by Ed Griffin
Gilmore picked his way back to the Sea Otter. In some ways this fog was worse than prison. At least there a man could see the big gray wall and the guard on top with the rifle. Here? Who knew what the fog hid?
He had to find a way off this island. The trick was to find the weakness in the Coast Guard's system, the hole in the wall.
Chapter 18
Frank had to defeat Gilmore's motion to bring three hundred more to Adak. It would be the last item on today's agenda.
He shook the water off himself and took off his parka. It was Saturday and they had been on Adak for one week. The old classroom smelled musty, damp like the room outside the shower in prison. More ceiling had fallen during the week and now a foot square piece hung right over the council table, held up by a few threads of lathe wire.
Gilmore sat calmly at the table, waiting for the meeting, perfectly in control. The damn guy. He was using the democratic process to gain his own ends.
Baker and Muscoti had not arrived. Fitznagel sat at the council table in the front of the room, entertaining Big Jim. "I move we shoot Blanche Carvinere."
"I move we have a contest," Big Jim countered, "The Biggest Prick on Adak."
From the back Doc shouted, "You win, Jim."
"Shut up, Doc. I'm talking size."
"Oh, sorry, Jim. You lose."
Frank sat down at the head of the table and fingered the hammer. Their future would be decided by the likes of Big Jim and Fitznagel. Was there any way to pry them from Gilmore's camp?
Doc's advice had been simple. "Forget the vote, Frank. Just tell them we agreed with the Feds on more cons in March and if they don't like it, they can shove it up their wet asses."
Frank pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the damp table in front of him, but he forgot that his handkerchief was already soaked. Judy had complained about a puddle of water that had collected on a windowsill in their apartment and he had wiped it up. In fact, he realized, his handkerchief had been wet all week. Once he used it to dry an outdoor electric plug, once to mop water off his head, once to dry a table that sat too close to the door in the factory.
The whole week he had lived in water, from the fog on Monday with the old Aleut to the driving rain yesterday with himself running back and forth to the power plant.
Baker and Muscoti walked in together, a discussion still going on between them. Frank heard his own name and Gilmore's.
"Meeting will come to order." Frank hit the hammer hard and a few pieces of plaster fell onto the table. Frank looked up nervously. The large hunk of plaster swayed on its wires. It was a good symbol for the issue of the next three hundred, he thought. Let them come and the plaster would crash onto their council meeting.
He raised his voice. Being loud was the only way to silence people like Big Jim - and Doc. "First order of business is we got a fax from the Bureau of Prisons."
He ignored Fitznagel's raspberry and read the fax:
A reminder again that the Coast Guard is on active patrol around your island. Last Monday morning in the fog Coast Guard Cruisers around Adak detected the approach of a kayak, paddled by an elderly Aleut man. For some reason he ignored warnings to stop. Rather than shoot him out of the water, the Coast Guard let him land and picked him up for questioning as he left.
Please know that any ship, boat, kayak or canoe seen leaving Adak will be dealt with immediately and without consideration.
Big Jim farted just as Frank finished reading. Everyone laughed.
Frank pushed his glasses onto his nose. "The Coast Guard isn't kidding. To them, a boat in the water is a prison break."
"Lighten up, Villa," Fitznagel said. Boss Gilmore was smiling easily.
Frank next took care of routine business, reports to be sent back to the Bureau of Prisons, a report from Joe Britt on guns collected, requests for more money both from Miller for roadwork and from Nelson for plumbing. The routine business made him feel good, like he was in charge, like work was getting done.
"The final order of business today is - " Frank took a deep breath, he could feel the shakiness in his voice " - Gilmore's motion to bring more prisoners here in November."
"Let's vote on it," Baker said. "I'm tired."
Gilmore stood up. Neat clothes, clean-shaven, clear diction - the man was good. Frank knew this was his calm, businessman persona. It was usually effective.
