o’clock shadow. His nose showed the effects of being broken six different times from a score of street brawls with kids that could land a punch faster than he could. A puffy lower lip was the result of about three dozen stitches. If his facial features weren’t intimidating enough, his menacing brown eyes struck fear into timid souls and sealed the deal.

  Dave originally thought that he wanted to pursue a career in criminal justice and become a local cop. However that was discarded after about eighteen months of training. A friend of a friend had a line on a job and got him on with the brewery. He began to enjoy a steady paycheck and all of the perks that a large employer and the local union could provide. Dave didn’t like anyone to mess with him. He had a short fuse that probably found common ground with Tina’s.

  “Justin was telling me about how his day went,” Tina said cheerfully.

  “Good, he can find out what work is all about. The sooner he starts funneling his checks to us, the better,” Dave scoffed. Justin had his back to Dave and only heard his voice. He looked at his mom and mimicked the unrelenting task master.

  “Don’t be so hard on him, Dave. It was his first day,” Tina said as she reached for a spatula to flip the meat.

  “Anyway, Mom, after that,” Justin returned to his story, “Curt introduced us to maybe the biggest, fattest guy I have ever seen in my life.”

  “That shouldn’t come as any surprise,” Dave butted in. “None of those guys over at the golf course ever work.”

  Justin stuck up for Fred. “This guy did. He worked the night shift and always came right over to the clubhouse to help them open up. He even let Keith and I have some of his doughnuts.”

  “No wonder he’s so big and fat. Doughnuts aren’t the best thing to be eating,” Dave reminded the family.

  “Fred told us that too. He was mad that he had gotten so big. He couldn’t even reach down to tie his shoes. Then he told Keith and I to eat good food and hold back on our portions,” Justin stated.

  “See, Dave,” Tina scolded her husband. “He’s already learning good lessons from his job.”

  “Then after that, Mom, I played with the neatest little kitten that I want to bring home if you’ll let me.”

  “We’re not going to have any cats in the house,” Dave said.

  “Why?” Justin complained.

  “Because they’ll get hair all over the place and the house will smell like a cat box,” Dave stood his ground.

  Justin looked back at his mom and wrinkled his nose. “We named it Puddles.”

  “How did you come up with that name?” Tina asked.

  “It started purring when I petted it. Then it peed on me,” Justin laughed.

  “That’s another reason,” Dave interrupted. “We don’t need a damn cat peeing on our rugs.”

  “Dave!” Tina bellyached.

  “We’re not going to start the same thing that we had that one summer,” Dave insisted.

  “What summer?”

  “That summer you started feeding those raccoons. You fed that one and the next thing we know there are fifteen of them over here eating any scrap that we put out and getting into fights over gristle. Enough is enough, Tina. And then you got a leash and kept that one baby raccoon in the garage and kept saying how cute it was. All the neighbors thought we were nuts when you’d walk the damn thing up and down the street. That summer!” Dave stressed.

  “Well it was cute,” Tina said in defense. “We had to take care of that one because it was retarded or something.”

  “Yeah, right . . . and then you left the door cracked open after you put all of the cereal out there and mom and pop and all the uncles and aunts and cousins were running through the house. I mean those things could have had rabies and ticks and mites and . . . I mean . . . what the hell were you thinking about!” Dave went ballistic. “No, we’re not going to have any cat in here. No animals, period.” He turned, went back into the house, and slammed the door. After a few seconds he opened the door and yelled, “Don’t forget to take the trash out, Justin!”

  “Gee whiz, Mom, what did I do?”

  “He’s just in a bad mood from work I guess.” Tina attempted to cover for her husband. “What else did you do today?”

  “Curt took us to the range and taught us how to play golf,” Justin said quietly. “And we did some other things too. But I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “That sounds like fun.” Tina could see the dramatic change in Justin’s excitement level. She grabbed her son and gave him a hug. “What’s wrong, Sugar?”

