“Mom and Dad are here,” Pete informed Jeep.
“Wonderful. I’ll get over to them as soon as I check in with Babs.”
“Aunt Jeep, let Pete escort you. People will stop you every step of the way. I can unload the truck.”
“I’ll protect her.” King lifted his ruff.
“I’ll protect my lady, too.” Baxter set his jaw, which made his moustache even more prominent.
Hand on Jeep’s elbow, Pete guided her toward Babs, who was standing on the bed of a truck, quietly dispensing orders.
Some of the neighborhood’s impoverished residents, now emboldened, emerged from the houses. Other remained sequestered, especially the illegal immigrants. Donald Veigh acted as a runner between groups of people.
Down the block, Howie Norris was chatting with Asa Chartris.
“How’d you swing it?” Howie asked.
“I went to the board and said two words: ‘Do it.’ I mentioned that banks currently are reviled. We need to help people as best we can without harming shareholders.”
“Resistance?”
“A little. Michelle Speransky brought up a good point, which is that nowhere in the city ordinances does the word ‘squatter’ appear. Homeless is the word used for street people. These people here are considered trespassers, which breaks the law.”
“Kind of like Bill Clinton’s lesson in semantics?” Howie stuck his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah, well this won’t cost the taxpayer seven million dollars.”
“How’d you get around it?”
“We didn’t. I called the sheriff and he went over to City Hall. They all decided on the humane approach. What good does it do to throw people out on the street, especially children? What good does it do when all of them are up for election next year? They chose the rational course and so did we.”
“Your jackets are nifty.” Howie liked the maroon jackets with white lettering: RENO SAGEBRUSH UNITED.
Asa laughed, sweeping his hand outward. “We aren’t the only ones advertising our goodness.”
Howie laughed, too, as many groups wore armbands or light jackets since the temperature hovered at about 53°F—pleasant but not T-shirt weather.
Zippy smelled King before she saw him. She lifted her head, then ran over as King and Jeep reached Babs.
“Hey, someone brought meat loaf.”
King, tail upright, walked over to the bounding Zippy. “We won’t get any.”
“But it smells so good.” Zippy wagged her tail. “Where’s the sawed-off shotgun?”
“Back with Mags.”
Donald, returning for more orders, helped Jeep up into the bed of the truck. “Thank you for this, Miss Reed.”
“It’s my pleasure, really. Just look at all these people.”
Moving slowly, down the block bustling with activity were Patrick Wentworth and Reggie Wilcox, with his camera rolling.
Lorraine, Pete’s ex-wife, was interviewing the sheriff. She had just finished when Patrick Wentworth approached.
“Sheriff.”
The sheriff waved him off. “Patrick, I’m a public employee. I can’t endorse a candidate.”
“I’m not asking you to endorse me,” Patrick replied evenly.
Lorraine whispered, “Get this,” to her cameraman.
As Patrick pursued the sheriff, he was intercepted by Pete, who simply put a hand on his shoulder.
“Who the hell are you?” Patrick snarled.
“Deputy Pete Meadows, off duty.”
“Take your hand off me.”
Pete dropped his hand. The brief delay allowed the sheriff to walk into the middle of the Lutheran church group and start lifting out a few boxes.
“I recognize you from TV,” said Patrick. “You’re the guy who found the murdered man.”
“In the line of duty.” Pete weighed his words.
“What are you doing down here now?”
“Trying to help out. I thought you might want to see the inside of one of these foreclosed homes.” Pete cleverly held out the bait, which might get Patrick out of hardworking people’s way, at least for a little while.
Reggie muttered. “That’s a good idea.”
The three walked toward a house Pete knew was vacant. The sheriff watched him go, grateful that he had an officer who could think on his feet politically as well as physically.
Just then a minivan pulled onto the street, filled with food and clothing, as well as the beauties from the Black Box. Within minutes, the girls, in tight pants and boots, spilled out. Giggling and tossing their hair out of the way as they unloaded boxes, they brought with them a gust of youth, energy, and unconventionality.
