There was makeshift furniture everywhere. Old doors on sawhorses substituted for tables, crates for chairs, and mirrors hanging from trees for vanities. Razor straps hung from tree limbs. Instead of cups and bowls, the hobos used empty tin cans. Billie noticed them cooking in the cans too and boiling coffee.
Dot asked again where to find the mayor, and they were sent to an old man with gray hair and heavy pouches under his eyes. He was sitting on a crate, hunched over, staring at the fire. His skin was weathered and brown, and he had a slow, lazy way of talking.
He looked hard at the girls. “You two should be home,” he drawled. “We don’t like seeing kids hoboing. Why you on the run?”
This surprised Billie. She thought you weren’t supposed to ask that question.
“We aren’t on the run, sir,” Dot argued. “My sister and me lost our folks to a farm accident. We’s orphans.”
“Uh, huh,” the mayor said. He didn’t seem convinced.
“You can stay,” he grumbled. “But I want no trouble.”
“There’ll be no trouble, sir,” Dot assured him. “My sister here is a real hard worker.”
“I’m talking about you,” he barked.
Dot jumped. “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”
“Down at the next fire, you’ll find a giant Indian by the name of Luther. Some call him Big Red. You’ll sleep in the shack next to him. Tell him I said he should keep you safe at night. During the day, I want you out working. The cook at the Band Box lunch car is looking for a dishwasher, and down the block, they want one at the Crescent City. Go talk to them in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Dot said. “Thank you, sir.”
Luther was not hard to find. He towered over everyone. With dark hair that was slicked back, broad shoulders, and a muscular torso, he was an imposing figure. He had black eyes under a heavy brow and a flat nose that looked as if it had been broken several times. His expression was flat as he examined his hand of cards.
One of the hobos dished up some baked beans and coffee for the girls while they waited for Luther. At last, everyone threw down their cards and sat back. Luther swept his winnings into the pocket of his tattered trousers and walked over to the girls.
“Ya?” he said.
“The mayor sent us. The name’s Dago Dot, and this here’s Billie.”
“And?”
“Well, we’s supposed to take the shack next to yours. The mayor said you’ll take care of us when we sleep. If we sleep.” She winked.
Luther did not smile. He looked at Billie, his dark eyes narrowing.
“Over here,” he grumbled.
The girls followed him to the edge of camp where there was a huge sewer pipe. “That’s my spot,” he said, pointing to the pipe. “And that’s yours.” He pointed to a lean-to made of pallets resting against a huge tree. It was covered with a dirty tarp.
“Thank you,” Billie murmured.
“Alrighty,” Dot said. “Now, where can a girl get a drink around here?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied and walked away.
“Not very friendly,” Dot observed. Throwing her pack in the lean-to, she said, “You get us settled in. I need a drink.”
Billie was glad to be rid of Dot. As soon her bedroll was out, she flopped down and went to sleep. She never heard Dot return, but the next morning at sunrise, she was there snoring beside her.
“Dot, get up,” she said, shaking her.
“Huh?”
“Get up. The mayor wants us out looking for work.”
No reply.
“Dot,” she said and pushed her.
“Let me sleep, goddammit.”
Pulling on clean overalls and a shirt, Billie stepped outside and stretched.
A barrel of water was under a tree, and a chipped basin was on a stump. Retrieving her soap, Billie washed her hair then ducked behind the lean-to to wash her body. After brushing her teeth and combing her hair, she shook Dot again.
“All right. All right!” she barked.
Dot did not bother to clean up. She staggered out to the fire, complaining of a headache. Luther was there, hunched over, drinking coffee.
Billie made toast and offered him a piece. “Can you tell us how to get to the Band Box?” she asked.
“It’s not far,” he replied and gave her directions. Eyeing Dot, he asked, “She going too?”
“Yes. I think she’ll try at the Crescent City.”
“Good. I want her out of here.”
