by James Ross
“That’s what is so neat about the golf course. None of those guys look like they’re stressed out,” Justin said as Dave returned to the deck.
“Do most of them have jobs?” Tina questioned her son.
“I think. They either work half a day,” Justin said as he thought about Dr. DV, “or at night,” as he thought about Fred. Then he remembered what Captain Jer had said. “A few of them are retired,” Justin detailed.
“How did you learn about flying airplanes?” Tina asked. She was curious as to what sort of wild tale Justin might tell.
“We played in the same group with Captain Jer today,” Justin began.
“Captain Jer!” Dave exclaimed. “What kind of a guy is that?”
Tina glared at her husband. “What he means is how did he get a name like that?”
“Captain Jer is a retired pilot. He was telling Keith and me how he learned to fly. But anyway, the guys nicknamed him that because he was the captain of the jet,” Justin said matter-of-factly. He flipped the burgers over. “Mom, they’re almost done.”
“Put them on the tray when you think they’re ready,” Tina instructed him. “I imagine he’s a pretty good golfer.”
“Not at all,” Justin admitted. “He was more interested in drinking beer today. The more he drank, the more stories he told about flying all over the world and catching drug runners and illegal fishermen and going to the White House. You know, stuff like that.”
“How much did he drink?” Tina asked.
“I know he had a twelve-pack on the front nine,” Justin replied.
Dave yelled at his wife. “ . . . For Pete’s sake, Tina! He shouldn’t be hanging around people like that. Everything out of the guy’s mouth was probably a lie!” He gulped down some more of the ice cold frosty.
“Nah,” Justin defended Captain Jer, “I think that he was pretty much telling us the truth. But then he got too drunk and the geese started chasing him.”
“What?” Tina shouted.
“Yeah, we were over by the lake that Keith and I run around every morning and Captain Jer got some geese mad at him. He was running away from them and knocked himself out when he jumped into the golf cart. Somehow the pedal got pressed and the cart ended up in the lake.”
Dave got up and headed for the kitchen. “ . . . For crying out loud, Tina! I don’t want him hanging around those types of people.”
“When did you get religion?” Tina questioned her husband. “You work for the brewery, you know.” Dave slammed the door. Tina was astounded at what she just heard from Justin. “Was he in the cart?”
“Oh yeah, if it wasn’t for Curt he might have drowned,” Justin said nonchalantly.
“Curt didn’t jump in the lake, did he?” She couldn’t believe that Curt would have had the strength to save someone.
Justin nodded his head up and down. “He was pooped afterwards and said it was the adrenalin rush that kicked in,” Justin repeated the events of the day. “But there’s no doubt, if Curt didn’t jump in, then Captain Jer might be dead right now.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
After the events of the day, the guys thought that it would still be a good idea to go to the Aqua Mermaid and, if nothing else, watch BowTye light up the stage. Fred and Pork Chop hurried to the buffet. BT, the aged crooner, had a night away from his wife. She had gone on a three-day trip with some girlfriends. Dr. DV showed up without Captain Jer who decided to stay home and care for the bump on his noggin. Curt showed up but again didn’t feel like eating. He didn’t want to stay home so he thought that he would heed the doctor’s advice and continue to live life. Paco and Paul said that they would try to make it, but were nowhere to be seen.
It was agreed that they would gather by the bar next to the stage where BowTye was scheduled to appear. In ten short years the companies that ran the casinos in St. Louis had pumped a lot of money back into the facilities. Virtually all of them were land-based structures instead of the original riverboats. The story about barges on river backwater was largely a myth. High-rise hotels dotted the river banks as St. Louis took its place in the Midwest as a formidable gambling destination and convention hub.
The bartenders were dressed in uniforms: long-sleeved white shirts, bright red ties, black vests, and dark trousers. For a little extra flavor, the casino had them wear a garter belt on their left bicep. Any drink imaginable was available and the service came with a smile. If it wasn’t ordered by a cocktail waitress, then more often than not, it was ordered by any one of the patrons that were sitting at the bar playing video poker and chain smoking cigarettes.