Babs noticed, as did Jeep.
Babs leaned down to Donald and said, “Tell the girls they can drop food at the houses midblock. You can judge how much food they have and see if they need extra hands.”
“I guess that ad did reach a lot of people.” Jeep smiled broadly.
Teton, reluctant to come out from behind the wheel, was finally coaxed out by Lark. At the back of the minivan, she pointed to boxes.
SSRM also had people there. Twinkie carried boxes. Bunny helped out, as did Irene and CeCe. Irene was nervous but Bunny, busy, didn’t notice.
Mags, never having seen Lorraine in person, watched her with curiosity. Lorraine was conventionally beautiful, made up for the camera. Mags neither liked nor disliked her. Pete said that Lorraine wanted a big career. He wanted to stay in Reno.
Enrique, Carlotta, and their friends, thanks to Carlotta’s knowledge of Spanish, found the homes wherein illegal immigrants hid. They left food and clothing at the back doors.
“This is my big-break day,” Tu’Lia told Lark breathlessly as they delivered goods.
“Whatever you say.” Lark was accustomed to Tu’Lia’s boundless optimism.
“I mean it. You, too. Look at all the cameras. I’m going to get interviewed. Just watch.”
“Tu’Lia, let’s empty out the van first. You can get ready for your close-up once we’re done.”
“I want to be filmed carrying food. Come on, girl, this is our big chance.”
Lark just nodded.
On Lark’s side, farthest away from cameras and people, Teton bent his head. “Tets, honey, no one is going to give you grief,” she said.
“Yeah, well, whenever cops are around I like to make myself scarce.”
“Depends on how cute they are.” Tu’Lia giggled.
“Uh, none of them are cute to me, Tu.”
Tu’Lia wrinkled her pert nose. “Why do men always have to say something like that? I mean, are you really afraid someone will think you’re gay? It’s so stupid.”
Teton kept his mouth shut.
“It’s a guy thing. Just forget it.” Lark set the heavy box down on a house’s doorstep and knocked on the front door.
Tu’Lia, pushing her chest out to the maximum, saucily said, “No man refuses me.”
Just then a little boy opened the door a crack. Lark smacked Tu’Lia in the midriff so she stood up straight without pushing out her bosoms.
“Honey, this is for you and your Mommy.” Lark knelt down.
The child, thumb in his mouth, stared up at her, then ran toward the back calling, “Mommy.”
After a few words with a harried mother, the two girls and Teton headed back to the van. As they did so, Pete, Patrick, and Reggie emerged from the empty house.
Teton groaned upon seeing Pete.
Grin in place, Lark waved to Pete, then said to Teton, “You’re here for a good reason. Get over it.”
Tu’Lia recognized Patrick Wentworth about the same time he recognized her.
“Reggie, get footage,” he said. “I can really use this.”
“How?” Reggie had a bad feeling.
“Show disreputable elements. The first sign that things are going from bad to worse. Get those girls on camera!” Patrick lunged forward.
Tu’Lia did also, breasts more than prominent.
“Uh-oh.” Lark hurried after her.
Teton hurried back to the van.
Lorraine ran toward the potential collision. Her cameraman ran after her. They stopped ten feet away.
Seeing people run, King and Zippy naturally ran after them. What’s more fun than running after a person or running with them?
Tu’Lia threw her arms around Patrick, giving him a big kiss. She rubbed her breasts on him.
“O-o-h.” Tu’Lia squealed suggestively.
Patrick pulled her hands from behind his neck, threw her on the ground, then kicked her.
Pete immediately put himself between Patrick and Tu’Lia, who curled up on the ground. Lark knelt down to help up the foolish girl.
Tears ran down Tu’Lia’s face. Lorraine was getting all of it.
“Are you all right, honey?” Lark asked.
“He kicked me, he kicked me right in the tits. It hurts,” Tu’Lia wailed.
Now alert to the situation, the sheriff walked over slowly. Pete had it in hand, but the sight of a uniform can work magic.
