The Bookie's Daughter

by Heather Abraham

  These events left me wondering anew at the dangerous world in which I lived. Although I had rubbed shoulders with many a seedy character, I had been unaware of the existence of men such as the skin runners. I grieved for the young girls who were not as lucky as I to escape. I never returned to Mama Rhea’s, which burned down within a few years of the skin runner incident. Although I would find myself in the middle of other incidents that would necessitate keeping secrets from my mother, I never again went anywhere that she had declared off limit.

  As for the skin runners, my father assured me that they were no longer in the flesh trade. Although he refused to give me any details, his assurances gave me some measure of peace. I wondered if my father had turned them in to his law enforcement buddies or if his “friends” had taken care of the problem. My encounter with the skin runners furthered my understanding of the criminal world and the evil that men do. Until my brush with these black-hearted thugs, I had held a rather naïve view of those who chose to live a life of crime. Even though I lived with criminals on a daily basis, I had never before glimpsed such utter depravity. Human trafficking is one of the most hideous of crimes, and yet we live in a world where this monstrous business flourishes. This new awareness of the darker side of humanity would serve me well in the future. Each fraught encounter prepared me for the next. I rolled with the punches, became more aware of my surroundings, and relied on my sense of humor to keep my sanity.

  Although the Tacky Pimp and the skin runners were ultimately defeated by my giants, I knew from experience that the future held the possibility of more monsters. The pattern that began with my encounter with Damian Doom in my eleventh year would continue until I left Clay Avenue, and with it my father’s criminal world. The skin runners entered my life just two years before I reached the age of emancipation, but they also signaled the beginning of a dark period in my family’s life. The years 1980 through 1982 would be the most difficult period I had yet to encounter. I survived by keeping my eye on the promise of adulthood and the opportunity to go legit, which loomed so seductively before me. The next few years would be emotionally and physically draining and I found myself desperately clinging to an idealized dream of the future. As my father’s addictions spiraled into the abyss, I would become the target of his enemies. Al and Big John would yet again have to come to my rescue.

  Unfortunately, not everyone had the good sense to be frightened of my giants. I was about to encounter a new type of menace, one that would rely on the law to protect him.

  Eleven

  Slithering Menace

  “There is no kind of harassment that a man may not inflict on a woman with impunity in civilized societies.”

  Diderot

  Colton Copperhead slithered into my life on a cold blustery winter night in my sixteenth year. Snuggled in bed, I had just drifted off to sleep after a fitful night of trying to calm my ulcerated stomach. A sudden noise of breaking glass from the street below startled me from my troubled sleep. Still clutching a bottle of Maalox, I sat up, fully awake, when a second crash rang through the air. Slipping from the bed, I scanned the street below our apartment through the frosty window and quickly located the source of the noise. The windshields of several vehicles parked on the Avenue lay shattered in the street.

  A blast of frozen air and icy crystals invaded the apartment as I won my struggle with the frozen window. Squinting through the cold air, I startled to see a large figure leap from one of the damaged vehicles. Before I could move, the figure turned and looked directly up at me. This chilling moment is forever frozen in my mind. The man stared at me intently, and then let loose a chuckle as he boldly crossed over the roadway and stood directly in front of my family’s storefront. Almost casually, he pulled a brick out of his jacket pocket, held it in his hand as if contemplating his next move, and then tossed it through one of our store windows.

  Knowing my father was away, at an all night poker game no doubt, I tried to wake my mother. Bonnie growled at me and rolled back to sleep.

  “Mom, get up!” I shook her urgently. “Someone just broke into the store.”

  Mumbling incoherently, Bonnie pushed my hand away, pulling the pillow over her head.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, to no one in particular.

  My mother’s habit of popping black beauties generally left her either energized or groggy. From her reaction, it was apparent she was in the crash sequence of her addiction.

  Annoyed as hell, I picked up the phone and dialed the police station, explaining the situation to the desk sergeant. Then, I grabbed some clothes, dressed, and waited until I saw the police come down the Avenue. Two police cars pulled up, and I dashed outside to meet them. There was no need for introductions. All four of the officers present had, at one time or another, conducted raids on my father’s gambling or fireworks businesses. I knew these officers well, having over the years developed a strange familiarity with them.

  One of the officers asked what had happened and if I knew the perpetrator.

  “No, I don’t know who he is,” I replied excitedly. “He is a large white man, bushy, curly red hair, about six feet, very broad, and wearing a dark jacket and jeans. He broke into several vehicles across the street, then crossed over the Avenue and smashed our store window.”

  “Do you know if he’s still inside?”

  “No, I left the window to call you and get dressed. I have no idea if he is in there or not.”

  “Where are Al and Bonnie?” asked Freddy, a senior officer.

  I sighed. “My mom is in bed, and as far as I know my dad is out playing poker somewhere.”

  Ruffling my hair and chuckling, he replied, “Well kid, I guess that puts you in charge.”

  I was unhappy with this responsibility. “Yeah, just what I need—a promotion.”

