Too Mean to Die

by Len Levinson

  He laughed sardonically. Am I just bullshitting myself? he thought. Every whore in the Curtis Hotel was needy, but he didn’t feel compelled to save any of them. Why did he want to save Nettie? Was it because she was prettier than the others, and a great fuck? Was he being a good guy, as he liked to think, or had he just been horny and selfish?

  Bannon sat up and buried his face in his hands. It was all so confusing, and he was getting a headache. But in one area there was no confusion: He was charged with manslaughter and would probably do a long stretch in prison. He had disgraced his name and his family. When Sergeant Butsko and the others found out about it, they’d really think he was an asshole. How different my life would be if I hadn’t gone to that whorehouse, or if I had screwed some other whore, or if I’d never tried to take Nettie out of there. If only I could go back and do it all over again.

  “All right—everybody out!” shouted a voice in another part of the cellblock.

  “Exercise hour!” said another voice.

  Doors clanged open and men grumbled and moved out. The guards kept hollering and finally they came into the corridor where Bannon was. One of them opened his door and he stepped out into the corridor, taking a look at his jailbird companions for the first time; they were a bunch of drunken old bums. He saw a couple of military uniforms in the dim light, but it never occurred to him that somebody he knew was in the Honolulu jail.

  Bannon stumbled with the rest of them through the corridors toward an open door that led to the exercise yard. He stepped outside and the bright sun almost blinded him. The night before, when they booked him, they took away his Zippo lighter but let him keep his cigarettes. If he wanted a light, he’d have to ask for one, so he took a cigarette out of his pack, put it in his mouth, and walked toward one of the guards.

  “Gimme a light,” Bannon said.

  The guard took out his lighter and flicked it. Bannon puffed his cigarette to life and filled his lungs with the smoke. It made him a little dizzy, and his heart beat faster, but it was just what he needed. As he was walking away he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  He turned around and found himself looking at the bruised face of Sergeant Butsko! Bannon blinked, because he thought he might be hallucinating. Butsko had an expression of astonishment on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing here!” Butsko demanded.

  Bannon shook his head and groaned. “I’m in big trouble, Sarge. I killed a guy last night.”

  Butsko looked at Bannon as if Bannon had horns growing out of his forehead. “You killed a guy?”

  “Yup.”

  “Jesus,” Butsko said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Frankie La Barbara was in here for killing a guy, but not you. What happened?”

  “The guy pulled a knife on me, and I just happened to be carrying a knife of my own.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  “Lots, but I think they were all friends of the guy I killed.”

  “You might be able to get off.”

  Bannon shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing like this ever happened to me before. What are you in for?”

  Butsko scowled. “I got into a brawl with a bunch of guys.”

  “Who started it.”

  “I think they did, and they think I did.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “A shitload, but everybody was drunk and it was a big mess.”

  “Anybody got hurt bad?”

  Butsko nodded grimly. “I think so.”

  “Shit,” Bannon said.

  Butsko wheezed. “I know what you mean.”

  “What’ll happen now?”

  “I imagine we’ll be arraigned pretty soon. The Army will furnish us a lawyer from the Advocate General’s Corps, and he’ll probably be a nitwit. All we can do is hope for the best. “Gimme one of your straights, will you, kid? I’m all out.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  Bannon took out his pack of cigarettes and held them up. Butsko took one and Bannon gave him a light from the end of his cigarette. Butsko puffed his cigarette and looked at Bannon as other prisoners shuffled around the compound or lay in the sun.

  “Kid,” Butsko said, “I’m afraid you’re in a lot of trouble. I might wind up doing some time, but you might get a lot of time. You’d better get ready for the worst.”

  “I’m ready,” Bannon said.

  “In the long run you might be better off than the rest of us, because we’ll probably wind up dead on some fucked-up island, whereas you’ll just be doing time someplace.”

  “I don’t know,” Bannon told him. “I think I’d rather be dead than do a lot of time.”