Lark walked off with Tu’Lia, who had her head on Lark’s shoulder.
King snarled at Patrick Wentworth.
“Get that vicious dog away from me,” Patrick spat.
Now in front of Patrick, the sheriff said quietly, “That dog saved a woman’s life this year. You’d best be moving along, Mr. Wentworth, before you’re charged with assault.”
Anger abating finally, Patrick noticed all three network cameras rolling.
He leaned toward the sheriff. “I am going to be your next representative to Congress. You’re going to have to deal with me.”
“That’s up to the people of Washoe County.” The sheriff threw his shoulders back. “I advise you to leave. Now.”
As the other networks shot Patrick skulking away, Lorraine walked over to the van where Tu’Lia was wiping her tears. True to form, the stripper gave her one hell of an interview.
Tu’Lia’s wish came true. She was all over the TV news that night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
By Monday, April 18, Patrick Wentworth had cobbled together an ad that he hoped would muffle the damage of the news footage of him kicking Tu’Lia when she was down.
His ads ran on the morning news and again at night. People unloading boxes from vans were seen in the background, but the foreground was of Tu’Lia and Lark at the open doors of the minivan. A quick cut of Tu’Lia exiting the Black Box in the cold—the footage shown in his ad six weeks ago, breasts blurred so as not to offend those bothered by the sight of a good-looking woman’s breasts. She was identified as a “so-called exotic dancer.” He then slammed Jeep as a woman rich enough to buy Reno, buying favors from the people on Spring Street, and on he ranted, also including a shot of King snarling. His point was that Spring Street was headed for the skids, bad elements were moving in.
Both his mother and his brother tried to talk him out of such an incendiary attack.
“We’re running out of money,” his brother warned, but even that didn’t dissuade him.
“All three stations are run by liberal flunkies. I’m going to win!” He banged his mother’s kitchen table with his fist.
Bad as it was kicking Tu’Lia and then trying to weasel out of it by saying she attacked him, his real mistake was in sliming the sheriff and the city council. In his new ad, he quoted the ordinances concerning trespassing and declared that he would bring suit against city council for ignoring their own laws, and against the sheriff for same.
The next day, Tuesday, city council members on the steps of the county offices, along with the sheriff in full uniform, read a statement: “The economic crisis of our city has created unexpected suffering among adults and children. Removing those devastated by our nation’s economic downturn, casting them into the streets, is not in the interests of this city. We refuse to do this.
“What we promise is to do everything in our power to find employment for the people out of work wherever they might be. Nor will we allow children to go hungry in our city.”
The head of city council then unfolded a sensible plan so children could get one hot meal—their school lunch. He gave a website address so residents could examine the details and costs of this plan.
He then ended with: “Reno is the biggest little city in America. We have the biggest hearts, too.”
Airing this as a public service ad during prime time was unusual, but no news director had ever remembered public servants making such a statement.
The news directors, all three of them men, also realized that few heterosexual males in Washoe County would be offended by Tu’Lia’s assets even if they were blurred. They were left intact on the screen. Those males in adolescence, although they could access porn faster than their parents, were entranced because they could watch this as news with their parents.
As for the women of the county, for most of them it was the usual shrug and wry smile. It’s difficult for women to comprehend how mammary glands imprison male minds and body parts. Not that women were complaining. You take what God gives you and make the most of it, or in Tu’Lia and Lark’s case, you take what God gives you and add to it.
The news directors milked Sunday’s events for two days. Tu’Lia, not in her work clothes, gave humorous, lengthy interviews. Lark had coached her.
After the last microphone walked out the door, she clapped her hands. That night, at work, the place was packed with men chanting her name.
She sidled up to Lark. “I told you Sunday was my lucky day. This is just the beginning.”
Lark put her arm around Tu’Lia’s waist and whispered, “I hope so, Tu, I really do.”
