by Sposs, Mike
“A lot of them were cutters too, Mr. Thinking with the Wrong Head. They carried straight razors and would cut you in a heartbeat if you got out of line. So, are you surprised I knew about that place?” she said, with a shrug and a laugh.
“Yes I am! All I can say is that you are way more worldly than I give you credit for Miss Washington,” Kevin said, shaking his head at the reference to "cutters" and thinking with the wrong head.
"Cutters you might be able to deal with. Canners are the ones you want to avoid though," he said, using meat packing terms as applied to prostitution. The pimps were the canners and the girls were the cutters.
“I am not the little Miss Naïve you think I am, and don’t you forget it. Firstly, we ladies are way more observant than you men when it comes to situations like that. You might be street smart, but sometimes your hormones get in the way of impartial observation and good judgment. That's particularly true when the subject is women as we know. I am sure the McCanns wouldn't like someone right under their nose freelancing," she said challengingly.
“Jesus Christ! You used to be in this trade or what?" Kevin said in mock horror.
"If I was, it wouldn't be with the McCanns. I want to be in the $500 a night category, at least," Pat said.
"I would have paid that for a night with you if I had known your price," Kevin said.
"That would have been my teaser rate. Now that I have you hooked, the rates triple," she shot back.
Kevin laughed. "After last night, I would say you're worth it too babe! You’re right on about pimps not liking competition. Even perceived competition would have been unwelcome. The riot and burnings would have provided good cover for retribution and settling scores. Sylvia naturally attracted attention. You and I aren't the only ones that remember her down there. She did stand out. I didn't know Donny McCann except by sight. I always stayed the hell away from the McCanns when I could. They had a business to run and I was of no interest to them. They would be the last person this white boy would want to attract the attention of. I do know some people that knew them though," he said.
"It's not likely the funeral home was burned out for gambling debts. It certainly wasn't burned down for insurance. Insurance companies don't have to pay for damage due to riots & insurrections. When you have to call out the National Guard to restore order, and enforce a curfew, it has to be an open & shut case of riot & insurrection," Kevin said.
"I bet the cops didn't do much of an investigation on Sylvia's disappearance. They had their hands full as it was at the time," said Pat.
"Bingo! That is exactly my thought. Unless a body falls into your lap, you just wouldn't have the resources to spend looking for a missing prostitute. Hell, she could have decided to go to a different town, would have been their attitude. I know she loved her daughter and would never have abandoned her like that, but they wouldn't know it," said Kevin.
"Is this going to become a cause of yours?" Pat asked.
"I don't know. I am curious as to what happened. It's like the Kennedy assassination. Someone got away with murder. I don't like to see that. This one is different in that I have some direct knowledge of the players and the neighborhood. I do think I am going to talk to the detective that has it as a case. I don't have any information to add. I would like to think that they would have looked at it, and considered the McCann brothers as people of interest. We independently put them on a real short list inside of five minutes," Kevin said.
"Does your motivation include some feelings for Marcy, too? It has to be a little frightening to remember someone, and practically see and hear their reincarnation in their daughter," Pat said.
"Not so much. I don't intend to talk to her. I don't know what happened to her mom anymore than she does. It would be awful to go pick that scab without having some salve or a band-aid to put back over the wound. You saw the picture I have of her. She is now, and was then a gorgeous child. Children that age are the real deal. They are genuine and so innocent. In my mind, I still have her frozen in time as that little girl in the picture which doesn't help me to stay away from it," said Kevin.
"What if it turns out the McCanns did it, but you can't prove it?” Pat asked.
"There is no statute of limitations on murder. I am not sure how that could happen. I am not trying to solve the case. Just try to understand it, or find some facts out that might get them to take another look at the case," Kevin said.
"That was the correct answer. I don't want to hear that you would get your untraceable revolver out that doesn't throw brass all over the place and go after whoever you think the perpetrator was," said Pat.