  I did not have to explain my sarcastic remark. Freddy knew exactly what I meant. He then began to investigate the matter at hand, ordering me to stay on the sidewalk while he and another officer checked out the situation inside.

  Shining their flashlights on the entryway, the officers quickly discovered how the intruder had gained entrance to the store. From my place on the sidewalk, I could see the jagged remnants of the window next to the front door. Handing off the store keys, I stayed in my position on the sidewalk with one officer while the others entered the store. They found the cash register lying open on the floor. Turning on the lights and checking the rest of the store, they found the intruder had already left. The officers called me in and asked that I look around to see if anything else was disturbed. The cigarette display was in disarray and I immediately checked to see if the gun was missing. It was there, snuggled in a wooden box under a stack of paper bags. I quickly returned the gun to its hiding place and gave the officers my take on the situation.

  “He may have taken some cigarettes and he definitely cleaned out the register, which contained the daily starting amount of $155. He couldn’t have gone far. This happened less than five minutes ago.”

  Outside, an officer called to his partners, pointing to the ground. The newly fallen snow indicated a lone set of tracks leading from the side entrance of the store and running north on Seventh Street. While one officer stayed by my side, the others followed the tracks to the back alley. A few minutes later, I heard raised voices and felt the snap of anger in the air. The voices became clearer as the police wrestled the intruder out of the back alley. He was screaming, “That bitch! I’ll kill her! Do you hear me, bitch? I’ll kill you for this!”

  The police dragged the large man toward me and for the first time, I came face to face with Colton Copperhead, the man who would stalk me for the next three years. Apparently, Colton decided right then and there that I was responsible for all his woes. His twisted reasoning led him to place the blame for his troubles squarely upon my shoulders.

  Colton stared intently at me as the police questioned him about his crime spree. Never taking his eyes from me, he snidely half-answered their questions. He see
med more concerned with intimidating me than with the charges he would soon face. I stood my ground, refusing to flinch from his hateful, green-eyed gaze. I stared back, my demeanor a mask for the turmoil and fear that coursed through my body, rousing my ulcers to peak performance. Aside from his odious gaze, Colton’s physical stature was in itself intimidating; standing at more than six feet with a barrel chest and massive arms, Colton could easily carry out his threats with his bare hands. As the police wrestled him into their waiting car, he turned and looked at me again. He breathed one word that would haunt me in the coming months: “Later.”

  I returned to the apartment and found my mother in the kitchen making a pot of coffee, a cigarette dangling from her lips. As she spoke, the cigarette swayed up and down. “Well, did they get him?”

  “Yes,” I replied matter-of-factly. “His name is Colton Copperhead, an out-of-towner. He threatened to kill me.”

  Slamming the coffee on the table, she pointed to the revolver on the kitchen phone stand and said, “If he comes to the door, shoot him.” Then storming to the front window my mother screamed at the police, “If that bastard comes near my house or store again, I will shoot him. Make sure you tell him that. If he wants a fight, I’ll give it to him. He came to the right town if he wants trouble.”

  That was the beginning. Colton threw down the challenge and my mother accepted. I, on the other hand, could definitely have done without the added drama.

  While Bonnie continued her tirade, I went back to the store to call our repairman. I requested that he come immediately to board up the window and secure the store. One police car was still present on the Avenue, waiting for the owners of the vehicles Colton had robbed. The other had taken Colton to the police station for processing. Carted off to jail, he was arraigned the next morning and held over for court. I was suddenly facing my first time on the witness stand.

  A short time later, Colton secured a bond release and began systematic intimidation tactics that would continue until the trial date. While on my way to or from school, he would be present somewhere en route, leaning against a parking meter. His message was not lost on me: he knew my every step. At the public library, he would suddenly come around the stacks and stop within feet of me, chuckling but never addressing me directly. At the grocery store, I would find that he and I sought to purchase the very same bottle of shampoo. Often, I would look behind me and find him there—his presence a reminder of his earlier threats—warning me not to testify. I reported these encounters to the police but they were powerless. Colton had not broken any laws. He had not spoken to me in a threatening manner nor had he touched me physically. This was nearly a decade before the first stalking legislation was passed. There was nothing the police could do; I would simply have to endure his intimidation.

  My parents were aware of Colton’s threatening presence but had no options within the “legal” realm to prevent his continued harassment. Ironically, this was partly my fault because I had called in the police. Al explained to me, in a slightly annoyed voice, the consequences of having involved the police: “Once you called the law, you took away any possibility of my handling this situation. Colton continues to be a problem because the police are involved. This situation is too public. We will have to go through legal channels, but don’t get your hopes up; there is little justice to be found in the legal world.”

  In other words, if I had not called the police, my father’s “friends” would have sent Colton a message, verbal or if necessary physical, that would have halted the current situation. It never occurred to either of my parents that if they had been doing their jobs as parents, I would not have had to call the police. Where was Al that night? Playing cards, just as I had suspected. My mother was trapped in her crazed cycle of “speed and crash.” With my sister’s permanent departure from our home the year before, I was the only guard on duty that night.

