by Ed Griffin
"I want you to run the operation. Think big, think for the future. Imagine the business we'll have if everybody wants a car. Gas stations, new cars, rental cars. And of course the more cons we get up here, the stronger our economy is and the more guys there are, the more cars we'll need. I hope I can count on your vote to bring more people up here, Moose."
"We'll see, Gilmore, we'll see."
Muscoti was an unknown.
Muscoti motioned for his wife to join them. Gilmore shook his hand and headed again for the liquor table. Latisha was still behind the table arranging the cheese and crackers. This was the time to -
Somebody tapped him on the back. Baker.
"Hell of a show, Gilmore. Thanks for the invite. This is Alice, my Missus"
With Baker he would take a different approach. Alice Baker was part of the organization. Some said she was the organization. The Bakers had ruled the downtown bar scene for years, but both husband and wife were now in their early sixties. The story went around they were taking a nap when the Feds moved in on them.
"You going to work in this factory tomorrow, Gilmore?" Baker asked.
That was a question to duck. Gilmore laughed easily. "That bitch, Carvinere, on your case?"
"Fuck, yeah. The bitch wants me and Alice to work same as everyone else. What the fuck, I say. If we run out of food or heating oil, Uncle Sugar will help out. He always has."
Alice added her 'yeah.'
"No, I'm afraid it's for real this time. It's work or starve. The Feds ain't kidding. And things aren't going to change until we can get more people up here to do the grunt work. That's why I made the motion for another shipment of cons. Support that motion and I sure as hell would go along with a motion to make you work coordinator. You say who works where."
"What about me?" Alice asked.
"Both of you. It's a big job."
But Gilmore knew he couldn't slack off on the factory. He had to live up to his promise to Alexander Duban to make this factory run efficiently..
"Factory's important for another reason, Baker, Alice. Without it we have no way to do any smuggling."
"Smuggling?"
"Yeah, a factory means goods moving out and component parts moving in. We have to find a way to beat the mail censors in Seattle. Men do have money back on the mainland, but they can't get it here. And we need an ongoing method to get booze and drugs up here."
Alice spoke up. "Sharp, Gilmore, sharp. But we're going to do like you and sleep in tomorrow."
"I'm not sleeping in. I'm taking it on myself to make sure the factory operates, that people show up. Do you think anyone's going to work because Straight Frank tells them to? No. Cons will listen to a prison boss, not some choirmaster."
"Whatever," Baker said with a sigh. "As long as I ain't got to work."
Baker's attitude was dangerous, Gilmore thought. People had to report for work in the morning. Maybe if he sent Larson with a clipboard to stand at the factory door.
Gilmore noticed Latisha still behind the table, but Big Jim and Fitznagel were in front of the table and he'd already talked to them. If he moved toward Latisha, they'd corner him again with more talk of sea otters. They really were ignorant crackers.
Anyway it was time to look for Rodriguez. What was it that Latisha wanted?
Chapter 15
"How does this look?"
Jeannie Dickinson came in with a plate of cheese and crackers, the cheese cut into numbers and letters. Her expectant eyes looked up at Latisha.
"Very nice, very nice indeed. Here, let me help you," Latisha said, taking the tray from her.
"How was my mom?" Jeannie asked.
"Excellent, good, couldn't be better," she said while wanting to say, "Obscene, crude and unnatural."
Jeannie looked around. "This is so cool. Your husband puts on a great party. I just wish there were more people my age. I know what, I'll take the cheese tray around."
"Okay."
Latisha watched her go. The girl had no hesitation walking up to people. If only she could be like that. Then she wouldn't need Gilmore. He had never honored her request to 'introduce me.' He had connections to make. Obviously she wasn't one of them.
Latisha bent down behind the table to clean up a drink someone had spilt. When she stood up Big Jim and Fitznagel were back in front of the table for the fourth time. They picked the cheese off some crackers, letting the crackers fall to the floor. They ignored her, turning away toward the party, and continued to talk.