"Christ Pat, that wouldn't even cross my mind. Sometimes, you hear about someone getting off on a legal technicality and it pisses you off, but that is the way system works. It is not for me to correct. Most of the time the guilty are punished," Kevin said.
"I was just wanting to hear that someone getting away with murder during a riot should not themselves be subject to vigilante justice even if a damsel in distress was the victim," she said.
22. Willie and Kevin
On Monday, Kevin got up early, leaving a still sleeping Pat. He headed out to see Matt again. They had agreed to meet for breakfast at the greasy spoon Janet worked at. Kevin was early. When he came in, he headed towards a booth in the back. Janet spotted him and came over to talk. She was all smiles. He threw an arm around her ample girth, gave her a kiss on top of her head and a pat on the butt.
"You know, you got a nice soft body, girl! I got to hold it against me for a second at least! I am going to have lunch with your brother today. I talked to him on the phone after you gave me his number," said Kevin.
"Do you feel lucky punk? Groping and trying to play me!” she said, pushing him away with a Eastwood growl of warning and a laugh.
"Yeah. Well, I feel lucky cause I didn't die over the weekend from the food I had here the other day. Matt T is going to meet me here in a few minutes, I hope. By the way, what is your baby sister Tammy doing these days?" Kevin asked.
"She is an ‘entertainer’ at Something Else, the strip place just outside of downtown, where all the warehouses used to be. The McCann boys own it, remember them?" she said, doing the quotation marks with disgust.
"My baby sister, a stripper," she sighed. "Those guys got her into that business. I hate them for that. She makes pretty good money, but it ain't nice work if you know what I mean."
"Oh Janet! I am so sorry. I bet if I went in there, she would be mortified to see me. Remember the time when she had chicken pox and I stopped at your house? She must have been about four. I was, maybe 12 or so. She got so excited to show me her pox that she started to take her clothes off right in front of me. We all laughed at her until she sulked off and cried," said Kevin.
Janet laughed. "I haven't thought of that in a long time. Maybe, she was starting to go wrong even then. She would be mortified to see you. But don't you dare go in there! I doubt if you would come out in one piece. If you eyed the girls too much, they would set you up with the ‘buy the lady a drink’ scam. Either, they would get their money from you that way, or they would just follow you out to the parking lot. They really have a hold on her. Donny ain't a big pimp no more. He still scares the girls, as necessary. Sam is the one to really fear," she said.
About that time, Matt came in. He didn't look too bad either. He must have at least taken a shower and washed. He saw them and came up to the counter.
"Hi, Matt. You remember Janet Smith from the old neighborhood?" Kevin said pointing to Janet.
"I do. Hi, Janet. We took English together from Mrs. Hobson. Remember her?" Matt asked.
"Hi, Matt. I remember her and you, too. You used to do that stuff on a high bar like a crazy man. I was always afraid you would whip off the bar and break your neck," said Janet.
Matt smiled the first smile Kevin had seen him smile in a long time. "I did fall a lot, and nearly broke my neck more than once," he said.
Janet took their orders, and got
back to work. Matt seemed to be in no hurry to talk. So, Kevin decided to wait him out a bit. As he sipped his coffee, Kevin reflected that he could learn a lot from all these people by just asking a question and paying attention. Janet had just shared a lot with him with hardly any prompting. He was starting to get a real bad taste in his mouth about the McCanns, but he wasn't the only one. Janet certainly had it too. Soon, he would find out how Willie felt. He studied Matt closely and determined to at least help him get some dental work, if nothing else.
"Thanks for getting me the room. I had a good night’s sleep and a hot shower this morning. The mattress was lumpy enough, so I didn't feel too pampered. I fit right in that place," Matt said.
"It is a fleabag no doubt, but it is starting to get a little nippy out there at night," Kevin said.