  “I’m tired and I think I want to go to bed,” Justin replied.

  “It’s barely after seven o’clock in the evening,” Tina exclaimed, “and dinner is almost ready.”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite right now, Mom. I heard more yelling in the last couple of minutes than I heard all day on the golf course. Five o’clock in the morning will be here before we know it,” he reasoned, “and I would rather be over there with Curt.” He entered the house and headed for his room.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Several Years Earlier . . . Spring of 1995

  Riverboat gaming had been approved by the Illinois legislature and boats started to pop up on the Mississippi River almost overnight. The race was on for market share in the St. Louis area. The riverboats on the Illinois side of the river were in stiff competition to attract the gamblers on the other side of the state line before the politicians in Missouri got their act together. The casino operators knew that in a short period of time riverboats would be on the western banks of the Mississippi as well as the Missouri River that dissected the St. Louis area.

  Curt had gotten some promotional material in the mail and thought that he would travel across the river to the East Side to see what kind of action was going to be available from a gaming standpoint. He had been to Las Vegas a few times and had been impressed with how that gambling mecca had exploded in the high desert of Nevada. One night that spring Curt called up a buddy of his that was coming out of a divorce to see if he would want to kill a few hours at one of the boats that had sprung up on the Mississippi.

  Nobody actually knew the real name of the guy that Curt talked to and eventually met. It was rumored that his given name was Jonathan, but the whole world knew him as Lug Nut. This guy was in his early thirties at the time and didn’t have a single hair on his head, but it seemed to grow everywhere else. He had hair on his chest, back, ears and nose, butt, the back of his neck, and on the knuckles of his fingers and joints of his toes. Lug Nut was one of those guys that could walk under an overpass and have a pigeon dropping land on his nose. To earn a buck on the side he was currently employed by a medical research firm as a tester for a drug to correct erectile dysfunction.

  Word had it that when Lug Nut was growing up he was sprouting chest hairs in the second grade and shaving when he was seven years old. A year after that he started messing around with the high school girls and lost his virginity to a senior cheerleader. The elementary school kids had nicknamed him Cabbage Patch partly because he looked like something that grew in the garden and partly because he looked as cuddly as a Cabbage Patch doll.

  Curt knew that he would have to take a few extra hundreds to the casino to cover for his buddy that was a little down on his luck as well as pissed off about his pending divorce. Nevertheless, Curt had a feeling that he was going to lose his tail at the casinos if for no other reason than because of the company he was keeping. He figured if it got too bad he would lay money down on the Number 13 and bet the black space at roulette.

  “How’s it goin’?” Lug Nut started as he got into Curt’s car.

  “I’m looking forward to checking this place out,” Curt answered, “as long as you don’t bring me too much bad luck.” He pointed the car toward the river.

  “Ha. Fat chan
ce of that,” Lug Nut laughed. “I’m the only guy I know that can turn the white clouds black.” He reached into his pocket for a canister of Skoal and placed a pinch between his cheek and gums.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Curt demanded as he glanced across the seat.

  “You don’t want me smokin’ in your car, do ya?” Lug Nut asked.

  “Not really. When did you start doing that stuff?”

  “Those damn patches don’t work for me. I thought I’d try this stuff for a while,” Lug Nut bent over and allowed a black discharge of fluid to roll out of his mouth and into an empty paper Pepsi-Cola cup.

  “Now what the heck are you doing?” Curt asked. “Don’t get any of that stuff on my seat.”

  “That’s what this spittoon is for,” Lug Nut explained as he held his cup in the air.

  “That’s disgusting,” Curt remarked. “You’re a mess, aren’t you? No wonder what’s-her-face doesn’t want you anymore.”

  “You mean Daphne?” Lug Nut asked.

  “Is that you wife’s name?”

  Lug Nut nodded. “Why did we have to bring her up tonight?”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” Curt said as the car headed over a bridge that took the two into Illinois. He glanced at his buddy. “What’s that stuff in your ear?”

