Fish Nets: The Second Guppy Anthology

by Ramona DeFelice Long

  Jamie glanced to the right but didn’t dare raise her head. A middle-aged woman at the next table stared at her with a quizzical look, probably wondering why such a young girl was with the likes of the fat and ugly biker type.

  “Please,” Jamie silently screamed. “Help me!”

  But within seconds, the woman returned to the book next to her plate and didn’t glance at Jamie again. No surprises there.

  Funny, Jamie used to think that her life at home was hell on earth. A junkie mother. Welfare checks that barely covered the cost of food, and that was on good days when the money didn’t wind up in a dealer’s pocket. The string of crappy apartments that lasted only as long as the rent was paid, then the middle-of-the-night exodus before the marshal came with the eviction order. She vaguely remembered a time before that when life was good, but only now and then did scraps of happy memories surface.

  So, when Mac rumbled into Takoma Park, Jamie thought he was a savior, come to take her away from her lousy life. Little did she know.

  “You eat now,” Mac ordered as he threw two slices of pizza on the plate in front of her. “Make it fast.”

  Jamie gobbled the food, not knowing when she’d have the chance to eat again. She knew full well that her very existence was dependent on Mac’s generosity. He told her when to eat, when to sleep, when to speak. He controlled every part of her life. That’s how it was in biker gangs. Women, or more often than not, girls, were property and did what they were told. Or else.

  When Mac rose from his chair and headed for the exit, Jamie quickly followed. When he mounted his enormous Harley, she jumped on behind. She used to think it was a big deal to roar around the country with the Devils, but now it terrified her. She learned real fast that the world she’d left was a helluva lot better than the nightmare she lived in now.

  * * * *

  That night, Jamie lay on the floor next to the single bed where Mac sprawled. She knew that all the beer he’d consumed and weed he’d smoked probably had put him out for the night. The air in the rundown trailer was musty and stale, the few pieces of furniture soiled and torn but, as she had learned, gang members weren’t choosy about accommodations. This place belonged to a guy who’d been locked up for cocaine trafficking and served as a crash pad by bikers passing through the area.

  Jamie stared at the stained ceiling listening to Mac’s watery snores. As the minutes passed, she decided that if she didn’t chance getting away from him now, she probably wouldn’t see her sixteenth birthday. Girls who hooked up with the Devils, by choice or not, disappeared within a few years. They were never talked about again. It was as if they never existed at all. No tears. No mourning. No nothing.

  Jamie took a deep breath and rose soundlessly from the floor. Since they traveled around the country with only enough belongings to fit in a roll on the back of the bike, they slept in their clothes. She crept into the front room of the trailer, slipping on her worn shoes and wrapping her tiny purse around her wrist. It was the only personal possession she was allowed to keep.

  As she put her hand on the doorknob, she felt an arm wrap around her neck. She tried to scream. She clawed at the viselike grip, and blessedly never heard the sickening sound of her neck breaking. Nor did she know that, a short time later, her weighted young body would be dumped into the bay, her little purse floating away.

  * * * *

  On a Tuesday morning, Eddie Bell stood at the rail of the Route 50 bridge, his line cast into the bay. He came here once a week, not so much for the fishing as for the chance to people gaze and occasionally shoot the bull with the regulars who hung out on the bridge.

  For the hundredth time, he reflected on the new life he and Peg shared. When he’d retired after thirty years on the job, they sold their house in Silver Spring, packed up their belongings, and moved down to the Eastern Shore.

  At first, Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d adjust to a life of leisure after so many years as a cop. He knew too many guys who’d wasted away from boredom after turning over their badges. But truth be told, he never spent a day with nothing to do. Eddie had many interests and an insatiable curiosity that had served him well as a cop.

  He also had a love of fishing. He’d become quite an expert and was the go-to guy for anyone who needed advice on all things fishing-related.

  And, Eddie had a talent for writing. He kept journals with story ideas and descriptions of people he encountered. He told himself that someday he might actually sit down and write a book about his life in law enforcement. After all, he couldn’t say he didn’t have the time now.