After his first cup of coffee, Matt started to come alive. He started to talk some more about his war experiences. He told more stories about using a handgun on Viet Cong in darkened holes. Getting blood all over from him, especially from head shots. How loud noises could make him jump right out of his skin to this day! He said he had a hearing loss, which Kevin could readily see from the way he would favor one ear over the other for listening.
"You know Matt, if you go down to the VA and apply for a disability for that, you could probably get something for it. At least, you would have a steady something coming to you every month. They also have a program for dental work, too. Your mouth looks like it is in terrible shape. You must have had some big tooth aches at different times," said Kevin.
Matt smiled. It wasn't a pretty smile, but it was nice to see though. "Well, I could always use the money, and it always hurts for awhile when I lose a tooth. One time, I got an infection. Man did that hurt! The Percodans were pretty good too,” he said dreamily.
Kevin laughed. "They probably would give you a lifetime supply once they looked at in your mouth and started to work on you."
"I might just do it" Matt said.
"Anytime you are ready, I will take you down there, or you can just walk in. I know they will be helpful," said Kevin.
They talked some more. Kevin did mention his experiences hauling munitions, explosives, agent orange, and napalm. They were just starting to find out how dangerous the orange stuff was. He told Matt that he worried about that a little. They washed their clothes in the runoff from it every time they were in the Mekong Delta. He talked about Napalm and how once you got it on your clothes, it would leave a white streak that never washed out. He mentioned about his fear of being steamed to death in an engine room; and the resultant claustrophobia he felt.
Then, there was the time he had to go crawling around in the double bottom tanks while they were anchored in Cam Ranh Bay waiting to get into the Delong Piers. It was totally dark. The only light was from flashlights. They were crawling slowly through the limber holes in the cross members at the bottom of the ship. Just the chief engineer and him. Each hole was not much bigger than the width of your shoulders. He must have crawled through five of them to get to the area they needed to inspect. They thought they had a leak in the hull from scraping bottom as they came into the harbor. The chief was no dummy, he wasn't going to go down there without some young fit wiry guy with him that could bail him out if needed. That was another time Kevin really felt on the verge of panic.
All of the sudden, someone launched a mortar toward the anchorage from the hills. Being down there and feeling the concussion while not being able to see anything was terrifying. The Chief and Kevin had just started to go back. They didn't stop moving until they clambered out on deck. It turned out it was the Americans fucking off by shooting some mortars into the harbor. "The joke was on us. I could have killed those motherfuckers," he said with intensity.
Matt could relate to that story. He asked some questions and nodded in agreement as Kevin told him about his feelings, and how scared he was. “Maybe, you need some professional help yourself" he said.
"I didn't drink before those experiences. After them, I gave up religion and took up bourbon. I heard when we pulled out they exploded the whole depot rather than leave it. That must have been something to see. What a big spit of sand that place was! They unloaded the ships with women longshoreman; they were so desperately short of manpower," Kevin laughed as he recalled the place.
"Yeah. I quickly went from alcohol to other stuff. Remember how cheap and plentiful the drugs were?" enquired Matt.
"I never got too involved with anything beyond liquor. I bet Saigon was a beautiful place when it was a French colony. The old timers told me they used to call it the Pearl of the Orient," Kevin said with a smile as he recalled the city.
They talked some more and finished the meal. Kevin had actually enjoyed the catharsis he had while telling a few of his stories. Matt seemed to feel better too. They agreed to meet again the next day. Kevin and he walked down the street to the hotel. Kevin rented it out for the week for Matt's use. Then, Kevin headed out for the downtown central library. He wanted to see what they had on file on the riot, and needed to kill a few hours before meeting Willie for lunch.
At the library, Kevin did a quick survey of what they had on file. It was not as extensive as the university's files, but it did have a couple of things he had not seen previously. He quickly went through them. Not much new there. Then, he started to range out to the socialist paper that had mentioned Clarence Washington. It was really a monthly newsletter packaged like a newspaper.
