by Greg Aunapu
"I can't charge him with any parole violations," she said, "because he did all his time. He just can't ever own a gun again. He's still planning to help you out, though," Ina added. "He's on his way out to Oregon, but said he's stopping first in Omaha, Nebraska, to 'see the girl.' He said a biker named 'Dishrag Harry' has her, and that he thinks he knows where to find them, because they were staying with a guy named Pete. Dishrag Harry calls her 'Little Bits.’”
"Little Bits?" Sue sighed. Thinking about Amy as a biker babe was not comforting. "At least see if he'll give you the full name of this Pete, and any other information on Dishrag Harry. See if you can get his phone bills and see where he's been calling. Maybe Pete will be on it."
"I'll see what we can do," Ina said. "He's definitely not afraid of me, so maybe there's something I can charge him with that will loosen his tongue."
Paul was steadfast, however. He swore he wasn't going to snitch on anybody, and seemed to feel the information he had would be his "get out of jail free" card if anything happened in the future. It was a Mexican standoff. Sue became panicky as weeks passed and Branch's promised departure to Omaha seemed in danger of unraveling completely. If he didn't move now, she thought, Amy could be gone by the time he arrived.
But at least he was keeping in touch with her—that was something. By the first week in March, when time seemed to have come to a standstill and the weather had turned from winter to a tepid spring, Sue and Frank Rubino drove out to the Sunarama trailer park to confront Branch.
It was nine-thirty A.M., pretty early for a biker to be up, when they bumped into the dirt parking lot in Rubino's Mustang.
Branch threw the door open when they knocked. "Can't you ever come alone?" he yelled, and pointed at Rubino. "And you bring a cop with you?"
"He's not a cop," Sue said. "He's just a friend helping me out. He's a lawyer." Rubino had, in fact, recently passed the bar. "Can we come in?"
"In, out, what's the difference?" Branch groused. "I'm not going to tell you any more."
The interior of the trailer was dank, smelly, and looked like it had not been cleaned since the last time Sue visited. A pack of wild monkeys would have kept it in better shape. Newspapers, pizza boxes, cans . . . standard biker decor. The biker also seemed to be wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing when she saw him last; as if they achieved some level of petrifaction and stayed that way.
The big difference this time was in Branch's demeanor. Sue was glad Frank was there. Branch's face was red in apoplexy, with green veins pulsing in his neck and forehead. "You sure smell like a cop," he told Frank. "I can spot one a mile away. You a fed?" He breathed rancid air into Rubino's face.
The former Secret Service agent denied it. "I'm a P.I. who has been helping Sue," he stated plainly.
Branch pulled a beer from the refrigerator but didn't bother offering any to his guests. He swallowed the contents of the can and tossed it behind him, where it clanked against a pile of others. "This whole situation is fucked! I wish I'd never called you," he raged. "That snitch Fast must have ratted me out to the police. Now Red's in jail, and they just busted me a couple nights ago for a DUI, possession of a firearm, and, get this, having a broken speedometer on my bike! I had to bond out, and got it hanging over my head now. This whole thing is a pain in the ass."
"If you'd left earlier that might not have happened," Sue said. "Amy could be anywhere by now."
"I couldn't leave until I was ready. Now I have to deal with all this bullshit."
"I'm also a lawyer," Frank volunteered. "What if I straighten your life out? I'll do it for free if you'll go find Amy."
Branch's attitude changed. Even through the rage and the beer, he realized this was a good offer. "You any good?"
"Better than a public defender," Rubino observed.
"You got yourself a deal," the biker said. "You get me off, and I'll get you Amy."
Frank dropped by Sue's house the next day. He looked a little less sure of himself than the day before as he sat at the table and drank a cup of coffee. "He wasn't being honest with us, Sue," he said. "These are actually heavy charges. are felonies that carry up to fifteen-year sentences and might cost a lot of time and money to defend. His trial's set for next week. I'll see what I can do before that, but don't you think we should have more positive proof that this really is Amy we're dealing for?"
"Definitely," Sue agreed.
Because of the severity of the charges, Rubino contacted another lawyer, Rex Ryland, and brought him onto the case. Ryland lived around the corner from the Billigs, so he was easily accessible, and had worked extensively with elements such as Paul Branch.
Ryland was from deep-south Alabama, and he sounded like it. He had a wiry build, sported shoulder- length brown hair, smoked pipes and cigars, and wore cowboy boots to court. Before he had even graduated the University of Miami Law School, he'd had the good fortune to be hired by "Murf the Surf's" attorneys in Fort Lauderdale as a law clerk on the case. Jack "Murf the Surf' Murphy was the infamous jewel thief who in 1964 had robbed the 563-carat Star of India sapphire and other major jewels from the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. While Murphy was ultimately convicted and given two life sentences plus twenty years, the case had placed Ryland in front of the television cameras, where he enjoyed the limelight and the high-profile cases that continued to come his way after he graduated. Still, he also had a kind heart, and took Branch's case pro bono if it would help the Billigs find Amy.
