Harvey Porter Does Dallas

by James Bennett

  “We’ve never done nothin’ like that before,” Virgil answered, with his stare still locked on to Carmelita.

  “Maybe just this one time? We really do need the favor.”

  Virgil fussed and fretted before saying, “Well, maybe we could find a way. There’s an old mattress in the back room. I could put it on the floor of the cell for you.”

  “That’d be great,” said Harvey.

  “But I ain’t got no blankets or sheets.”

  “Don’t matter,” said Harvey. “As hot as it is in here, who needs it?”

  “We turn a big fan on at night when the prisoners are tryin’ to sleep.”

  “It still don’t matter.”

  “But I’d have to search you first, even though you aren’t arrested.”

  “Fine,” said Harvey. He emptied his pockets and placed them on Virgil’s desk. A pocketknife, six crumpled dollar bills, a quarter, and three pennies.

  “Seein’ that knife, I’m gonna have to pat you down. And maybe your girlfriend too.”

  “He only wishes I was his girlfriend,” said Carmelita, glaring at both of them.

  “That’s for sure,” said Harvey. “She’s tellin’ the truth.” Then he assumed the pat-down position, something he was very familiar with. He locked his fingers behind his neck and stood up straight while Virgil patted him down, his pockets, even the seams in the legs of his blue jeans. “Where’s your wallet?”

  “I don’t ever carry one.”

  “Why not?”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to carry in a wallet that anybody would want to see. No driver’s license, no other ID’s.”

  “Okay,” said Virgil. “You seem clean.” Then he started patting Carmelita down. She held her arms straight out. Anytime Virgil came close to touching her front or her buns, she warned him, “Watch it buster.”

  Virgil said, “I’m gonna have to keep your purse in the bottom drawer. It’ll be safe; that door locks. I’m gonna have to keep that Indian flute in there too.”

  “Why?”

  “It could be used as a weapon.”

  Harvey assured her it would be okay. His pocketknife and money would be there too. “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “It’ll be cool.”

  Then Virgil made a big mistake. He told Carmelita, “I might have to do a strip-search on you. We could do it in the back room so you can have your privacy.”

  Carmelita turned on him, her black eyes flashing. “You’d be smart to worry about your own privates. What you’ll get from me is a kick to the gonads before I ever take any clothes off.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Virgil quickly. He seemed a little nervous, like he knew he had crossed the line. “I’ll go get the mattress then.” He brought back a standard striped double bed mattress with mildew on one side. Carmelita made sure that side was on the bottom. There was just enough space to lay out the mattress and not disturb Victor’s bunk.

  Carmelita asked where the bathroom was, so Virgil unlocked the cell door and directed her.

  Victor said to Harvey, “Well, you always wanted to sleep with her.”

  “I’ll try and remember that while I’m servin’ detentions. Besides, sleepin’ is all it would be. Carmelita’s not in a romance head these days.”

  When Carmelita returned from the bathroom, the sun was setting. Soon, it would be dark. “What took you so long?” Victor asked her.

  “I took a French bath in there.”

  “Which is?”

  “I took my clothes off and scrubbed with warm water and liquid soap, from neck to toes. The only thing I couldn’t do was shampoo my hair.”

  “It looks okay,” said Harvey.

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “How’d you dry off?”

  “With paper towels. In a situation like this, you take whatever you can get.”

  “Well, you sure smell good,” said Victor.

  “Thank you.”

  By 9:30 they were all drowsy enough to go to sleep. Victor was already snoring in his corner cot. There was a faint light through the tiny, barred window. Harvey took his shoes and socks off, and started removing his blue jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Carmelita asked. “You can’t get undressed.”

  She was speaking in a loud whisper.

  “But it’s hot as hell in here, Carmelita. I’ve got to get these shoes and jeans off.”

  “Okay, but that’s where it stops.”

  “I really wanted to take my shirt off too.”

  “No. I told you where it stops.”