Kevin quickly discovered that Clarence was the original founder of the newsletter. It had started out in 1945. Back then, it must have been a struggling entity. The articles consisted chiefly of commentary from Clarence about union activities, socialism, and race. They didn't have any advertisers except some bakery on the Avenue that Kevin couldn't recall. They must have gone out of business long before Kevin arrived on the scene.
Kevin skipped ahead to the early 1950s and dropped in on them to see what had changed with the paper. In 1950, Clarence was still publishing away. His articles were mostly about union organizing, new contracts, and strike votes. In early 1951, he must have sold the newsletter because his name wasn't on the masthead. The paper took on a newer look. Kevin backed up and looked closer. It would appear that the paper changed hands before Pat was born, and about the time Dwayne abandoned her and Hannah. Did that indicate that the two of them left town together, Kevin wondered.
It turned out that the new publisher was a guy that Kevin knew back in the day. He was an old black guy with an artificial leg who had been on one of Kevin's many routes. He used to clump around his house with the leg. Kevin could close his eyes and hear the sound of him clumping to the door, when he collected money for delivering the papers every two weeks. William Bailey was his name. He wore a woman's Nylon stocking over his hair when he was in the house. He had a big head too. Kevin used to look at the Nylon and think about the John Lee Hooker song Big Legs Tight Skirt.
William had a couple of pet peeves. He always wanted his paper delivered between the storm door and the inside door. The other big deal was that he didn't want you to ring the bell when you collected more than one time. If you followed both these requirements to the letter, he was a peach of a guy. If you didn't, he would be on you in a rage. He just wanted some consideration for his condition. An older guy with one leg didn't want to go out on an icy step to get his paper, and didn't want you to be incessant with the doorbell. It just took a while to get there once he heard the bell. Kevin wondered if he was still alive. Of course, he knew where exactly he lived.
Shortly after the riots, the paper stopped publishing. Kevin wondered if Mr. Bailey would remember him, even if he was even alive. He made a mental note to himself about it. By then, it was almost time for lunch with Willie. He turned the library materials back in. They had come from the archives. He thanked the librarian, and walked over to the imposing old city hall building that contained the downtown city jail amongst other things.
They had agreed to meet a little before noo
n in the lobby of the old building. At the appointed time, Willie showed up. At first, Kevin didn't even recognize him. He just saw an enormous black man coming toward him with a grin. Clearly, he recognized Kevin sooner than Kevin recognized him.
"Kevin my boy! How ya doing?" he boomed out in a loud voice. Then, he extended a hand.
They shook. "Willie! I didn't even recognize you. What the fuck happened to you? You must have gained 100 pounds of solid muscle since I last saw you," said Kevin.
"More like 120, actually," Willie smiled and puffed up a bit. "When I went in the Marines, I was 6-1 and 150 lbs. These days, I am closer to 6-2 and go 270."
"Well, I can see why they made you a jailer. You shouldn't have much trouble handling most anyone," Kevin said looking him over. "It's good to see you man. When Janet told me you were a cop, I couldn't believe it."
Then, Willie told him how he had turned his life around in the Marines. He told him about being an MP and starting to lift weights so he could handle drunks at the enlisted men's clubs easily. "I had plenty of time to train, and train I did," he said.
They headed across the street for something to eat. From the looks of it, the customers were all cops and city hall workers. A couple of people nodded to Willie. A couple of them scowled at him.
They sat down and ordered. Willie talked about joining the police force when he got out. "They had this big law & order sheriff that ran for mayor and got elected. In our old neighborhood, law & order translated into cracking black skulls. So, they needed some black officers to make it look like that wasn't what law & order was all about," said Willie.
"That is how I came to be one of this town's finest. The police were and still are plenty racist. Before I became jailer they had way more incidents of black people ‘resisting’ arrest. They would get on the service elevator to go up to the jail in pretty good shape. They would come off beat to hell. That shit didn't fly with me. I made some enemies. They either swear by me or swear at me. One thing though about being as big as I am is that you can say or do anything you want," Willie said with a serious look.