Fred and Pork Chop joined the boys at the bar after they finished stuffing themselves. Pork Chop had food stains all over the front of his shirt and some dried gravy that had turned crusty on his chin. Fred quickly excused himself and said that he had a phone call from the easy chair that was sitting in his office at work. Pork Chop hoped that his friend could get to his place of employment before falling asleep.
The curtains rolled back and BowTye busted into a rendition of the rock-a-billy blues. For all of his usual shyness and soft-spoken manners during the day, he transformed himself into a lively showman with a charismatic stage presence at night. In a matter of seconds, BowTye altered his persona and became the world renowned Peel It Backe. He had the entire end of the casino moving and shaking to the music. Almost everyone was tapping their hand or foot to the beat. It didn’t matter if it was the tambourine or the banjo, the organ or the guitar; BowTye could play it and make things happen.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hitting the slots,” Pork Chop announced. He was chomping at the bit to get some gambling action. “Those quarters on the golf course don’t quite do it for me anymore.”
BT, Curt, and Dr. DV headed for the slots. “I don’t want to gamble too much money,” Curt said, “but I’ll pool money with anyone that wants to try to hit a big jackpot.”
“We can try anything that you want,” Dr. DV agreed. “If you want to put a couple hundred each in a machine, then I’m game.”
“You guys will have to teach me the ropes on these high-dollar slots,” BT said enthusiastically. “I’m out from under my wife’s eye tonight. She’s out of town and I’m here to have fun. Whenever I’m with her, we just play the penny slots.”
Pork Chop didn’t hide his intentions. “These things have been beating me up a little lately. I’m going to feed a few hundies into a couple of these machines and do what BowTye did.”
“What was that?” BT inquired. He wasn’t in the casino when the boys first discovered that BowTye had a secret.
“During one of his breaks he came over and played the slots with us. He knocked on the glass in the area where the bonus multiplier was located and got the machine to pay a jackpot,” Pork Chop reveled in the thought. “Heck, he hit a big jackpot and more than tripled his money in about three minutes.”
“So, that’s it,” BT surmised. Dr. DV and Curt chuckled at the absurdity of it all.
“Yeah,” Pork Chop said eagerly, “he said that a little man lives inside the machine and if you knock on the window you can wake him up. That will get him to let you go to the bonus.” Pork Chop fed a fistful of hundreds into the slot of his choice and banged on the glass facing. No little man seemed to wake up and let him have the multiplier. “Dammit, come on you little midget!”
“You’re playing the one that has the moo-cow and the croak-frog in it,” BT stated as he looked over Pork Chop’s shoulder. “That’s the same machine that has the parrot that calls you an idiot every time he pops up on the screen.”
“Oh, you’ve played it before,” Pork Chop mentioned. “This is a fun one, isn’t it?”
“I like that other one too where the Asian gal sits on a pillow with her legs crossed like she’s doing yoga and, how does she say it?” BT asked. “I wanna sucky your toes.”
“ . . . And rubby your butt,” Pork Chop added. “That one is a blast to play!”
“Yeah,” BT ne
arly drooled with excitement. “It’s the one where the Buddha belly opens up and all the gold and diamonds fall out when he gets his stomach tickled.”
“How about the one that has the little leprechaun that runs under the bridge and dances in the stream?” Pork Chop added. “As the water splashes, the drops turn into dollar bills.”
“Or have you tried the one that has a comet’s tail lined up across the screen from left to right?” BT asked. Pork Chop shook his head negatively and looked confused. “It sends you into another galaxy like you’re on a magic carpet ride and sparklers go off with money in them.”
“Whichever one we play, we better find one that pays in a hurry,” Pork Chop whined. “I’m already down eight hundred and we haven’t been on this slot ten minutes.” He tapped on the screen. “Come on you little man! Wake up, dammit!”
Curt and Dr. DV got a charge out of Pork Chop trying to hit a jackpot. “At the rate he’s going, he’s liable to lose five or ten thousand tonight,” Dr. DV stated.
“He’s sick!” Curt shouted. “But I guess he’s got it to lose.”