  Harvey knew it would be useless to argue. He was smiling broadly in the dark. “Hey Carmelita, we finally get to sleep together,” he whispered.

  “And sleeping is what it will be. Just remember that.” She was whispering louder than he was.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Then why is your hand on my thigh?”

  “I thought you might be cold.”

  “As hot as it is in here? Are you nuts?”

  Harvey took his hand away and put it behind his head, like the other one.

  “Make sure,” she told him, “that hand stays where it belongs. Otherwise, it might come back with a broken finger.” Harvey giggled, then they both fell asleep.

  They didn’t get back to the SAS building until after two because Victor’s father took his own sweet time about wiring the bail money. Harvey was a little worried, but Victor and Carmelita were practically unglued. “You know how much trouble we could be in?”

  From the lounge, they could see across the street to the plaza. Oboe Meel was basking on his favorite bench.

  “Should we ask him what to do?” asked Carmelita. “We promised to be back by ten last night.”

  “Forget it,” said Harvey. “You can’t ever bother him while he’s in his baskin’ mode.”

  Then Victor saw a sliver of hope. “And don’t forget, the paper we signed was just that we’d never bother him anymore. We may be free and clear.”

  They weren’t. Headmaster D’Artagnan had heard all about the adventure. He summoned the three of them to his office. “Detentions for all three of you. You’ll be spending your free time tomorrow in the classroom with the video camera.”

  “Listen,” said Harvey. “You gotta understand one thing. This was all my idea. It’s all on me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely. I had to twist these guys’ arms.”

  The headmaster swelled up. “These guys, as you call them, are a young man and a young woman. You might be better advised to call them your companions.”

  Victor was looking down at the floor while Carmelita was frowning at him. Harvey gave her the sign to keep her mouth shut. “Okay, companions. It’s still the facts that it was me hasslin’ ’em so much they finally agreed to go.”

  “Who’s your English teacher?”

  “I don’t know,” Harvey replied. “I don’t think I’m takin’ English.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said D’Artagnan smugly. “Next year we’ll have to see that you do. In the meantime, I’m taking you at your word. These two are free to go. You’ll be spending free time in detention on Tuesday as well. Are you willing to take that punishment?”

  “Sure,” said Harvey. “It’s fair.” From the corner of his eye he could see that Carmelita was about to make a protest. He turned the glare on her, the same one he used on Bobo at the Mushrush’s, and the same one he bored into Jesse with in the hallway outside the dorm. Taking a good long look at the dark, ice-pick eyes, Carmelita shrugged her shoulders and didn’t speak.

  “All right then,” said the headmaster. “That’s how it will be. The three of you may go now.”

  In the hallway, Harvey walked so fast Victor and Carmelita could hardly keep up. “Why did you do that?” they asked.

  “‘Cause that’s the way it has to be.” He didn’t turn around.

  “But why?”

  Now he was walking so fast they couldn’t keep up. He said it once again without turning ar
ound, “I just told you. That’s the way it has to be.”

  Carmelita and Victor stopped in their tracks. “He wants to be alone,” said Victor.

  “I know. Maybe it’s what he needs.”

  The detention room was a simple small classroom, with regular desks, but it had that videocam mounted above the door. Another guy was in detention too. His name was Raoul Roadrunner. “Whatcha in for?” asked Harvey.

  “I was cheatin’ on tests in criminal history class.”

  “That’s it?” said Harvey. “They put you in detention for that?”

  “That’s it.” Harvey could only shake his head. A detention for cheatin’ on tests? It sounded like regular school.

  The first thing Harvey did was open his notebook and practice writing his new name. The one that replaced his old new name:

  Clyde Barrow Alice Walks-in twos Lee Harvey Oswald Soft Feet

  He wrote it several times. It was so long it would be hard to memorize. Then he heard a voice from a speaker next to the videocam: “Mr. Porter, you need to work from the reading list.”