"I've given each of you a full report on this matter," Gilmore began. "All the reasons are there, the economy of scale, the need to kick-start our economy with a critical mass of people. Today I want to make a plea for men and women in prison. We all agree with Frank Villa that prison reforms nobody. We're all grateful he convinced the government to let us come here, but we would be less than human if we kept this great benefit for ourselves."
Gilmore was playing for the 'intelligent' vote: Baker, Muscoti, Wilson, Stokes. But Frank saw that Baker was looking at his watch, Muscoti eyed Gilmore suspiciously; Wilson's face twitched with some unknown concern and Stokes pulled at his ear, his brow knitted in a worried look. If he, himself, wanted to win it, he could, but like an athlete he would have to strain every muscle.
Frank glanced at the audience. Latisha sat in the back row, listening intensely, her dark eyes alive. Frank felt a pang of longing, a desire to share his struggle with someone. If only… if only Judy would show some interest in public affairs. He had tried hard all week to be considerate of her and they had gotten along well, both emotionally and physically, but when he tried to explain to her the importance of today's vote, that's when she noticed the water on the windowsill.
Next to Latisha sat Jeannie, taking notes, her homemade Press badge pinned to her sweater.
Gilmore continued to address the council. "I'm sensitive to Villa's concerns. There is a need for limits. I'm proposing four landings of inmates and their families every year for the next five years. That's 1200 people and their families a year. We need numbers to make this place work."
From the back row Doc called out, "Let's see 1200 cons a year, each with $200. $240,000 a year. Not bad, Gilmore."
"Villa, do we have to put up with remarks from non-council members? Are you going to assure us an atmosphere safe for democracy? I'm sure if Doc was on my side, he wouldn't be allowed to speak out."
"There are no sides, Gilmore, but you're right. Doc, the next outburst will be your last."
"Thank you," Gilmore continued. "I'm just proposing we give other people a chance to come here. We started Adak. A government's in place. What's the problem?"
Gilmore the humanitarian, Frank thought. Give me a break.
"We can't handle the cons we have," Stokes whined. True enough, Frank thought, but to jump in now would associate himself with Stokes' complaining.
Frank watched Muscoti glance around the table. He was counting votes. "Rodriguez," Muscoti asked, "what's your opinion on this matter?"
"I'm leaning toward Gilmore's position. He's assured me there'll be a lot more Spanish-speaking next time."
Frank slapped the table with his hand. A few more flakes of ceiling fell. "Gilmore has no way of knowing if there will be more Spanish-speaking the next time. The way I hear it, the feds are going to send us some cons from their worst hell-hole, ADX Florence, Colorado, a super-max."
"Whoo-ee!" Big Jim exclaimed. "The real pros!"
"No. You mean the real animals," Stokes said. "They call that place the new Alcatraz."
Gilmore pointed directly at Frank. "You don't know that, about them sending people from Florence."
"I heard it."
"Frank's never been wrong," Stokes interjected.
"That's their pattern," Frank continued. "Promise model prisoners and then send… we all know who they send."
"What do you think, Baker?" Muscoti asked.
"I say let's vote the mother, so I can get home."
Frank stood up. Okay, Rudy, I need help here. He had to give these men solid reasons. He felt the adrenaline surge through him and he spoke with an emphatic voice. "I
can't oppose this strongly enough," he began. "We've made a start here. We're building for the future. We have to take our time and do a good job. Right now we need to build a strong society for the first three hundred, then next March we get three hundred more.
"Gilmore has talked about a critical mass. There's another critical mass we should be concerned with, the critical mass in atomic explosions. Add a little too much Uranium 235 and wham…" Frank clapped his hands together. A few more flakes fell off the ceiling.
Frank looked around the table. Stokes and Wilson for sure. Muscoti, if he figured he would be on the winning side. It came down to Baker and Rodriguez. To get Muscoti, he had to make it seem Baker or Rodriguez would go for him.
A tie vote was all he needed. His vote would break the tie.
"Rodriguez, if you want more Spanish-speaking here, then we need to stand up to the Feds. We need to tell them we set the criteria for who comes. Right now they decide. Asking for more prisoners on their terms is falling down on our knees in front of them.
