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

by James Ross

  “Let’s throw the dice,” Captain Jer proposed. “We need to liven this party up a little bit.”

  “There’s nothing more I’d like to do,” Pork Chop persuaded the group. “Let’s go hit ’em hard.”

  “I’ll watch and maybe go play the slots,” Dr. DV mentioned. Elia and Curt tagged along.

  Fred, Pork Chop, and Captain Jer bellied up to one of the crap tables and bought into the game. The bets were being made, the dice were flying around, and the chips were being thrown from one end of the table to the other. Every so often a hoot and a holler would nearly bring down the roof.

  The curtains on the stage at one end of the casino were pulled open. “And now, from the long lost galaxy of Kannittbbee, let’s give a warm St. Louis welcome to the granddaddy of them all, Mr. Peel It Backe,” the announcer blared through the loudspeaker. The musicians on the stage ripped into a rendition of rock-a-billy blues that had the entire casino moving and shaking.

  “Is that some good stuff or what?” Pork Chop turned to yell at Dr. DV and Curt and Elia. He was twisting and turning and tapping his foot to the beat. There was so much moving that there was a genuine concern among the boys that Pork Chop might pull some fat. “You guys have all heard of Peel It Backe, haven’t you?”

  Dr. DV was clueless due to too many nights up late and studying. Elia had spent his childhood in the Middle East and had no idea who Peel It Backe was or what kind of music he was all about. Curt was in junior high at the time and remembered going to sock hops when Peel It Backe was coming on strong. “He’s had some classics,” Curt acknowledged.

  Fred was busy paying attention to the craps table but was moving from side to side in time with the music. The players on each side of him must have felt they were in bumper cars. Captain Jer couldn’t see the numbers on the dice, but kept hoarding chips in his tray. With the booze talking he would speak to anyone within hearing distance and laugh at whatever he mumbled out of his mouth.

  “You remember ‘Smack-Jackin’ Back-Crackin’’ don’t you, Curt?” Pork Chop cried out loud as he shook his shoulders and tapped his feet.

  “Oh yeah, but ‘Diddle Me, Do Diddle Me’ was my all-time favorite,” Curt exploded as the band sang the chorus.

  Pork Chop started to snap his fingers. Curt felt his energy coming back. Even Elia and Dr. DV were getting in the groove. “Oh my goodness!” Pork Chop yelled at the top of his lungs. It was as if some sort of epiphany was taking place. “You guys aren’t going to believe this!” Pork Chop announced to anyone within earshot. The craps game stopped. Pork Chop yelled so loud that the stickman, the boxman, and the dealers all turned in his direction to see if he was alright.

  “What?” Curt yelled back.

  “Look up on the stage!” Pork Chop screamed. The guys turned their heads to see a miniature black man at the keyboard. He was dressed in black trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt with black suspenders, a red bow tie and a burgundy beret. “It’s BowTye!”

  Captain Jer’s eyes were almost closed. “Hey, that’s the shoeshine boy,” he mumbled.

  Curt’s mouth was agape. “I can’t believe it!”

  “He’s been here all summer and didn’t say one word to anybody,” Pork Chop said as he stepped back and marveled at the performance the little guy was putting on.

  “I had no idea,” Curt continued. “They told me that somebody down in Louisiana needed a place to stay and the church helped out. I had absolutely no idea that we’ve been taking care of Peel It Backe!”

  “Is that a lesson in being humble or what!” Dr. DV said. “He’s one of the nicest men you’d ever want to meet.” BowTye went from the electric organ to the tambourine. After putting his hands in the air and stirring up the crowd he grabbed a banjo and lit up the joint.

  Pork Chop was dumbfounded. “And to think that I invited him and he so politely declined by saying he didn’t have any money. He knew all along that he was going to be up here.”

  “Let’s see if we can get him to come over here during the break,” Curt suggested.

  “Yeah, and give him some money to gamble with. That can be his tip,” Pork Chop followed. His betting at the crap table had been put on hold.

  “All this time I thought his name was Tyrone Munroe,” Curt stated in amazement.