  At first it surprised him, but then he remembered how Victor had said they had special software to actually monitor what you were reading. Or what you weren’t. He opened up the Bonnie and Clyde book by McMurtry. He ended up by finishing the first half of the book. From all he could tell, old Charlie Whistlestick had been right about the Barrow gang. They only robbed banks. If a customer had withdrawn money of his own, they let him keep it. They only shot in self-defense; anybody they killed, there just wasn’t no choice.

  In Tuesday’s detention, he finished the book. The history was clear: Bonnie and Clyde were outlaws but they weren’t killers. The Barrow gang only fired if they were threatened. The real murderers were the cops. They formed up a big posse of state cops, deputy sheriffs, and some other law enforcement guys. Acting on a tip, they ambushed Bonnie and Clyde on a small Louisiana country road in May of 1934. They surrounded them on all sides and using Tommy guns, they blew them to pieces and turned the car into little chunks. They could have arrested them and brought them in alive; it would have been easy. Instead, they ambushed them like cowards and blew them away. Completely away.

  Here were the cowardly assassins, Harvey thought. The cops themselves. But if his grandfather was more or less a victim, the same couldn’t be said about his father, Oswald. He was the scumbag coward chicken who plotted to kill President Kennedy and got it done. Right in the back of the head. It was for sure Bonnie and Clyde never back shot nobody.

  22. eBAY

  Wednesday morning brought good news. Victor caught Harvey by the arm in the hall after sociology class. “The report is back from Weber Weeble,” he said. “The handwriting on the list is the real thing.”

  “You’re kiddin’” said Harvey.

  Victor shook his head. “Nope. I’d never joke around about something as big as this. But you need to hear it from Weeble himself. He’s still got the list, too.”

  “Now?”

  “No. We’ve got classes. First thing after lunch.”

  “Okay.”

  Harvey spent the next three classes without paying attention, restless, crossing his legs, uncrossing them, and back. The clocks seemed stuck in molasses. He was dying to hear what Weber Weeble had to say.

  He and Victor gobbled lunch in about five minutes, then made their way to Weeble’s cubicle. “What’s the story on the list?” Harvey asked him.

  “It’s like I told your friend Victor. The handwriting is authentic. This list was written by Lee Harvey Oswald.”

  Harvey felt euphoric inside; he didn’t know what to say.

  Weeble continued, “It wasn’t a hard match to make. Particularly the ‘I’s’ and the ‘d’s’ at the ends of his words.”

  Victor asked, “Would you be willing to be the authenticator for us on eBay?”

  “Of course,” said Weeble. “I’ve made the identification professionally and in good conscience.”

  “We need to pay you something for this.”

  Weeble cackled and waved his hand. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, pushing the thick glasses up tight against the bridge of his nose, “If you make any money on eBay, you can slip me a little something.”

  “If?” asked Victor, incredulous. “Did you say if?”

  “Okay, okay,” said Weeble, still cackling. “When.” Then he handed the folded piece of folded notebook paper to Harvey. “You have to take better care of this,” said Weeble.

  “How so?” asked Harvey. “I keep it locked in my hutch all the time. My lock is real heavy duty.”

  “Not good enough,” Weeble answered while shaking his head. “Something this valuable needs maximum safety.”

  “What would that be?”

  “First of all, you need to seal it tightly in a plastic bag. This paper is so old that it’s turning brown and even getting a little brittle. There are small cracks already, which will only get bigger.”

  That sounded simple enough to Harvey, but Weber continued, “Then I’d advise you to safeguard it in a safety deposit box in a bank.”

  “What’s a safety deposit box?”

  Victor put his arm on Harvey’s shoulder. “I can tell you all about safety deposit boxes. Let’s thank Mr. Weeble and go sit down.”

  They sat on a lounge couch but Harvey was suspicious of putting the list anywhere that he couldn’t get his hands on it. “It would be out of my hands,” said Harvey.