On his barstool, Teton listened to the men, observed Tu’Lia’s radiant face. In the doghouse for bailing on them Sunday, he wondered how to right himself in Lark’s eyes. The last thing he wanted was for his face to be seen on TV. She knew that.
She also knew that when her friend Tu’Lia had been hurt she could have used a hand getting her back to the minivan. Lark, an average student in school, while not a reader or much of a thinker, was reasonably intelligent. America values book learning, but Lark had common sense once her emotions calmed down. She knew her days were numbered at the Black Box. She’d never found what she wanted to do in life, but she knew she didn’t want to serve in a topless bar forever. She also knew the first wrinkle would demote her. Tu’Lia’s need to be the center of attention, which was part of the performer’s personality, wasn’t hers. Lark just wanted to make a decent living and knew she could make a lot more money serving drinks in a spare costume than she could as a clerk at Walmart.
Lark had hoped Teton would grow up and accept responsibility, and some of that responsibility included her. His behavior on Sunday shook that hope.
She smiled as Tu’Lia ran from table to table, her excitement enlivening the patrons.
She is on her way up, Lark thought. Where am I heading?
On Wednesday night, Mags was working in her great-aunt’s den, going over some papers from her part-time job. Great-aunt and great-niece discussed fully all that had transpired. She punched in more requests, numbers, etc., then sat and stared at the computer screen for a long, long time.
Baxter was asleep in front of the fireplace. Toothpick was curled next to him, lifting his head when King, claws clicking, crossed the hardwood floor, then also settled on the carpet. Jeep followed.
“Sweetie, you’re going to ruin your eyes,” Mags’s great-aunt said.
She smiled at this person she loved so much. “Guess I have been at it too long.”
“Wrap it up. I’ll fix us both a drink. Let’s sit in front of the fire. You know the snow’s still on the top of Peavine Mountain so we’ll have fires in the fireplace at night for a bit more.”
“Right.” Mags nodded, shut down the computer.
Jeep fixed herself a stiff bourbon, and for Mags, a scotch and water with two ice cubes from the small bar in the den.
The two women sat down, each g
ratefully taking a sip. It had been a long day.
“Aunt Jeep, the more I investigate bank stocks for Davidson and Fletcher, I realize that clearing up those foreclosed homes on Spring Street or wherever they occur will be extremely complicated.”
“Will this be any more complicated than usual?”
“The government doesn’t know what it’s doing. There are too many government agencies with oversight all blaming each other for the catastrophe. Listen to this: Loans are supposed to go to a secure trust when sold. But the banks were selling so fast at such volume, they cut every corner they could, even using robosigners and people who rubber-stamped all loans without investigating the creditworthiness of the applicant. The banks, to save time and make more and more money, just assigned the loan blank. They decided to fill in the paperwork later.”
At this unbelievable fact, Jeep’s eyes popped open wide. “You’re kidding. Mags, if the American public ever truly understands how it has been robbed and duped I believe there will be widescale violence. Blood.” Jeep inhaled deeply.
“In a small way, there already has been. Pete told me Robert Dalrymple was a robosigner.”
“Ah.” Jeep looked at the three dogs fast asleep and peaceful. “It’s like when I flew in the fog and I was approaching mountains. I couldn’t see them but I knew if I didn’t climb, I’d be dead.”
“Well, that’s the question. Can we climb? There are government officials and bankers swearing we’re not in a fog and there are no mountains.”
“Yes.” The ice cubes tinkled in the cut-crystal glass, another of Dot’s lovely purchases for Jeep who would have been happy with an old paper cup.
“What we don’t know can hurt us individually because, Aunt Jeep, we’ve drawn attention to a huge foreclosed area, as has Patrick Wentworth. I have this sensation, like a bug crawling on my back that I can’t reach, that we’ve both brought scrutiny to areas that some people would wish we hadn’t.”
“Oh, I think we’re safe enough.”
“Aunt Jeep, why would a middling former bank employee have his throat slashed? It can’t be because he made bad loans or there’d be thousands dead all over America.”
Murder Unleashed Page 16