  Lug Nut reached up to his left ear and felt the metal pins. “You can see them in here?” Curt shook his head up and down. “Those are my acupuncture needles.”

  “What in the world are they for?” Curt questioned his buddy.

  “It was Daphne’s idea. She really wants me to stop smokin’ so she suggested I try this,” Lug Nut said and lowered another tar wad into the spittoon.

  Curt looked over at Lug Nut and shook his head in disbelief. “Are they working?”

  “You mean the needles?” Lug Nut asked. Curt nodded. “Don’t know. It’s too early to tell. I suppose we’ll know sometime soon.”

  The bright colored neon lights of the Aqua Mermaid lit up the dark eastern bank of the Mississippi River. “Should we park in the lot or valet it?” Curt asked.

  “Are you nuts?” exclaimed Lug Nut. “Just because we don’t have two nickels to rub together doesn’t mean we can’t act like high rollers. Valet this turkey.”

  Curt chuckled as he threw the car into park and hopped out. He took several steps toward the boat and stopped to take in the view. Gamblers literally had to walk a plank to board the riverboat. The walkway swayed back and forth as people crossed it. A handrail made of rope was all that kept the public from falling into the water.

  The boat itself was actually an old-time paddleboat. It had a top and bottom deck and was painted white. It looked like it was out of the early 1900s. Aqua Mermaid was stenciled across the side. From outward appearances it didn’t look like it could hold over two hundred people at a time. The two men had to stand in line for nearly twenty minutes. A picture ID and twenty bucks was required for admission. This is some racket, Curt thought. They’re making us pay to go on here and lose our money.

  “Hey Curt, next time why don’t you call ahead and get some casino host to comp us free tickets?” Lug Nut said. “I might have been able to get an extra minute or two out of that twenty on the tables.”

  Curt couldn’t disagree. “We don’t even know if we’re going to be able to make this cruise.”

  “What do you mean?” Lug Nut asked.

  “They have a crowd capacity on the boat. If they reach it before we get through the turnstiles, we’ll have to wait for the next one,” Curt said.

  “You didn’t tell me about that,” Lug Nut complained.

  “We might have to wait two hours for the next boat tour,” Curt added.

  Lug Nut had that glazed look in his eyes from the Skoal. He stared at Curt and let the black goo trickle out of his mouth and into the paper cup. “My ass we are.” He started working the muscles in his jaw back and forth. He gnawed on his bottom lip.

  “Just relax. We’ll make this one,” Curt assured him. As gamblers exited the boat, new customers were allowed on. “At least they don’t recharge you if you want to stay for the next cruise. It shows they have a little heart.”

  “Yeah, right,” Lug Nut blurted. “Maybe we’re going to get lucky and make it on.”

  The two barely made it through the gate before the time elapsed for the next trip on the river. They hadn’t been on the boat more than thirty seconds when the public address system resounded through the facility. “All aboard!” the loud speaker blared. “The next cruise is in two hours.”

  “Time will tell if we’re lucky or not,” Curt said as he turned to his buddy.

  “I’m twenty bucks down already. What have we got to lose?” Lug Nut deduced.

  Slot machines were crammed into every nook and cranny that the eye could see. The table games of blackjack and craps were reserved for the middle of the room. The stale air of smoke and booze permeated the boat. Person upon person bumped into one another in the crowded atmosphere. Virtually no ventilation system or air circulation existed.

  “This is not good for my ‘stop smoking’ campaign,” Lug Nut wailed. “I’m going to have to go out to the outside deck to have a cigarette.”

  “Sit tight for a few minutes,” Curt urged. They both felt the boat pull away from its moorings. “You’re stuck on here for the next two hours.”

  “I’m not going to make it,” Lug Nut protested. His extra coat of body hair was causing him to sweat. Drips of perspiration were beading up on his forehead. The heat and heavy air was causing a mild panic attack. “I’ve got to get outside so I can breathe.” Upon seeing an exit sign, he headed for the door.