"So why is he so hot to get more cons up here?" Fitznagel asked.
"Takeover, man, a fuckin' takeover. Boss figures a lot of these people are loyal to Villa. But a new bunch won't know anything about Villa. They'll line up behind Gilmore. Fuck, man, every prison Gilmore's been in, he's come out on top."
"And we'll be his lieutenants."
Big Jim eyed Fitznagel. "Well, at least I'll be."
"What about me?"
"That nigger talk, well - us whites got to play it cool." Big Jim shrugged and turned toward Latisha to get more whiskey. "Hey, sweet mama, I seen you around tonight. Here - " he shoved his glass at her - "put a spike in this drink and - " his eyes went up and down her - "I'll put somethin' into you later."
The pig. The animal. She stuffed the dirty towel she'd been using to clean the floor into his glass, then walked out of the auditorium. The hell with Gilmore and his henchmen. She was so invisible these two didn't even know who she was.
She grabbed her parka from the front hall and stepped outside, against the building, where the weather raged at her. The wind felt like it was pinning her against the building. Rain drove into her face from the west, big globs of water that hit her straight on, then slid down under her parka.
She focused on an old panel truck that had been in the parking lot since they came. It had probably been abandoned when the Navy left. The fierce wind was actually rocking the truck.
The anger she felt minutes before dissipated as she watched the violence of the wind. Rather than turn out of the wind, she continued to face into it.
She was proud of him earlier, in the afternoon, as he took his place on the council. After the meeting they walked in the rain and then he took her for tea and they talked about family. She would have gone to bed with him, but when they got back to the officers' club, he immediately got involved with planning this party. And now he was Boss Gilmore, ignoring her, building his organization.
What should she do? All evening she'd worked on his party, trying to be part of his life. What good did it do her?
Abruptly there was no wind at all, creating an eerie sense of impending disaster. The driving rain changed to gentle drops. She flattened herself against the building. Without warning the panel truck that had been buffeted from the west was hit by a williwaw from the north. Without so much as one rock back and forth, the truck tipped over with a loud crash.
Amazing. A wind that stored itself up behind Mount Moffett and then roared down on Adak. A powerful wind that settled things once and for all. A williwaw. That's what she would do. She would pull Gilmore away from the party and confront him. She would hit him with a williwaw.
Inside she walked toward Gilmore who was huddled with Muscoti again. As she passed her serving table, she saw Jeannie and her mother sitting there. A lively girl and a tired mother, a girl who embraced everything that came her way and a mother who pushed the world away.
"Hi, Latisha. This is my mom, Irma."
Latisha shook her hand. The woman hardly looked at her. "Thanks for the ride yesterday," she murmured.
"My mom came here to rest."
"That Fitznagel," Irma said, showing some life, "is a pig. And so is Big Jim. The two of them asking me for some free romp that Gilmore promised them. Like hell. I ain't giving nothing away for free especially to them slimy bastards."
"Why don't we go into the kitchen and have some tea?" Latisha said
"Hell yes. If the boss' wife says take a break, I take a break."
In th
e kitchen Irma sat on a stool by the stainless steel counter and rested her head on her arms. Latisha made tea and Jeannie helped her. "This is such a cool party," Jeannie said. "Do you think I could interview Boss Gilmore? I'm going to do a newspaper."
"Sure," Latisha said out loud, while thinking inside that she would like to interview him as well. Why are you against Frank Villa? Why did you bring me to an island full of convicts and then not even stand by me?
Latisha sat down while Jeannie stared at the image of herself in a stainless steel pot. "Wouldn't it be great if we could have a party for all the kids here? Trouble is there aren't many of us. Boss says they're gonna bring more families here, right Mama?"
Irma nodded. At that moment Latisha heard the door creak open.
A large form filled the doorway. "Who's there?" Latisha asked.
Carl Larson walked into the light. Latisha felt fear spread through her body, twisting her stomach, shaking the teacup in her hand. He moved slowly like some Halloween movie nightmare. "Oh," she said, "I thought it was Gil. He said he'd meet us here."