Dot was holding her head in her hands. She looked up at Luther with bloodshot eyes and said, “Is squeeze the best alcohol this damn place has to offer?”
“If you’re stupid enough to drink canned heat, then yes.” He turned back to Billie. “Ask for Otis at the Band Box. He’s good about hiring hobos. He used to be one himself.”
“All right,” Billie said, picking up her pack. “Come on, Dot.” And they left.
Luther was right. The Band Box was only two blocks from the jungle. It was a tiny diner with eight stools at the lunch counter and four tables along the window. A red awning shaded the front from the Louisiana sun.
Billie went around to the screen door in the back. She had to wave flies away as she walked inside. It was the utility room. There was a waitress with short blonde hair sitting on a stack of boxes smoking. Billie could hear dishes rattling and smell food frying.
“Excuse me,” Billie said. “Are you looking for a dishwasher?”
“Otis!” the woman shrieked. “A girl here to wash dishes.” The waitress puffed on her cigarette. There was no response. “Otis?” she shrieked again.
“Coming!”
A tall Negro came around the corner. He was paper thin, his cook’s uniform and soiled apron dangling on his frame like a clothes hanger. “You need work, darlin’?”
“Yes, the mayor sent me,” Billie said.
The waitress giggled. “That’s the password for my speakeasy.”
He yanked an apron off a peg and tossed it to Billie. “Go ahead and get started.”
Billie opened the screen door and said, “I got the job, Dot.”
“Good, see ya back at camp tonight.”
Billie knew Dot wouldn’t try to find work. She would spend the day looking for bootleg instead.
“Someday soon,” Billie muttered to herself. “Someday soon.”
* * *
Billie worked until midnight that night. She was exhausted by the time she trudged up to the bonfire.
“There’s our hard workin’ gal,” Dot shouted and took a pull from a bottle. “I made some friends while you were gone.”
“I bet you did,” Billie mumbled, sitting down next to Luther.
“There’s more to this camp than Big Red over there,” Dot continued. “You gotta get out and meet folks.”
Luther was rolling a cigarette and sighed. “Why do you do it?”
“What?” Billie replied.
“Stay with her.”
“She shows me how to stay alive.”
“Uh, huh,” he grumbled and puffed his cigarette.
“A little poker tonight, Red?” one of the men asked.
“Maybe later.”
“Shit,” another hobo said. “You must wanna lose your money. Everyone from here to Salinas knows that Injun’s unbeatable.”
Luther did not reply. He asked Billie instead, “What tribe?”
“Pardon?”
“What tribe are your people?”
Billie hesitated a moment. “Chippewa and Choctaw. You?”
“Kiowa,” he said, taking a puff of his cigarette. “You haven’t told anyone who you really are, have you?”
“No.” She looked down.
“That’s okay. You do what you have to do to protect yourself. But think twice about that girl you’re with. If something changes, you know where to find me.”
They watched Dot stand up and follow a hobo into the bushes.
“And I won’t be asking you to go in no bushes neither,” he said.
* * *
For the next week, Billie returned to the Band Box every day. She liked Otis and Bess. They were good to her and fair. She worked late every night, and when she returned to camp, as usual, Dot grabbed her money.
On the seventh night, Dot decided she was not satisfied. “You holdin’ out on me?” She pulled the pockets of Billie’s overalls inside out looking for money.
“Stop that!” Billie said, pushing her away.
“Bitch,” Dot snarled and punched her in the breast.
Billie staggered back, clutching her chest.
“That’ll teach ya to lip off to me!”
Billie waited until she was out of sight and went to find Luther. When she saw him, she rolled down her sleeve and handed him the rest of her pay. He nodded and stuffed it into his pocket.
As she walked back to her shack, the Mayor stopped her. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Your friend. She’s a drunk and a whore.”
“But─”
“Dallas!” the mayor called.
A large man with bright red hair trotted up.
“See that this girl and her friend, Dot, are on the next train out of here.”
“But I─” Billie protested.