"Baker, you think you work hard now. Wait till the new prisoners get here. Gilmore's plan doesn't leave enough time to prepare these new men, to tell them how we do things here. They'll try to take over from us, to make us work for them.
"We're sitting here running things. Call for more convicts without proper preparation and they'll come - with their gangs. You know what they're like. And who are they going to eliminate first?" Frank swung his hand around the room. "Us. We go first. I say defeat Gilmore's plan."
Frank glanced around the table and sat down. Baker yawned, while Rodriguez, Muscoti and Wilson looked thoughtful.
Gilmore stood. "I'm surprised at Villa. His arguments are undemocratic. It's like we got something good, the hell with the rest of the world."
In the last row Doc let loose with a barrage of loud coughs. Gilmore glared at him.
"Sorry. I caught cold watching Gilmore's sea otters opening clams."
Frank wished Doc would stop - the danger was he'd push people into Gilmore's camp.
Gilmore went on. "There's no reason we can't tell the Feds we want a certain number of Spanish-speaking, a certain number of blacks as long as those numbers are based on a fair criteria like the percentages in federal prisons. We're in control now and we're not going to give that up. Villa is being an alarmist.
"I have one suggestion - we always vote by going around the table. Why don't we vote in alphabetical order?"
The man was clever, Frank reflected. Those against Gilmore's idea were at the end of the alphabet - Stokes, Wilson. If he could get a number of yes votes at the beginning, it would look like a landslide.
Gilmore knew how to play the democracy game, all right.
The council debated the motion to call the role in alphabetical order. Like all the legislatures Frank had read about, the key votes were procedural. The world over, legislatures voted on procedural matters to test the house. These were the key votes, but the public never knew it. In the final vote, after legislators saw which way the wind was blowing, they could take whatever stand they thought would be politically beneficial.
Frank called for the vote. "Stokes, do you want to vote like we have been?"
"Yes."
"Fitznagel?"
"No."
"Big Jim?"
"No."
"Muscoti?"
"Pass for now."
"Wilson?"
"Yes."
Tie vote, two to two.
"Gilmore?"
"No."
The key votes next.
"Baker?"
"What Muscoti said, 'Pass for now.'"
"Rodriguez?"
"Same. Pass"
An impasse. Frank banged his hammer on the table. "Ten minute recess." Several chunks fell from the ceiling, but not the big section. Everybody looked up at it.
"Sky is falling," Fitznagel said.
Frank cornered Muscoti. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gilmore go for Baker. "You've got to go with me on this one, Muscoti."
"I am, but you owe me. Now go for Baker or Rodriguez."
Rodriguez came up to him. "What promise can you make about Spanish-speaking, Villa? Ain't you Mex, anyway?"
"We should have Spanish here, but no gangs."
"So, what's your promise, Villa?"
"No promise. I agree with you and I'll represent your view point, but it ain't up to me."
"Fuck you, Villa." Rodriguez left and approached Gilmore who had finished talking to Baker.
Frank grabbed Baker. "What did Gilmore promise you?"
"I'm going to be the work coordinator. No more work."
"Hey, Baker, figure it out. Gilmore has his ape out beating people to show up for work and he's gonna let you off? You know and I know it's work or starve here."
"I take what I can get." Baker walked away.
If he wanted Rodriguez's vote, he'd have to promise that half of East LA would be on the next flight. And the Bureau of Prisons was not about to do that. If they passed this resolution, they were going to send bad asses to Adak, never mind if they were white asses or black asses or Spanish asses.
Frank gaveled the meeting back to order. "We were voting on how to vote, like we have been or alphabetical. Muscoti?"
"Vote like we have been." Frank felt a momentary surge of adrenaline. It was tie, three to three.
"Baker?"
"Fuck it. Alphabetical."
Now for the key vote. Frank fingered the hammer. Had he done everything he could? A sense of dread filled him. "Rodriguez?"
"Alphabetical."