  Several months after Eddie and Peg settled into their new home, he attended a freelance writing workshop at the library. It was taught by the editor-in-chief of the local newspaper, whom Eddie had chatted with at several social events. This fortuitous encounter resulted in an offer of a weekly fishing column entitled “The Fishnet.” Eddie’s column took off, and he became a bit of a local celebrity.

  All of a sudden, Eddie felt a familiar tug on his fishing line. He began reeling in what he hoped would be a good-sized catch. He scooped it up with a net and dumped it on the ground.

  “What the hell?” He stared down at a sodden pouch. He picked up a small rectangular plastic purse that had somehow remained intact despite the ravages of the bay. With a bit of effort, he was able to open the clasp and peer inside. He pulled out a plastic comb, a badly rusted neck chain with a pendant of what looked like a caricature of the devil, and a laminated school identification card that listed the name and address of a middle school in Prince George’s County, a student’s name, and a small photo. The student’s name was listed as Jamie Keegan, and a beautiful young girl smiled at him. Eddie stared at the face in the picture for quite a while.

  * * * *

  The first thing Eddie did when he got home was check for telephone listings for Keegans in the general area of the Prince George’s middle school. He placed calls to the few listings, but had no luck. Eddie then placed a call to the local police headquarters. His buddy, Chief Chuck Lewin, took his call right away. After the usual inquiries about family, health, and life in general that begins conversations between friends, Eddie asked if he could drop by to meet with Chuck in about an hour. With no questions asked, Chuck encouraged Eddie to come on over.

  When Eddie arrived, he headed straight for Chuck’s office. The chief was talking on the phone and gestured for Eddie to take a seat. Considering the number of files piled on his desk, Chuck’s office was relatively neat and orderly. But there was no doubt that its occupant was one busy guy. Eddie knew the volume of work that plagued police departments, whether they were in big cities or relatively small resort towns. There was just never enough time.

  When Chuck completed his phone call, he turned to Eddie.

  “Hey, buddy, it’s good to see you. You’re looking younger by the day, my man. The good life agrees with you. Now, tell me what you need.”

  Eddie placed a plastic bag containing the little purse on Chuck’s desk. He quickly explained how it had come into his possession.

  “I know how swamped you are, but I’d like to ask a favor. I want to follow up on this kid. Her address and number, her family. You know the usual background stuff. I’d also like the necklace checked out to see if it has any significance beyond a young kid’s idea of cool.”

  “No problem, Eddie. I’ll have one of the guys get working on it right away. Shouldn’t take too long. But I’d bet there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

  Eddie chuckled but quickly turned serious.

  “Once a cop, always a cop. And, I’ll tell you, Chuck, I’ve got a funny feeling about this. Let’s see what you come up with. Then we’ll talk.”

  * * * *

  Eddie headed home with photocopies of the school I.D. and the necklace. He didn’t expect to hear from Chuck until the following day and could only hope that any information the chief could provide would be good news.

  Just after 6:00 p.m., as he and Peg were about to sit do
wn to dinner, Chuck called and asked Eddie to come over to his office as soon as he could. The summons wasn’t a good omen, and Eddie feared what he was going to learn. Ten minutes later, he was again sitting in front of Chuck’s desk.

  “This is a real hard luck story, Ed. Seems Susan Keegan was a junkie, picked up a coupla times for possession. OD’d eight months ago and her thirteen-year-old twin boys were placed in foster care pending the possible location of relatives. Jamie had left home, whereabouts unknown. No missing persons report was filed. The boys said their mom figured Jamie had run away, and she’d eventually come home.”

  “Aw jeez…” Eddie whispered .He could feel his heart pounding.

  “Now, here’s something interesting on the necklace. Seems that exact figure is the symbol used by a biker gang called the Devils. Real rough trade out of Texas, not big, but a nasty bunch of thugs. Travel around the country. We’ve had them come through here. Mostly into prostitution and drugs. Seems likely your girl got hooked up with a very bad crowd.”

  As Chuck spoke, Eddie turned pale and shrunk in his chair.

  “Shit. How’s this gonna be handled?”