“You’re known by the company you keep, little girl, and let that be a lesson to you. Now, get out!”
* * *
The next train out of town was headed for Arkansas. Billie and Dot were on it.
“That son-of-a-bitch did us a favor,” Dot said, lighting a cigarette and sliding back into the corner of the boxcar. “The hobos in that jungle were no count. I was itching to move on anyway.”
Billie did not reply. She felt sick to her stomach. They had been hustled out of town so quickly she had been unable to retrieve her money from Luther. All of her hard work was for nothing.
“Hot Springs is a nice little town. You’ll find work there,” Dot said.
Billie wanted to smash her in the face.
Late the next morning, they got off in Hot Springs and walked the neighborhoods, knocking on doors, looking for work. They had no luck. The town, nestled in the mountains, seemed to be all hills to Billie, and the longer they walked, the hungrier she became. By evening, they had eaten only some rotten fruit out of the garbage, and Dot was getting surly. “I just gotta have a drink. My nerves is jangled.”
By dark, they were back at the tracks, trying to find a jungle for the night. There was only one camp. Billie hoped someone would share food with them even though they had nothing to offer.
The first hobo they approached was bald and had no teeth. He smiled lewdly at Billie and said, “I never let a fellow ‘bo go hungry, even if they got nuthin’ to offer.” He invited them to the fire to eat mulligan stew.
Billie felt the food surge through her body, and she began to feel better.
Dot ate her fill, slapped her thighs, and announced, “Well now, I’d love to follow that delicious meal with a little drink.”
No one offered.
“We’re dry here,” one of the hobos said, lighting a cigarette.
“That’s a lie,” Dot mumbled to Billie.
The bald man who had fed them leaned over to Billie and murmured, “I could be persuaded to part with a little juice if you know what I mean.”
Billie’s stomach twisted. “No.”
Dot jumped in, “I’m willin’.”
He grimaced and looked away.
Grabbing Billie’s arm, Dot jerked her to her feet. “We need to talk.” She pulled her to the side and snarled, “Now you’ll get on your knees for that ‘bo, or I’ll clean your clock!”
“I will not!”
Before Billie knew what was happening, Dot smashed her in the face. She staggered back, her nose bleeding. She cupped her face in hands, blood running through her fingers.
“Welcome to the school of hard knocks,” Dot said with a sneer.
Billie’s eyes narrowed. “Well, today’s graduation,” she replied, and with all her might, she slammed her fist into Dot’s face. Dot toppled backward onto the ground, stunned. When she looked up, her mouth was open, and her eyes were like saucers.
Billie fetched her pack and left. She was headed back to New Orleans to find Luther and take him up on his offer of protection. At the Hot Springs rail yard, she approached a worker about the next train for New Orleans.
“It’s about to leave,” he said. “The detective just searched the cars though, so they’re all closed up.”
“That’s okay, thanks,” Billie said.
The horn blasted, and she saw the train jerk into motion. Determined to be on it, Billie grabbed hold of a ladder, climbed up the side of a boxcar, and sat down on the roof.
She was riding on deck for the first time, and it was glorious. It was like straddling a colossal serpent as the train snaked its way through the mountains. Securing herself to the catwalk with her belt, she looked up at the night sky. There was a full moon, and it soared overhead like a lantern illuminating the rugged terrain.
For the first time, in a long time, Billie felt completely free.
Chapter 8
Indianapolis
1928
Billie lowered her leg to touch the ground. Her foot snapped up and hit her in the hip. Too fast to jump. She waited a minute and tried again. Now it was perfect, and she hopped off the train. Luther was next, followed by Felix. Indianapolis was notorious for railroad dicks, so they had to be off before it pulled into the yard.
They headed into the bushes along the berm. Billie reached up and twisted her hip-length, black hair into a knot and tied a bandana around her head. She didn’t want to advertise that she was a young, attractive seventeen-year-old girl. It would make things difficult for Luther and Felix. Generally, hobos welcomed everyone into their communities, but occasionally, someone wanted to pick a fight with an Indian, and harassing Billie was a good excuse.