  Butsko shrugged. “Well, it depends on the lawyer the Army gives us. If he’s good, we’ll be okay, and if he’s a bum, it won’t go easy for us. All we can do is take it like it comes.”

  “I did what I thought I had to do at the time,” Bannon said. “I’m a grown man. I’ll take whatever medicine they give me.”

  Butsko looked at Bannon, for a few moments, then smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re okay, Bannon,” he said. “No matter what happens, they’ll never break you.”

  “Fucking A,” Bannon said.

  In another part of the jail, Frankie La Barbara and Dolly sat in a room lined with chairs, waiting to see Butsko. Other friends and relatives of prisoners also were in the room, waiting for their names to be called. In front of the room was a counter, behind which was an office area where people worked at desks. A uniformed man sat at the counter, reading the morning paper.

  Frankie and Dolly were also reading the morning paper, and on the front page was the story about Bannon killing the bouncer in the whorehouse. The news photographer had taken a picture of Bannon when he’d been booked, and the story implied that Bannon had gone berserk in the whorehouse.

  “This is bullshit,” Frankie muttered. “Bannon’s the sanest guy you ever wanna meet. The other guy must’ve egged him into it.”

  Dolly nodded as she read the newspaper story. The bruises on her face were covered with makeup and she was wearing her best clothes, plus too much jewelry and a perfume that was causing Frankie La Barbara to have occasional impure thoughts.

  The man behind the counter called somebody’s name, and a tearful old woman who was stooped over shuffled to the counter. The man opened a door in the counter and the woman stepped into the office area. Two guards were there and took her off to the visiting room.

  Frankie looked at his watch. They’d been there a half hour already. “I wonder how long this is going to take?” he asked.

  “Usually a couple of hours,” Dolly said.

  At that moment Longtree walked into the waiting room, taking off his hat and trying to appear harmless, looking around to figure the place out. He and Frankie spotted each other at the same moment, and he walked toward Frankie, who stood up.

  “Well,” said Frankie. “I guess you heard the bad news.”

  Longtree nodded. “Yeah, I went to the Curtis Hotel and found out that Bannon killed somebody.”

  “I guess you ain’t heard about Butsko yet.”

  “What did he do?” Longtree asked.

  “He nearly killed about a half-dozen guys.”

  Longtree groaned.

  Frankie turned to Dolly. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Butsko.”

  “Mrs. Butsko?” Longtree asked.

  “That’s me,” said Dolly.

  Longtree smiled nervously. “I’m Pfc. Longtree.”

  Frankie pointed his thumb at Longtree. “He’s the point man in the platoon.”

  “Hello,” said Dolly, with a friendly smile.

  Longtree shuffled his feet and bowed awkwardly. “Hello, ma’am.”

  An Army officer entered the waiting room, carrying an old leather briefcase. He had a pudgy face, eyeglasses as thick as the bottoms of Coke bottles, and thin, wiry hair. He walked up to the counter and said to the man in the uniform: “Hello, there. I’m the attorney of record for two soldiers incarcerated here, and I
’d like to see them.”

  “Your name?” asked the clerk.

  “Captain George Ginsberg.”

  “Your clients?”

  “Sergeant John Butsko and Corporal Charles Bannon, US Army.”

  “Have a seat, Captain.”

  Ginsberg looked at his watch. “I don’t have much time.”

  “There are two people ahead of you, but as the attorney of record you’ll go first. I’ll call you as soon as your prisoners are in the visiting room.”

  “Can I see them both at the same time?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ginsberg turned to walk away and found himself looking at Frankie La Barbara, who was examining him sharply.

  “Hi, there,” Frankie said. “You’re gonna defend Butsko and Bannon?”

  “Who’re you?”

  “I’m a friend of theirs and they’re both innocent. They both did what they did in self-defense.”

  “Oh, yeah?” asked Ginsberg. “Do you have witnesses?”

  “One of them’s sitting right over there.”