  “For now, as a missing person. We’ve contacted the FBI Gang Investigation Unit in Baltimore and are waiting to hear back from them. Our guys are already on the street checking out known crash pads for undesirables that pass through the city. We’ll be sending out boats to check the bay. Very little doubt there’s a crime here and we’re pulling out all the stops. Thank God you found that purse, Eddie. Chances are a civilian wouldn’t have known to turn it in to us.”

  Chuck leaned forward, elbows on his desk. He certainly could tell that his friend was in a lot of distress. But he needed to know why. Sure, this situation would affect anyone. But Eddie was a seasoned police officer and had spent his whole career investigating the worst kinds of crimes.

  “Buddy, I need to know the rest. This is personal, and I want you to tell me about it.”

  Eddie looked at Chuck with tortured eyes. Looking down at his hands, he slowly began to talk.

  “One freezing, winter night twelve years ago, my partner and I had the unfortunate task of informing a young wife that her husband had been fatally injured in a car accident. As we tried to comfort her, without any success, a little girl in pink pajamas, clutching a worn teddy bear, came into the room.

  “She greeted us, introduced herself as Jamie, and asked who we were. Then glancing at her mother, her face filled with great concern, Jamie wanted to know why her mommy was crying. I explained to Jamie that her mommy just heard some very sad news.

  “That beautiful little girl went over to her mother and gave her a big hug. ‘Don’t cry, Mommy,’ she said. ‘It’ll all be better when daddy gets home.’”

  Neither Eddie nor Chuck said a word for several minutes. Anyone who thought that cops weren’t affected by the tragedy they saw every day knew shit about police work.

  “You know, through the years I’ve thought about that little girl. I’ve wondered whatever happened to her and her family. Where was she? Was she doing well? Was she happy? But no matter how many times she came to mind, I never tried to find the answers. I never had the time. I was always wrapped up with the next case, the next investigation. If I had, maybe I could have done something.…”

  “Eddie, we all have stories about the cases that rip us apart. We’re human. We do our jobs as best we can. Protect the public, investigate crime, catch the bad guys. We have to leave the rest to others and hope they do their jobs well, too.”

  Eddie gave a slight nod but remained unconvinced.

  “Okay,” Chuck said, “here’s what you can do now. Dedicate your next column to Jamie. She’s a missing person who is known to have been in Ocean City. Tell your story. Include her photo. Ask anyone who has any information on Jamie to contact you. Keep us in the loop. Christ, I’m preaching to the choir here.”

  “Thanks, Chuck.” Eddie rose from his chair and shook his friend’s hand. “I’m gonna head home and get the column to the paper right away.”

  * * * *

  As soon as Eddie’s column appeared, calls and e-mails poured in. His readers were touched by Jamie’s story and vowed to keep their eyes open for any sign of the young girl. It wasn’t until three days later that Eddie hit pay dirt. A call came in from a woman who furnished critical information on Jamie.

  “Mr. Bell? My name is Lucille Simpson. My husband and I have a condo up on 125th Street. My husband always reads your column, and he shared it with me this morning. I had to call you right away because I saw Jamie.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. I’m glad you’ve contacted me. Can you tell me where and when you saw her?”

  “It was seven weeks ago. March 29th to be exact. I know because it was the day before my husband’s birthday, and I was out shopping for some gifts. I’d stopped at Pizza ’n’ Pasta up on Philadelphia Avenue for some lunch. A young girl and a horrid, dirty-looking man were sitting at a nearby table. She looked so sad. And defeated. Her companion was truly disgusting, with long greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail, tattoos all over his arms and, I swear, an evil face that gave me the chills. It just didn’t feel right, but what could I do? He could have been her father or uncle. He didn’t do anything wrong. But I couldn’t get that girl out of my mind.”

  “Now, Mrs. Simpson, did you happen to notice any jewelry on either of them?”

  “The girl had no jewelry on. That man wore a string of earrings on one ear and a leather band on one wrist. Nothing more that I could see.”

  “Did you happen to notice what kind of tattoos he had on his arms? Were they pictures? Names? Objects?” Eddie was positive by now that Mrs. Simpson was the real deal.