Larson stepped forward, right to the counter they were sitting at. "No. It ain't Gilmore. He's yakking away in the auditorium. He ain't been watchin' you, but I been watchin' both of you, the sea otter and the liquor lady."
Larson glared at both of them, then focused on Latisha. He stared at her breasts and, leaning forward over the edge of the counter, he leered at the rest of her. His right hand went down to his belt buckle.
She took a big breath to give herself courage, then let go of the breath. "Gil - is coming in a minute."
Larson sneered at her.
How could she protect Jeannie? How could one of them escape to get help? A flash of the truck turning over came into her mind. The wind. The wind was powerful. She would be powerful now. "Irma, put your tea in the refrigerator."
"Tea in the refrigerator?" Irma hesitated then she seemed to catch on. She grabbed Jeannie and slid around Larson, heading for the refrigerator and the door. Latisha moved in the opposite direction toward the sink.
At the sink Larson stood between Latisha and the door. "You didn't finish your tea."
"I-I've had enough."
"Tea is nice."
She took a deep breath and tried to get round him. He moved in front of her. She could taste the fear in her mouth.
His penis bulged beneath his trousers. The wind. The wind, a mantra inside her.
She moved suddenly to her left. He moved with her. Then to the right with the same result. There seemed to be no escape. He took a step nearer. She backed into the sink.
The door to the kitchen opened and Irma came in, followed seconds later by Sam Wong, her husband. "What's the trouble?" he asked.
Latisha didn't wait for Larson to reply. She slipped around him and ran down the main hall to the auditorium.
Gilmore stood by the liquor table with Rodriguez. "Gilmore," she said, "I have to talk to you."
"Come meet Rodriguez, Latisha. I've been looking all over for you."
She raised her voice. "I have to talk to you now. Get your parka and come outside."
"Okay, excuse me, Rodriguez."
Latisha caught the look Gilmore gave Rodriguez: You know how these women are.
"Can we meet inside? It's raining out there."
"No. I want to go outside."
"Okay, okay. Chill out."
She turned and stormed outside, grabbing her parka on the way. The wind from the west whipped at her face.
A minute, two minutes. Damn him. No doubt he was putting on his parka, but talking to a half dozen people on the way.
She could feel her skin tightening as the wind beat on her face. In front of her lay the overturned truck. That's what Gilmore needed - a sharp blow to wake him up. A williwaw.
He came out, shivering in the cold rain. "Can we go inside and discuss this, Latisha? It's insane out here."
"No."
"What's the matter, Latisha? Just a few hours ago we had tea and . . . "
"Go to hell, Gilmore. I asked for a house and you have me living in a house of prostitution. Everybody else here has a house. I wanted neighbors and you won't even introduce me. You promised me safety, then you hire a sex killer as your security man."
He folded his arms. Damn him! He was trying to think his way through this new problem. Didn't he know she wanted his arms around her? Larson had scared her. She wasn't just an administrative problem.
"What happened, Latisha?"
"Larson scared me."
"What did he do?"
"He scared me, isn't that enough to know? He had me trapped in the kitchen and he started to - his penis was sticking out. I thought he was going to rape me."
He tried to take her hand, but she pushed him away. "I know you're upset and I'm going to warn him severely and - "
"Fire him."
"I plan to as soon as I can find a replacement."
"You're hopeless, Gilmore."
"No. I'm not. I love you." He pointed back to the building. "I'm doing all this for you."
"I'm leaving you," she said. Good. That felt good, just like the williwaw. A sudden sharp blow.
He looked shocked. "You can't leave until March."
"I can leave right now, Gilmore. And I'm going to. I may have to live on Adak, but I don't have to live with you. Goodbye."
She walked away from the shelter of the building and turned toward Bering Hill where Maggie lived. The fierce wind felt good as it beat on her face.