“ . . . And if he doesn’t watch out, he’ll give all those stock profits back to these boats,” Dr. DV added. “Look at that sorry son-of-a-gun.” Pork Chop had his face about six inches away from the screen on the slot machine. His eyes were glued on the characters that appeared with every push of the button. When the music would play he would cock his ear toward the speaker.
“Let’s go try another one,” BT suggested.
“I don’t think so!” Pork Chop yelled. “This one looks like it’s about to hit.” He continued to press button after button to get the reels to spin. “It owes me!”
“You think all of them are about to hit,” Curt interrupted. “I think you picked a loser with that machine.”
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding. The slot machine went wild with sounds. “See, I told you!” Pork Chop shouted. He jumped up and threw his arms into the air. “I know these machines. I know how they work!”
“You hit the big bonus,” BT yelled. “You might get a 1099 before that one is through paying. I’ll bet you’re over twelve hundred.”
“Let’s hope so. This one oughta be big!” Pork Chop declared. “BowTye knows what he’s doing. That’s a good trick that he taught me.” The machine issued fifteen free spins with a five times bonus multiplier. Pork Chop sat patiently watching the spins re-trigger over and over. His eyes were fixed intently on the action on the screen. At the end of the free spins, the slot machine signaled that he had won seventy-eight dollars. “That no-good, rotten . . . !” Pork Chop smacked the screen so hard it looked like the glass would break. “It should have paid me two thousand!”
“That’s the way they have them set,” Dr. DV said. “You don’t think they’re going to let you win too much easy money, do you?”
“Yeah, but seventy-eight dollars? I’m playing the dang thing at twenty dollars a pull! It should have paid me a lot more than a measly seventy-eight dollars. We can’t even put gas in our car for that anymore.”
“Maybe you should back off of them a little,” Curt suggested. “Not all of them are going to hit big jackpots.”
A dejected Pork Chop smacked the cash out button. The light on top of the machine flashed on. A message splashed across the machine that indicated that there was a paper jam. “Oh look at this nonsense. Now I have to wait for a slot attendant to come over.”
“Maybe that will slow you down a little,” Curt noted.
“That’s no fun! We came here to gamble didn’t we?” Pork Chop reached into his pocket and peeled off several more hundred dollar bills. He turned to the machine that was sitting next to the one that he was playing. As fast as the dollar bill acceptor would take them, he fed it several more bills. “Maybe I’ll get the little midget to wake up in this one.” As he waited for the slot attendant to fix the paper jam he pushed button after button on the new machine.
“I knew he was half nuts and wound tighter than a rubber band, but he’s going wild in here. See that crazed look in his eye?” Dr. DV commented as he watched Pork Chop wear himself out. It seemed like he wouldn’t let the reels stop spinning before he was on to the next try.
“Maybe we need to get him interested in that toll free number,” Curt proposed.
“Which one is that?” Dr. DV asked.
“You know, it’s the one they always advertise. 0-LEFT-4-U,” Curt informed the doctor. “It’s for all those sicko gamblers that can’t stop on their own.”
“It’s my guess that he would fall into that category,” Dr. DV agreed. “We can keep an eye on him from the bar. Let’s tell them where we’ll be.” Curt and Dr. DV headed for the bar stools and let BT and Pork Chop know where they could be found. From there, the two watched as Pork Chop fed hundred dollar bill after hundred dollar bill into every slot machine along the row. He put his face close to each glass, talking to it then furiously pounding it hoping to wake up the little midget that lived inside.
After a few hours what had started as fun and games turned into a serious hardship. BT had become a spectator rather than a participant to Pork Chop’s obsession. He had stopped after losing a few hundred but stuck around to watch as Pork Chop fed thousands of dollars into the machines. Even the music that was being generated by Peel It Backe had lost its luster. The two men limped over to join Curt and Dr. DV at the bar. “How bad was it?” Curt inquired. He knew the answer wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Don’t ever let me come into this place again!” Pork Chop yelled. “This place sucks!” He wanted everyone within hearing distance to listen to his complaint. “With the way these slots are set, they’ll pay for this hotel within a year.” He was infuriated.