  “Well, let me see. To tell you the truth, most of them were too small for me to see from where I was sitting. But you know I was able to see two of them. One was a snake wrapped around a heart with some writing in the center. The other was a creepy creature that looked just like a devil. Good lord, can you imagine?”

  “Did they talk, say anything at all?”

  “Nothing until he threw some pizza on her plate and ordered her to eat. I tell you, that girl should have gotten up and walked away from that brute!”

  “Mrs. Simpson, do you think you would recognize this man if you saw him again?”

  “Mr. Bell, there’s one thing I know for sure. If I live to be two hundred, I’ll never, ever, forget that face.”

  Bingo! Eddie smiled for the first time in days.

  “Mrs. Simpson, I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been. Now, I ask that you meet me at the police station as soon as possible.…”

  * * * *

  In just a matter of several weeks, a lot of good police work paid off. Chuck Lewin insured that Eddie was included in the investigation every step of the way. Eddie was exceptionally grateful to his friend for keeping him in the loop.

  Using the tattoo as a point of reference, the police showed Mrs. Simpson mug shots of known members of the Devils, and she unequivocally identified Lawrence McCarthy, a.k.a. Mac. He had an extensive record and had spent more than half his life locked up. Why he was still on the streets was anybody’s guess.

  The FBI notified every law enforcement department in the country seeking information on the whereabouts of Lawrence McCarthy. They quickly heard from a town outside of Oklahoma City where a stoned Mac had been arrested for critically injuring a resident whom he had picked a fight with in a local bar. The victim was in critical condition and not expected to make it. Mac was going to be put away for the rest of his life, which would probably end with a lethal injection. Meanwhile, the FBI would continue to investigate the case against Mac for Jamie’s death.

  The police located an old trailer near the bay that was on their radar because they’d picked up several unsavory characters there for a variety of offenses, including members of the Devils. This discovery pointed them toward an area of the bay where they could focus their search.

  When Jamie’s body was brough
t up from the bay, very close to where it’d been dumped, it broke Eddie’s heart. With Peg’s blessing, he paid for all the funeral expenses and hosted a graveside service attended by an enormous number of locals who had read Eddie’s column and wanted pay their respects to the young girl who died so tragically in their city.

  * * * *

  Six months to the day after finding Jamie’s little purse on his fishing line, Eddie sat in his beach chair on the Route 50 bridge. He hadn’t been back to the bridge since that day. Eddie had never been a religious man. All the cruelty and evil he’d seen over the years made it hard for him to wrap his mind around the notion of a benevolent god. But Eddie wasn’t able to accept that he, of all people, just happened to find Jamie’s purse. Coincidence? Maybe, but hard to believe. He figured he might never resolve it in his mind, but who knew?

  Eddie hadn’t been able to save Jamie, but he had come to the realization that he could do other things. Jamie’s brothers were still in foster care and Eddie had gotten approval to visit them once a month as a mentor. They were good kids, and even in light of their hard life, had good futures ahead of them. And, after all, he certainly had the time.

  Eddie pulled the school ID out of his pocket and looked into the haunted eyes of a beautiful young girl caught in the net of family tragedy. Then he folded his chair and headed for his car. In half an hour, he was due at a meeting of local leaders who were interested in creating a youth center in a church not far from the bridge. And his copy for “The Fishnet” was due this afternoon.

  CLEAN, by Steve Shrott

  Pamela rushed inside her apartment and removed her red pumps and fishnet stockings. She tossed the stockings into the sink and began scrubbing the mud off them. It had been a stormy night and when she tried to take a shortcut home, she had gotten all dirty.

  She didn’t like dirty.

  Pamela divided everything into clean and dirty. The day was clean, the night, dirty. People could be clean or dirty and some could start off one way and end up quite another—like her Uncle Ed. He always gave her candy when she visited him, patted her on the shoulder to let her know she was okay. She had always loved seeing him until that day when he came too close to her and…she didn’t want to think about that. From then on, he was dirty, dirty, dirty.