  “I’m sure it is,” Pork Chop conceded, “but he goes by Peel It Backe when he’s on the stage. That’s just unbelievable to me!” BowTye had the banjo in overdrive. He was working his left hand on the neck and picking each string with the right. On the tough-to-hit notes he would crouch down and wince. The crowd was going wild.

  “What a showman,” Curt granted. He gave Pork Chop a high-five and laughed out loud. “This is insane!” The nuances of the chemotherapy were a distant memory.

  “Pork Chop, are you going to roll?” Fred yelled from the craps table.

  “Is it my turn to shoot?”

  “Yes,” Fred answered.

  “Dice are out,” the stickman declared as he pushed the dice toward Pork Chop. “We need a line bet, Sir.”

  Pork Chop dropped a chip on the Pass line. “Sorry.” He bent down so that his chin was resting on the tray of chips. Pork Chop then fidgeted with his hands as if he was applying a secret solution to them.

  “Dice are out. Come on shooter,” the stickman prompted Pork Chop again.

  “Just a second,” Pork Chop begged. “I’m almost ready.” With that he stood erect and reached onto the table to grab the dice.

  “Whoa, wait a second. No roll!” the stickman screamed. “Put the dice down.”

  The boxman, sitting between the dealers, yelled, “What in the world are you doing?”

  Pork Chop raised his hands in the air. He tugged at the rubber gloves that he had slipped on and then steadfastly declared, “The doctor is in the house! I’m here to perform surgery on these dice!”

  Once again the game on the craps table came to a halt. The table erupted in laughter. Dr. DV lost it. The hilarity of the moment brought tears to his eyes. The boxman buried his head into his hands and shook his noggin back and forth. It was obvious that he had momentarily lost control of the game. He leaned back in his chair with his face still in his hands and chuckled to himself. With a glance to each dealer as well as the stickman he motioned with his left hand for the shooter to go ahead and roll the dice. Pork Chop picked two dice out of the cluster, delicately massaged them, and heaved them to the other end of the table.

  “Seven! Winner!” the stickman shouted. The table went berserk. Pork Chop raised both hands above his head in triumph . . . rubber gloves and all. The mural that had been painted on his shirt was front and center for all to see. The bottom of his shirt raised above his beltline for all the world to see his exposed navel.

  “Curt, go get BowTye! I want to give him some money so that he can gamble with us,” Pork Chop ordered.

  “Dice are out!” The stickman yelled. Pork Chop picked the dice up a second time and massaged them once again in the rubber gloves. With the dice in his right hand he rattled them next to his ear. He pitched the cubes against the far wall. “Yo, eleven!” The roars reverberated through the casino floor.

  “That’s it!” the boxman declared. “Take the gloves off.” He was tired of the house losing with the gimmick in place.

  “Aw, he’s not hurting anything,” Fred blared. “Let him go.”

  The boxman stood firm. “It’s against the rules. That’s it.”

  Pork Chop looked at Fred. They both turned to glance at Captain Jer. From the look in his eyes it was evident that he had no idea where he was. “Color me in,” Pork Chop groaned as he picked his chips up with the rubber gloves and stacked them on the table.

  “Me, too,” Fred said as he followed suit. Within minutes nine of the twelve players at the table cashed in their chips.

  “What’s wrong with this place?” Pork Chop asked as he turned to Fred. “Are they against us having a little fun?”

  “That guy sure killed that game. Look at all the pe
ople cashing in,” Fred replied.

  Curt approached the guys with BowTye. Pork Chop couldn’t hold back his enthusiasm. “That was outstanding! Man, did that bring back some memories,” Pork Chop boomed. “We had no idea!”

  “Thank you Mister Pork Chop,” BowTye said politely as he nodded his head.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Pork Chop asked.

  With a great dose of humility BowTye replied, “There was no need. I knew that you’d find out eventually.”

  Pork Chop gave him a black chip. “Here’s a hundie. Let’s play some slots.”

  Dr. DV reached into his pocket and gave BowTye another hundred dollar bill. “And if that one doesn’t go too far, then this one might.” The gang headed for the slot machines.