  As the court date approached, I never doubted that I would go through with the testimony. Still, I could not forget Colton’s threats. I was acutely aware of the possibility of a not guilty verdict or the chance of probation without jail time. I knew my life would be in danger if he somehow escaped imprisonment.

  Luckily, I did not have to testify. Colton opted for a deal at the last minute. Arriving at the Westmoreland County Courthouse early, my parents and I stopped by the cafeteria for cup of coffee and bumped into the presiding judge. Apparently, the judge and my father were longtime acquaintances, the judge having purchased a television set from Al some twenty years before. They spoke congenially for a few moments and parted. Colton saw the exchange and feared an unfavorable outcome. The District Attorney agreed to a plea, which would have Colton serve a short jail sentence followed by a long parole. This was an immediate relief for me, but I was acutely aware of the potential for future threats. After all, he knew exactly where I would be when he was released from prison.

  Lamb: It’s Not Just For Dinner

  I did not have to wait long before I had my next encounter with the new menace in my life. A few months into his incarceration, Colton was granted a weekend pass to visit his ailing mother in Pittsburgh. Even though the judge had ordered that we were to be notified any time he was released from jail, the authorities failed to do so.

  I learned of his furlough when I saw him leaning against a telephone pole across the street from the store. Helping a customer out with her shopping bags, I ran directly into his threatening gaze. Squaring my shoulders, I ignored his presence and placed the shopping bags in the car. Once back in the store, where I was working alone, I began to call around looking for my parents. As neither could be located, I called Big John. Luckily, he was in town. Arriving quickly, he checked on me first and then sauntered across the street to have a little conversation with my stalker. Colton told him that he was on a weekend pass and did not want any trouble. Big John warned him away and stayed with me until my parents arrived home. Although I felt uneasy, I hoped Colton would move on and forget his perverse vendetta.

  The next day, I found myself with a rare Saturday off from the store, as my father had decided that I would be allowed to “work” the Saturday night poker game. This was a coveted task. I could easily make between $200 and $400 (a valuable addition to my escape fund) by running the game. My job would entail serving the poker players sandwich platters and drinks, as well as providing them with cigarettes and cigars throughout the evening.

  Although excused from duty at the store, I knew preparations for the upcoming game would take most of my day. After making several cold salads at home, I headed up the Avenue to purchase meats, cheeses, and a variety of fresh baked bread I would need to make deli-style sandwiches. Stopping at Jeannette Bakery and F & A Italian Store, I placed my orders and then made a side trip to Urbani’s Pharmacy to pick up some toiletries and browse their collection of books and magazines. While looking through the new release section, I felt the hair go up on the back of my neck and knew instinctively I was being watched. Turning quickly, I caught a glimpse of Colton as he crossed the aisle. A quick check of the corner spy mirror behind the pharmacy counter, allowed me to locate Colton who was kneeling behind a stack of boxes. Knowing that I needed to get home as soon as possible, I decided to make a run for it out the back door and down the alley. As I darted out the door, I heard a thump behind me and turned to see Colton in close pursuit. Kicking it into high gear, I ran through the alley heading parallel to the Avenue. Crossing over Sixth Street, I barely missed being hit by a car. Déjà vu!

  Having lost a few seconds dodging the car and fearing Colton would catch me, I decided to make an unexpected turn in the hopes that it would afford me the best chance for escape. Approaching the backside of Sandson’s Grocery, I jumped through the narrow door and onto the conveyor belt that was used to transfer produce and merchandise from delivery trucks in the alley. Crawling through the door and down the conveyor, I glanced back and saw that Colton was still on my heels. As I reached the back work area, I jumped off the conveyor belt and he
aded for the doors that led to the meat department located at the back of the store.

  Bursting through the double doors, I entered the grocery store with a sense of relief, thinking that I had reached safety. But before I could go a step further, I felt a sharp pain shoot through my shoulder and was propelled backwards. Glancing over my shoulder, I found myself staring into the red eyes of twin tattoo snakes that appeared to be slithering down his arms. Anticipating my screams for help, Colton caught hold of my waist, turned my back into his stomach, and placed his other hand over my mouth. The eyes of the snake tattoo glared menacingly up at me. As if intent on tasting me, my captor then flicked his tongue over my ear and explained in detail the revenge he had been planning.

  I could feel his hot, alcohol-infused breath on my neck. “Now I have you, bitch. Time for you to pay up. You and I are going to have a little fun.” His raspy voice and the suggestive movements of his body pressed against mine added yet another menacing layer to an already terrifying encounter.

  Unable to move in his vice-like grip, I remembered the self-defense class my mother had demanded Vanessa and I attend a few years before. The acronym SING (solar plexus, instep, nose, and groin) ran through my head and I relaxed into him as if in a faint. Colton chuckled, mistaking my submission as a victory, and slightly loosened his hold on me. Knowing this might be my only chance, I stomped down hard on Colton’s instep, threw my head forward and jerked it back hard. Coming up short, I missed his nose but crashed into his jaw. Cursing, Colton let go but I only managed to put a short distance between us when I felt his fingers again digging into my left arm, jerking me back toward him.