Felix, or “Golden Boy” as he was called, peeked over the berm. “The cops must have cleaned the jungles out of here,” he said.
“Are you sure this was the spot?” Luther asked.
“This was it,” the young man replied. “The jungle was right under that billboard.”
“Maybe we’ll have to go to a Sally for the night,” Billie said.
Felix pulled up his collar against the rain. “Never had a good night’s sleep at a Salvation Army. They always make me feel guilty that I don’t pray more. I wish it wasn’t raining. I’d rather sleep outside.”
Felix Welles, a tall, lanky Sauk Indian, had joined Billie and Luther on their travels a year earlier. He was one of the few hobos whose past was known to all. Felix, a phenomenon in long-distance running, set a multitude of records and landed a spot on the U.S. marathon team in the 1924 Summer Olympics. Although he did not succeed in winning a medal, he was nicknamed “The Golden Boy” anyway. A few months after the Olympics, he lost his wife, started drinking, and never returned to the sport. He had been hoboing ever since. He traveled exclusively with Billie and Luther now, not only because he liked them, but because they didn’t drink. He had given up bootleg months earlier and wanted to ride with sober hobos. He found Luther to be a sympathetic ear since he too had sworn off alcohol ten years earlier.
“Let’s go in town and at least look at the Sally,” Luther suggested.
“All right. The sun is going down. We should find something.”
Avoiding the yard, they pushed through the bushes until they came out behind a factory. Just about every town was the same, a rail yard surrounded by warehouses, and not far away, flophouses, speakeasies, and Salvation Armies.
“Damn,” Felix mumbled to Luther. “Look at that.”
It was not unusual to see prostitutes hawking their wares in this part of the city, but this group was extraordinary. There were fifteen girls standing in front of an abandoned warehouse, topless. They were holding signs saying, “Hooch and Kooch here,” as men gathered.
“Not a one looks over fifteen,�
� Luther said.
“And whoever is pimping them is keeping them hungry,” Felix added. “They’re skin and bones and out in this rain.”
All the girls were dressed in G-strings, and their pelvic bones and ribs were protruding. Billie grimaced. She was thankful she was not in their shoes, at least not yet, and she swallowed hard.
“Maybe they’ll get a good meal in jail tonight,” Luther said. “They’re not going to last an hour doing that on the street.”
They asked one of the men directions to the Salvation Army and moved on. Felix kept his eyes on the sidewalk, watching for hobo code written in charcoal.
“There,” Felix said, bounding across the street. He always amazed Billie; he was so quick and agile. He told her once that the marathon was a twenty-six mile run and that being fast was not everything. Willpower and pacing yourself was paramount.
Felix Welles was a handsome young man in spite of his shaved head and gaunt physique. With a square jaw, broad smile, and bright blue eyes, he drew attention wherever they went. His character was equally pleasing. He was agreeable and easy-going, always ready to laugh.
He came back. “It’s a mark for the butcher shop. He gives out soup bones.”
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Luther said.
Billie peeked in trash cans as they walked, looking for dry newspapers. At last, she found a current copy of the Indianapolis Times. She was happily back to reading again and devoured anything she could find, newspapers, discarded books, even old Sears and Roebuck catalogs. On a bench, she found another copy of The Times and said, “Here Felix, more dry newspaper to line your shirt.”
“Thanks,” he said, tucking it under his arm.
Luther ambled along and, at last, stopped in front of a ramshackle building. Billie looked up at the sign. It was the Salvation Army.
Luther finished his cigarette, and they went in, sitting down on a bench. The room was full of hobos, almost exclusively men. After listening to a preacher speak about the love and saving grace of Jesus Christ, they adjourned to the dining room, where they took a bowl and stepped in line.
“Cabbage soup with meat in it,” Luther said. “This is a good Sally.”
After eating, the men went to the dormitory.
The Image Seeker Page 7