  “This one is my favorite,” BowTye stated as they neared the newer video poker slots that had a bonus multiplier. He sat down in the chair and fed a hundred dollars into the bill acceptor. The credits appeared on the screen. BowTye pushed a button and came up empty. He got the same response a second time.

  Dr. DV, Pork Chop, and Curt were all standing in back of him crooning over his shoulder. BowTye reached up to the screen with his left hand and knocked on the box that was positioned in the lower left quadrant of the video poker screen with a rat-a-tat-tat rapping motion. The bonus multiplier was located in the box. “What did you do that for?” Pork Chop asked.

  “There’s a little man that lives in there. You have to wake him up,” BowTye nonchalantly explained.

  The guys exchanged glances like BowTye was out of his mind. “You mean in the machine?” Pork Chop asked. The guys chuckled among themselves wondering where BowTye was coming from.

  BowTye shook his head up and down. He was staring intently at the screen. Once again he reached up and tapped on the bonus multiplier. Then he cocked his head like he was listening to something in the slot machine. He turned around and looked at the gang of guys. “He’s ready. I woke him up.” With that comment he pushed a button and four of a kind flashed across the screen with a bonus multiplier of ten. A quick profit of eight hundred and twenty dollars had been attained.

  “I heard that those machines are the crack cocaine of video poker,” Fred commented.

  Pork Chop turned to Dr. DV and Curt and whispered behind BowTye’s back. “Do you ever get the impression that maybe he knows a heckuva lot more than he’s letting on?” They all laughed.

  BowTye hit the cash out button and put the winning voucher in his pocket. He turned to the guys and smiled from ear to ear with his pearly-whites shining just like they had all summer. “I gotta go. It’s time to perform the second set.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Curt was unhooked from his portable pump two days later. He had made arrangements for the infusion therapy nurse from the hospital to drop by the pro shop and unhook him from the pump while they stood in the office at the golf course. The nurse took his vital signs, reminded him to take the anti-nausea pills as needed, and told him that she would see him in two weeks. All told, she wasn’t there more than fifteen to twenty minutes. One down and nine more to go, he thought as the nurse exited the clubhouse. I made it through the first one and the entire thing could have been a whole lot worse. Dr. Lincke had revised his original diagnosis down from twelve treatments to ten because of the insurance concerns.

  Considering that he had just finished his first chemotherapy treatment, Curt was feeling fairly well. He moved behind the counter and watched as Justin and Keith ate their lunch. The site of the cheese curls and potato chips nearly made him throw up. He experienced a few dry heaves and tried to hide his reaction from the others in the clubhouse. For an instant Curt turned away. So this was what they were all talking about, he chuckled to himself. If you can’t laugh at yourself, then who can you laugh at? He shook his head violently as if to shake out all of the cobwebs and just as quickly returned to his senses.

  Justin caught Curt feigning as if he was fine. “Curt, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just looked at your food and a weird feeling took over my body. I can’t explain it. It only happened for an instant and then it went away,” Curt explained. “Hold on for a second.” He turned on the water tap from the sink and poured a cup of water. Then he sauntered into the office and took an anti-nausea pill before returning to his post behind the counter. “I’ll be okay.”

  Justin raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at Keith. Something told him that Curt was hurting a lot more than what he was letting on. “What are we going to do this afternoon?” Keith asked Curt.

  “I don’t know,” Curt answered. “Do you two want to watch me sleep? This stuff knocked me for a loop today. I might have to lie down and take a nap.”

  Just then four women came through the door. “Can I help you?” Julie volunteered.

  “We’d like to play if you have any openings,” the tall, long-legged one said.

  “It’s wide open this afternoon,” Julie answered, “hot, but wide open for play. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting around on the course.”

  Rollie started to cough at the back booth. The noises coming from his throat caused the women to look over their shoulders. He hacked and hacked until he coughed up a load of phlegm. It was as if he was oblivious to anyone else being in the room. Even Captain Jer, who was sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow and stole a glance in Rollie’s direction.

  “Names?” Julie asked.