“Calm down,” Dr. DV urged. “There will always be another day. You know what they always say.”
“What? Another day; another dollar,” Pork Chop screamed, enraged. “If that’s the case then they’ve got enough of my dollars. I want some of theirs next time.”
“What I was thinking,” Dr. DV reminded him, “was that’s gambling.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You have to take the good with the bad.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Pork Chop said. “You can’t pick it up unless you lay it down.” He started to laugh. “It was fun though, wasn’t it BT?”
“I would have preferred to win,” BT admitted as he licked his wounds.
“Oh well, who needs a drink? I should have plenty of comps coming my way,” Pork Chop offered, “hopefully around four thousand dollars’ worth.”
“Not me, I’m out of here,” Dr. DV remarked. “I’ve got an early day. See you guys tomorrow.” He politely shook hands and exited.
As he walked away, two college coeds poured into tight jeans, strolled by and glanced in BT’s direction taking in his long-legged, lanky look and silver hair. The blonde sheepishly said hello as the brunette stood at her side.
“You know, when I was your age,” BT started, “I was . . .”
“ . . . Yada, yada, yada,” the blonde interrupted. “I don’t want to hear about when bread was a nickel a loaf and you had to walk ten miles to school.”
“How did you know what I was . . .”
“Hey listen,” the blonde butted in, “did you do any good tonight?”
“You can’t win at this place,” BT complained.
It was getting late and the blonde was forward. She didn’t want to waste any time. “Do you want your luck to change?”
BT was oblivious. Not in his wildest dreams did he think that a couple of young women would find him desirable. “Fat chance of that happening here,” he began, “the way they . . .”
“ . . . Look, I’m here to change all that for you,” the blonde cut short BT’s banter. “My rent is due and I need to . . .” She raised her eyebrows, stuck her tongue in her cheek and then worked it in and out.
BT was speechless. The blood flushed his face to the point where he was almost embarrassed. He pointed to himself and in a tone that was barely audible
mumbled, “Me?”
The blonde nodded her head up and down and asked, “You’re not a cop, are you?” Her perfect smile was an orthodontist’s dream. It spread across her face from ear to ear and melted BT. This was what he could only dream about anymore.
“No, I’m not a cop, are you?” he said then caught himself. “I’m sorry. That was silly of me to ask. You have to be a model or something like that.”
“I’ve been in pictures before,” the blonde said with a smile. She whispered to him. “Touch my crotch. The casino cameras will see that and I’ll know you’re not a cop.” BT glanced at Curt and Pork Chop to see if they were looking in his direction. Both were watching incredulously but trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The blonde stood between BT’s legs and inched closer to him. “Go ahead and touch me. I won’t bite.” BT dropped his hand to his lap and slowly reached to touch her zipper. He was almost expecting to be caught in a sting operation. That was the last thing that he wanted to have happen while his wife was out of town.
“There, I’m not a cop,” BT quickly drew his hand back. As much of a ladies’ man as he had always perceived himself to be, he was surprised how the young blonde had left him tongue tied.
The blonde took her hand and rubbed it through the side of his hair while she tenderly played with his ear. She bent over and in a breathy voice whispered, “I just love the distinguished look that gray hair gives a man.” She gently kissed the side of his face. “What do you say my friend and I make you a lucky guy tonight?”
Like any hot-blooded man, BT was enthralled with the possibilities that were presented to him. “ . . . Where?” he uttered. He felt so intimidated that he struggled to pronounce the one-syllable word.
The blond chewed on his lower lobe and whispered in his ear. “Why don’t you get a room and we’ll both make it worth your while?”
All sense of responsibility and good judgment vacated the space between BT’s ears. He was preoccupied with the thought of being with two young women that could easily be in the centerfold of a men’s magazine. He looked down at the breasts of the blonde then shifted his glance to the brunette’s derriere with its painted on jeans. I have to be out of my mind to even think about taking a pass on this, his mind told him. “My buddy has plenty of comp points. Let me see if I can have him get us a room.”