  Ginsberg looked in the direction Frankie indicated and saw Dolly looking up at him over the top of her newspaper. Longtree was seated next to her. Ginsberg had practiced criminal law in Los Angeles before being drafted into the Army, and had met a lot of strange people in the course of his career. Nothing fazed him anymore.

  “Let’s go talk to her,” Ginsberg said.

  Frankie led Ginsberg over and introduced him to Dolly and Longtree. Ginsberg sat down and Dolly gave him a quick synopsis of the battle that had taken place in her home the previous evening.

  Ginsberg made notes on his yellow notepad. “Any other witnesses besides you who’ll testify that it was self-defense?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Any who’ll say it wasn’t?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Somebody’ll have to talk with those people,” Ginsberg said.

  “Longtree and I’ll talk to them,” Frankie said ominously.

  “What’s the story with this Bannon guy?” Ginsberg asked.

  Frankie told him all the details that he’d found out, omitting the part about holding a knife to Nettie’s throat.

  “Do you think any of those people will testify that it was self-defense?” Ginsberg asked.

  “I think we can work that out,” Frankie replied.

  NINE . . .

  That afternoon Nettie left the whorehouse to buy some cosmetics at the local drugstore. She also had to mail some letters to the folks back in South Carolina, and thought she’d take in a movie. She didn’t have to be back to work until eight o’clock that night.

  Nettie had many friends at the whorehouse, but never hung out with anybody. She lived in her own repressed dreamworld and hoped to have enough money saved in another two years to open a beauty parlor in Greensboro.

  It was another sunny pleasant afternoon, and all the businesses in the neighborhood were open, taking servicemen’s money. Men whistled at her but she just kept walking, because she was accustomed to attention from horny guys.

  She became aware that somebody was walking beside her and turned to look. It was a woman, very busty, whose cosmetics unsuccessfully covered a black eye and other facial bruises.

  “Can I have a word with you?” Dolly asked.

  Nettie became frightened, because she tended to be paranoid, particularly after the events of the night before. “About what?” Nettie asked, acting tough, as she always did when she was scared.

  “Listen,” Dolly said, “there’s a young soldier who’s going to spend the rest of his life in jail unless you help him.”

  Nettie’s hair nearly stood on end, because she knew what young soldier Dolly was referring to. “Listen,” Nettie said, walking faster, “I don’t want any trouble.”

  Dolly kept up with her and spoke in her most soothing voice. “He’s been on Guadalcanal for almost a year and he’s seen a lot of war. That bouncer pulled a knife on him and he reacted the only way he knew how.”

  Nettie remembered the scars on Bannon’s body. “I don’t know what I could do. I’m scared of him. He’s crazy.”

  “He’s not crazy,” Dolly said. “He’s just a lonely kid and he fell in love with you. He was drunk and he thought he was helping you. Then the bouncers came and everything got out of control.”

  “I don’t want to have anything to do with this,” Nettie said, holding her head high and crossing the street.

  Dolly stayed at her side. “You can’t let them put him away just because he was lonely and fell in love with you.”

  “He wasn’t in love with me. He just wanted some free sex.”

  “That’s not so. His buddies say he’s honest and straight as an arrow. He’s just been at the front too long, that’s all, fighting for you and me and everybody else who’s taking it easy in a safe place. He’s fighting for you, so why can’t you do something for him?”

  On the other side of the street, Nettie stopped suddenly and looked at Dolly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Let’s have a drink and talk about it. I’m buying.”

  “I really shouldn’t,” Nettie said, her voice trailing away.

  “There’s a war on and we have to do our part for the boys in uniform. This is something you can do personally.”

  “What are you to Bannon?” Nettie asked.

  “My husband is a soldier, too,” Dolly said, “and Bannon saved his life on Guadalcanal.”

  Nettie took a deep breath and her eyes darted around nervously as she thought of what to do. She was scared of Bannon and anyone who might know him, but she believed he was a decent guy underneath his craziness. She didn’t want him to go to jail for the rest of his life.

  “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s talk about it.”