Chapter 16
Frank looked up - curtains. White, lacy curtains covered the windows of the Marine Barracks. He had just left the council meeting and he stood in the middle of the street. Curtains. He had not seen a curtain on a window in sixteen years. Curtains said warmth, home, privacy and women. Prison said just the opposite - no warmth, no home, no privacy and no women. He looked up to his own window on the third floor. White curtains. Judy.
Judy. She had asked him to do something. What was it? The store. Go to the store. "Milk, apples, celery and something to patch the leaks around the windows."
The trouble was that the store was down the hill, around the big 'U' that was Adak's main street and near the power plant. It would take him forty-five minutes each way to walk.
Why not go up and get her and the two of them make an adventure out of it? No, she'd asked him to do this small thing. She was up there making a home for them and she probably didn't want to come out in this weather. So far he had not been fair to Judy, no, not at all. It was time to change that.
He faced into the wind and started down the hill. Rain found its way under his hood and down his back as he walked. There was a hole in his boot and, by the time he reached the store, his right foot was soaked.
Billy the Cheese, so named for his most plentiful product, had set up the food store in an abandoned warehouse. Rows and rows of ceiling-to-floor shelves contained only a smattering of groceries: industrial size peanut butter, large cans of tomato paste, a great variety of beans and cases of generic corn flakes. The produce section featured brown bananas, black lettuce and meat with a greenish hue. A big crate of cabbage emitted a smell like a sewer. Frank kicked the cabbage. The Bureau of Prisons was sending produce similar to the cons they were sending.
The cooler, however, did have variety and quantities of cheese, Cheddar, Edam, Limburger, Parmesan and Provolone.
The Bureau was buying, not on what they needed, but on which sectors of the food industry needed help. Obviously Wisconsin was in trouble.
Frank started back toward his apartment. Judy wasn't going to be happy. The only thing he got from her list was milk. The old thermometer outside the warehouse said the temperature was 45, but with the wind coming at him, it felt like way below freezing. It even seemed strange that the moisture hitting him was rain and not snow.
As he walked the council meeting played back in his mind. Gilmore's proposal to bring in more convicts could ruin his whole plan. Getting the first three hundred settled on Ad
ak would be like getting them settled on the moon. He did not need three hundred more.
The good thing was that Gilmore was lobbying, not having people knifed. It was progress. Slowly, surely, Gilmore would be sucked into the ways of democracy.
Yeah, sure. He could almost hear Doc.
Frank walked past Paint Rock where the big orange Fuck You stood out. Below that were love messages from Navy days. Once he had carved Judy's name in a tree in a Milwaukee park and he had spray-painted Angela's name on a sea wall. Where was that romantic man now? he wondered.
Somebody in an old pickup truck peeled out of the officers' club and drove wildly past him. Doc had told him Gilmore had his own gas supply there now. Frank shook his head. The man was a genius of supply.
A shiny object caught his eye - a hypodermic needle. He kicked a hole in the gravel by the side of the road and nudged the needle into the hole with his boot.
Gilmore. Frank laughed cynically. Yes, a genius of supply.
After he rounded the base of the 'U,' the wind was at his back. As he started up the hill, a sudden gust of wind came at him from behind and almost knocked him over. He recalled reading WWII stories of fighting in the Aleutians and how williwaws sometimes smashed small planes into the sides of mountains.
As he entered his apartment, he realized that he had spent little time on his way home thinking how to make his marriage work. It was 4 PM on a Sunday and most of the day had been spent on 'business.' He put the three small bags of groceries on the kitchen table. They were as wet as he was.
Judy stood in the living room amid old, massive chairs and an ugly old couch. A shiny gold piece of material partially covered one of the chairs. The furniture lay at weird angles to the wall, like nothing had found its home yet.
Her hair was frazzled, dirt streaked one side of her face. "Frank, I can't do anything with this room. And…" tears of frustration came to her eyes "… I don't have enough material to cover even one chair. Where have you been? You left here early this morning."