"Motion passes." Frank slammed the hammer down to the table. The large chunk of plaster fell to the table and shattered. Everyone jumped back. He had set the symbol up and now it had happened.
"Holy shit," Baker said. "Even God thinks this meeting should be over."
The motion to request three hundred more convicts passed quickly. Frustration and anger filled Frank. He had lost. How could he hold his head up among these men? Gilmore had bested him. And if the Feds sent convicts from Florence, Stokes was right - they were animals. He could hear Doc already. "The council voted today to commit suicide."
It was time to do the one last thing he could do. To make democracy so much a part of the island that it could never be eliminated.
He gaveled attention - gently this time - and looked around the table at what Doc called 'his half-ass council.' He had set this up, established democracy here as truly as the Continental Congress had for America. But it was time to put it all on the line, to put his job on the line. "I have a final announcement. There's a crisis in leadership on this island. There are two opposing forces developing." Frank looked directly at Gilmore, then continued. "The way we handle that in a democracy is to call an election. I'm calling a general election for early November, the primary to be held in mid-October.."
He watched Gilmore's face: surprise, shock, then downright interest. He had him.
Big Jim was the first to speak. "I'd like to throw my hat into the ring. People like football players."
"I'm running," Frank said quietly, his hand still on the carpenter's hammer.
The room grew silent. Every eye was on Gilmore. There was a long pause.
"I am a candidate," Boss Gilmore said.
"Meeting's adjourned," Frank said He had lost a big vote, but he had defined the nature of the duel that lay ahead.
Chapter 19
Late that night in his office, four folders lay on Gilmore's desk, the fattest labeled Campaign, another Fish, another Cars and the last Firewood. He opened this last one. Who would have thought it? There were no trees on Adak, yet the wet, cold climate made people desperate for heat. Only a little driftwood made it to the wind-swept shores. To corner the supply, he'd ….
The satellite phone in his locked closet rang. The Government had cut off all long distance connection to and from Adak, except for Frank's fax line. But this phone had been an essential part of Gilmore's drop of guns and booze.
&
nbsp; It was Congressman Murphy returning his call.
"Congressman, I wanted you to know that the prisoner council passed a resolution requesting more inmates just like we talked."
"Terrific. Good work, Gilmore."
"It wasn't easy. Villa tried to stop it."
"I'll tell Alexander Duban. He's gotten a good report on the first week of work in his factory and he's got a big plan to produce running shoes up there. He's just been waiting for the word from you or from the Bureau."
"I delivered my part of the bargain."
"Duban may want to come up to Adak when the man from the Bureau of Prisons comes up. What's his name?"
"Graham. He's the one you were going to speak to for me."
"Great work, Gilmore."
"Are you going to talk to Graham for me or not?"
"Sure, sure, Gilmore, I'll say hello to him for you. How's your new phone working?"
"Fine. Why?"
"Just wondering, you know, making conversation."
Finally Gilmore got it. The conversation was not secure.
"How's the weather up there?" Murphy asked.
"Shitty," Gilmore replied.
"Well, anyway, Gilmore, good work. Other inmates can now share in the benefits of this new prison."
The congressman hung up and so did Gilmore. Murphy understood, but he, Gilmore, would have to keep reminding the congressman to contact Graham about a commutation or a sentence reduction. He had to try everything to get off this dog of a place.
Where was he? Firewood. Would three gatherers be enough? Then Larson could cut and split the wood. Maybe he'd accidentally cut his prick off and do the world a favor. Who would head up this project? Yes, Red Miller, the man with the road-building equipment, that was the man. As long as he kept his fucking advice to himself.
He'd call him in the morning.
There was a knock at the door. He closed the Firewood folder, got up from his desk and opened the door. "Latisha!"
Rain dripped off her parka hood and several strands of her wet, black hair were plastered to the side of her face. Something in her eyes, in her face - a different woman stood in front of him. Ten years ago in her father's house - a beautiful, bored, middle-class face waiting for excitement. A week ago at the Sea Otter - eyes reflecting the terror of Larson. But now - something had put strength in those eyes, power in the set of her jaw.