  “I’m Patti,” the first and oldest one in the group said. Her face lift couldn’t hide the crow’s feet that spiraled away from her eyes, and one look at her midriff proved that the tummy tuck hadn’t worked. She glanced back over her shoulder at Rollie. “That’s disgusting. Is he going to make it?” The foursome glanced back to the booth. “Somebody needs to help that old fart.”

  “Usually when I take him a shot of B & B, he rallies some,” Julie wisecracked.

  “Whew! Make it a double and keep his heart beating,” Patti joked. “That kind of makes me want to cut back from two packs a day down to one.”

  The long-legged one volunteered her name next. The golden tan on her face magnified her sparkling sapphire eyes. “I’m Kim.” As quick as the flick of a wet towel her bossy attitude surfaced like the roar of a starved lion. “Who do you have around here that can load the clubs onto the carts, or do we have to do it ourselves?”

  Taken aback, Julie looked at the two teenagers. “Justin, can you and Keith help these ladies?” Both boys glanced at Julie and nodded their heads after getting a small prompt from Curt. “We’ll figure out who gets to share a cart in a minute or two.”

  Captain Jer moseyed up to the bar. He placed his glass on the counter and said, “Shoot me another one, big boy.” He looked at Curt, motioned with his neck to the tiny one, and then whispered to him. “Check out that caboose.” The slick, sly grin on his face said it all—he was lecherous.

  “Hi, I’m Carol,” the petite one said as she bounced up to the register. If there was anything that took attention away from her outstanding derriere, then it was the shapely double D’s that caused Captain Jer to spring into action.

  “Hi, I’m Jerry,” he began with his eyes half closed and the syllables running together. It took a snoot-full to understand what the guy was talking about. “If any of you lovely and vibrant ladies would ever like to go on a hot-air balloon ride, just let me know.”

  “I was thinking that maybe we could scrap our golf game this afternoon and launch from the first fairway,” Patti said putting her mouth to work. “There’s nothing I’d rather do right now but get up in the sky a few thousand feet with a guy that can’t see the end of his nose.”

  Captain Jer took it in stride and grinned at Carol. His eyes slowly made their way from her eyes down to her breasts. He grinned, tilted from side to side and then raised his eyes back up to meet hers. His head bobbed on the top of his neck like a bobble-head toy. The beer had left him tongue-tied. The only thing that he could muster was a sheepish grin, obliviou
s to being caught in the act.

  Patti turned to her friend. “At least he found something that he can communicate with, Carol.”

  Carol laughed out loud as Rollie’s hacking and coughing resumed at the back booth. The sounds that he was making to clear his throat were repugnant. “Can you go help that guy?” Carol pleaded.

  Julie’s eyes met Carol’s. “ . . . Which one?” Carol burst out with a contagious laugh. Captain Jer was unconscious to what was going on around him and Rollie was almost in the fetal position taking on a survival mode. “Let me get the one in the back some B & B.” She quickly grabbed the bottle and raced to pour Rollie a generous shot.

  As Julie returned to the register, the fourth woman in the group came forward. “Hi, I’m Missy.” She handed a credit card to Julie. “Today is the day the boss treats.”

  Captain Jer heard a word that stirred his juices. “Oh,” he blurted, “you other girls must be dancers then . . .”

  “Where did you find this guy?” Patti said to Julie.

  “ . . . and the one with the credit card is the Madam.” Captain Jer mumbled. His head was too heavy to lift; his chin was propped against his chest; his body swayed back and forth in all different directions.

  “How would you like to get in an airplane with that guy and fly half way around the world?” Julie whispered to the female customers.

  “At least he didn’t accuse us of being flight attendants or reservationists,” Patti commented facetiously.

  Missy chuckled to herself. “Maybe he complimented us after all.”

  “You two are terrible,” Kim laughed out loud.

  “I was going to suggest a few beers for the course, but after looking at this guy maybe we should go with bottled water,” Carol proposed. She gave Captain Jer a dirty look.

  “Put a couple coolers of beer on that ticket, too,” Missy interjected. “We’re out here to have some fun.”

  Curt helped Julie with the coolers as the ladies headed for the door. “Go out and help them with their bags,” he advised the boys. “Smile at them and maybe they’ll tip you.”