  “I’m going to try to squeeze myself into a spot on the crap table,” Curt informed his buddy. “Look for me over there when you get back in here.”

  Lug Nut pushed his way through the crammed crowd and made it through the door just as he was starting to hyperventilate. One step made all the difference in the world. Even though the evening was warm, the blast of nighttime air served as a fan compared to what he had just come from. He walked along the outside deck enjoying the serenity and peacefulness that the river provided. Within a few seconds he reached into his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes, grabbed one, and lit it. The drag off of the cigarette relaxed him.

  “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to put that out,” a voice from behind him boomed. “State law says that there is no smoking outside on the deck.” A security guard had been keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter of the boat.

  “What’s with this place?” Lug Nut complained. He took a long drag and flicked the cigarette toward the water.

  “No! Don’t throw it in the river,” the guard shouted. “Due to environmental rules and . . .”

  “The heck with this place,” Lug Nut said as he took off to stroll around the exterior of the vessel. These next two hours are going to be a living nightmare, he thought.

  Curt in the meantime managed to find a spot on the corner of the crap table that one of the dealers identified as his number one. He ended up standing with his back to the infield area where the pit boss was located. Curt threw a couple of hundred dollars onto the table to buy into the game. He wasn’t there to gamble as much as he was there to check out the new entertainment venue and watch the people.

  “A hundred in quarters, the rest nickels?” the dealer asked.

  “That’s fine,” Curt replied as the chips were slid in his direction. He instantly became a spectator. He had bought into the game in the middle of someone’s roll and thought that it might be wise to watch and get a feel for what was happening at the table. He watched as the dice came to his end of the table, bounced off of the back wall, and came to a stop.

  “Seven out,” the stickman shouted.

  “Has it been like this all night?” Curt asked the dealer.

  “Pretty much,” the dealer responded. He was busy stacking the chips in the middle of the table and placing them in the house coffers.

  Cu
rt placed a five dollar chip onto the “Don’t Pass” line thinking that if the table was cold he would bet on the side that favored the house. He wasn’t there to try to break the bank, but rather to kill a little time off of the clock. The dice were pushed to a man standing at the opposite end of the table. After flipping them against the wall a few times he picked up two dice that he thought were lucky and flung them toward Curt’s end of the table.

  “Seven, winner,” the stickman yelled. Curt rolled his eyes. “Take the Don’ts and pay the line.”

  The dealer sprang into action. He paid most of the people and collected from Curt and another guy. Curt placed another chip on the Don’t Pass line.

  “Hard ways are off. Dice are out,” the stickman yelled. The same shooter fired the dice down the table. “Three, craps.” The dealer collected the line bets from most people and paid Curt. And so it went for the next thirty minutes or so until Lug Nut spotted Curt and pushed his way into a spot next to him.

  “How’s it going?” Lug Nut asked.

  “You win some, lose some,” Curt replied.

  “Are you up or down?” Lug Nut inquired.

  “I’m about even.”

  “How’s the table been?” Lug Nut’s questioning was getting under Curt’s skin.

  “Damn. Just buy in and see for yourself. There’s too much going on for me to keep answering stupid questions and trying to educate you,” Curt stated. The dice were flying around the table and the dealers were busy booking bets and paying the winners.

  “Who’s that girl at the other end of the table?” Lug Nut asked.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Curt answered. “She’s been with that old guy all night.”

  “Think it’s her Sugar Daddy?” Lug Nut offered a guess.

  “Can’t tell,” Curt shot back. “Your guess is as good as mine. They’re having fun though and winning some money.” The rack in front of the pair was filled with chips.

  “Seven out!” the stickman yelled.

  “Dammit, just when I had things set up the way I wanted them,” Curt complained. “I needed to hit one or two more numbers.” The dealers raked in the chips and placed them in stacks. “Are you going to play or not?”