  “Don’t worry,” said Victor. “There’s nothing more secure than a safety deposit box in a bank. Everybody uses them for their most valuable possessions. Birth certificates, wills, precious jewelry, everything.”

  “But how can I get the list if I want it?”

  “You’ll have the key. The box can’t be opened without that key.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Hey. My mother has her diamond wedding ring and engagement ring in a safety deposit box.”

  “Why doesn’t she wear them?”

  “Her fingers got too fat; she couldn’t get them to fit any more. She’s also got a diamond necklace in there. It’s got lots of diamonds in it, but it’s real old-fashioned and out of style. It’s kind of like a web, the way it’s made.”

  “How much is it worth?” Harvey wanted to know.

  Victor sighed. “At least two million dollars.”

  Harvey had heard enough. He would put the list in a safety deposit box.

  Two days later, he did so. Carmelita went with him because she had a real driver’s license which was a valid ID. The box rental might have to be in her name.

  There was a real large, old bank about three blocks from the school made of brick with huge concrete pillars in front. Harvey thought it looked extremely strong. They made a short cut down an alley, which turned out to be a mistake. About halfway down, two white bread thugs jumped out from behind a dumpster. Both of them had open switchblades. “All we want is your lady’s purse; hand it over and you won’t get hurt, neither one of you.”

  Quickly, Harvey pushed her roughly to the far side of the alley. He faced off against the two guys with the long blades. I’ve got the list, for chrissakes. I have to take these guys down.

  Taking them down didn’t take long. Harvey gave the one on the right a power kick to the crotch, then grabbed the other one’s wrist. He twisted so hard with both hands he could hear the wrist snap. The knife fell to the pavement. The guy went to his knees and started moaning, his hands clutched in tight against his stomach.

  Harvey walked over to the other guy, who was on his knees, also moaning in pain, but still holding his knife. “Look up,” Harvey ordered him. “Look up here.” When the white bread turned his face up, Harvey gave him a stiff shot to the nose with the heel of his hand. The blood was flowing like crazy; he too dropped his knife. “You broke my nose. I think you broke my friggin nose,” he moaned. He had his face in his hands; the blood flowed freely through his fingers.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Harvey. �
��Broken noses heal fast. The other scumbag over here has a broken wrist. He’ll probably have to see a doctor.”

  Both of them were still moaning and blubbering as Harvey picked up their knives. “This is what happens to white bread street scum when they play with sharp things. You think about that.”

  He went to Carmelita and asked if she was okay. “I guess so,” she said, but she was clutching her shoulders and her eyes were full of fear.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  They continued to the other end of the alley. Carmelita was still quivering a little big. “My God, Harvey, I had no idea you were that tough.”

  Harvey shrugged. His hair was messed up and he’d broken a sweat. “You learn that on the streets. Los Rebeldes and afterwards.” His breathing was back to normal. “I’m kinda proud, though.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, back in the old days, I really woulda hurt those guys. This time I just let it go.”

  Carmelita had a hard time believing her ears: I really woulda hurt those guys???

  Harvey went on, “I think it shows progress.”

  “What progress?”

  “Personal progress. I think I’m gettin’ more socialized.” They rounded the corner, where a large trash can was next to the curb. Harvey dropped the knives in. “I think that’s what Mrs. Bert calls it,” he added.

  The bank did indeed want the safety deposit box in Carmelita’s name because she had the valid driver’s license. This area of the bank was in the basement. Harvey liked the looks of the huge steel doors. His list would be safe here.

  When the lady behind the counter asked how long they’d like to lease the box, Harvey said, “How ’bout a month?”

  “I’m sorry, but our shortest lease period is three months. It costs twelve dollars.”

  Three months? thought Harvey. “You mean we can’t get our paper out for three months?”

  “No, no. You can get whatever you put in the box at anytime. It only means your lease is good for three months. After that, you can renew your lease if you like.

  That sounded okay. He turned to Carmelita, “Three months then?”

  She nodded. “Three months.”