  Frankie La Barbara walked into Ward 23-B at the Pearl Harbor Naval Hospital, wearing the white uniform of a hospital orderly. He snapped the fingers of his right hand and chewed gum as he looked around at the rows of soldiers lying in bed, their legs or arms suspended by traction, their heads bandaged, knocked out on drugs or just staring at the ceiling. Frankie realized that everybody in the ward was in pretty bad shape.

  He bent down and looked at the names on the charts affixed to the beds. He was looking for Gunnery Sergeant Jack Crane, Dolly’s former boyfriend, who was supposed to be in that ward, recuperating from injuries. Frankie wanted to have a little chat with him about his testimony in the trial to be held in two days.

  Two nurses walked toward him, and he glanced up from the chart he was looking at to check them out. One was an adorable little blonde and the other a nice chubby brunette with big bouncy boobs. Frankie was tempted to make a pass at them but decided he’d better not take the chance. He had to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

  The nurses walked by him and he continued looking at charts. On the other side of the aisle an orderly was making up an empty bed and looking at him suspiciously. Frankie pretended to be on a mission of the utmost importance as he moved along, hunched over, reading charts. Finally his eyes fell on the sign that said: CRANE, Jack R. G/Sgt.

  Frankie straightened up and looked at his man. Crane’s entire head was bandaged, leaving little holes for his eyes, mouth, and nose. His arm was in a sling and he was motionless. Frankie glanced around. The other orderly was absorbed with his bed-making, not paying any attention to Frankie. At the other end of the ward a doctor and nurse were examining a patient.

  Frankie bent over Crane and whispered: “Hey!”

  Crane didn’t stir. Frankie called out to him again; still, there was no response.

  “What’s the problem over there!” shouted the orderly on the other side of the ward.

  Frankie looked up. The orderly was staring at him. Frankie pointed his thumb to his chest. “Me?”

  “Don’t bother that man!” the orderly said. “He’s under heavy medication.”

  “Oh.” Frankie walked toward the orderly. “There’s some f
riends of his outside who want to visit him, and I wanted to see if he was okay.”

  “That man’s not allowed to see visitors. He’s too sick. He can’t even talk because his jaw is broken. He’s in bad shape—didn’t you see his chart?”

  “Yeah, but I thought I’d ask anyway.” Frankie started backing away, smiling in his most ingratiating way. “If he’s in bad shape, I guess he can’t be interviewed or anything like that, huh?”

  “Of course he can’t be interviewed.” The orderly narrowed his eyes at Frankie. “I don’t think I’ve ever see you around here before. What’s your name?”

  “Joe,” said Frankie, turning to walk away.

  “Joe what?”

  “Joe Bachegalupe. See you around.”

  “Wait a minute!”

  Frankie walked swiftly out of the ward and entered the corridor that led to the next ward. The corridor was filled with doctors, nurses, orderlies, and patients, and he blended in with the scene. Glancing back, he couldn’t see the orderly coming after him. The orderly probably figured there was no point in getting involved in something that might mean more work. Servicemen don’t like to look for more work.

  Rolling his shoulders, Frankie made his way toward the hospital exit, glad that he didn’t have to threaten Jack Crane, because it would have been difficult to do in the ward with that orderly around. But Jack Crane wasn’t in any condition to give testimony, even if it was a deposition taken at his bedside. Jack Crane would be out of the ballgame for a long time.

  Frankie turned a corner and bumped into the cute blonde nurse he’d seen before.

  “Hey,” he said, taking a step backward, “how ya doing, sweetheart?”

  She looked at him and he saw her eyes light up. Some women were attracted to him on first sight and some weren’t, but this one evidently was.

  “I’m not your sweetheart,” she said gruffly, trying to walk around him.

  He got in front of her, because he could perceive that she was acting. “I know you’re not my sweetheart,” he said, “but I sure wish you were. What time you go off duty?”

  “None of your business. Get out of my way, please, or I’ll call for the guards.”