Shepard made good on getting the phone records and mailed a copy to Sue, who forwarded them to Ryland. Days and weeks were going by, and she was getting ever more antsy. But the lawyer was snowed under and was barely able to return her calls.
Nothing was happening fast enough for Sue, but Branch's first trial finally came up on April 7. She went to court to watch the proceedings and hopefully exert her willpower on the legal system to come through for Branch. A series of losers of all ethnic groups and ages were brought up one by one. DUIs, robberies, shoplifting, prostitution—some in the red overalls of prisoners who couldn't afford to be bonded out, others dressed in suits and ties, trying to look like they were not the menace to society that they were. Most cases were pleaded out or continued in seconds.
Branch still wore his black leather vest, but his T-shirt and Levi's were clean. Against his bulk sat a pudgy, worn-out woman in her thirties, with swollen eyes, wearing similar biker-babe clothing.
The imposing biker strode up to the bench when he was called. The judge stared at him in only mild disgust and asked how he pleaded.
"Not guilty, Your Honor," Branch said in a cordial manner.
Sue stifled a laugh.
Ryland asked for a continuance and was able to get Paul's DUI postponed for three weeks. Tomorrow, the harsher gun charges would be brought in a different courtroom.
They all had coffee at the downstairs cafeteria, and then Paul, still driving the Valiant despite his DUI charge, drove Sue back to the gallery in Coconut Grove. His girlfriend, Tina, said little and was relegated to the backseat.
Sue looked at her and tried to see Amy in her shoes. The woman probably looked ten years older than her natural age. She had the swollen face of a drinker and the glazed eyes of someone who just didn't care what happened to her anymore. Her skin had the pallor of someone who spent their days and nights in bars, and she squinted at the sun like a vampire. Pendulous breasts sweated against her T-shirt under the black leather vest.
Paul drove the several miles through Miami's grueling traffic as if there were no impending charges. "You have to do something really stupid to get stopped," he observed.
Sue neglected to remind him that he had in fact been stopped, otherwise he wouldn't be in the trouble he now found himself in.
The Pagan whipped the car through traffic on 1-95. When three cars driving abreast blocked the lanes ahead, he swerved onto the shoulder, gunned the accelerator and passed on the far right side as he gave the drivers his finger.
"P
lease, Paul," Sue said. "If you get a continuance on the gun charge tomorrow, let me fly you out to wherever Amy is. You can get her and bring her back." Paul spit out of the open window, letting the wind splash it against the windshield of one of the cars they had just passed. "Can't," he said. "One of the brothers got a funeral in Orlando on Saturday. Can't miss that!" Sue wanted to scream. "I can get you back for that, it's three days!"
Paul stopped paying attention to the road and looked at her like she was crazy. "If I get her back for you, what's that going to do for my legal defense?"
"You can trust me," Sue said. Then: "Watch out!" as they almost plowed into a car they had overtaken way too fast.
Paul hawked a wad of something awful in his throat and spit it out the window again. "Tina, hand me a beer from back there!" he commanded. Then to Sue: "A friend of mine is leaving for the place in ten days." He grabbed the beer can that Tina held out, put it in his lap and popped the top. "He'll take pictures of Amy and send them back here. Will that put your mind at rest?"
"My mind won't be at rest until I have my child home in her bed."
"Take it or leave it," Paul answered.
The further continuance came through. Two weeks later Paul said his partner had already left on April 17, and would arrive at his mysterious destination shortly.
"But," he added, "he's pulling a heavy load—trailer with bikes and other crap in it—and he's got some stops to make along the way. So don't be calling me every day. He'll get there when he gets there. Don't push too hard."
Sue took a deep breath but couldn't keep the anger out of her voice. "That's no way to talk to me," she scolded the big man on the other end of the phone. "I'm working hard for you, Rex is working hard to keep you out of jail, and you're not giving much back, mister. Now, God forbid something happens to you. What will I do? You're my only contact. At least write down where Amy is and put it in a safe place. Tell Rex where you have it."
Amazingly, Branch did not blow his top and hang up. He was smarter than that. "Okay," he said. "My trial comes up tomorrow. I'll talk to him then." "Good luck in court," Sue said, meaning it.
"Let's just hope that lawyer you got me is as good as he says," Paul answered skeptically. "I been in front of plenty of judges, and had plenty of lawyers. None has ever been worth a damn. Red's back here now, though. He's got charges pending against him in Virginia, but right now they can't make them stand. But me, somehow I always end up with the cuffs slapped on my wrists. If Rex gets me off, it'll be a first."
But Ryland was every bit as good as he promised. He called Sue with a jubilant voice. "Got him acquitted on the DUI charges!" he said. "Paul was so surprised, I thought he was going to piss his pants. Said this was the first time a lawyer had ever won anything for him."
"That's great," Sue said. "Thank you so much. You've been wonderful through all this. Did you speak at all about Amy, now that the worst is over?"
"We still have the gun charge next Tuesday. I'll bring it up then," Rex promised.
Sue called Paul to congratulate him. "Can you believe it?" Branch whooped. "Man, that's a load off my mind!”
No thanks, no information offered about Amy. Sue was able to keep her cool and not blow up at him. Somehow she refrained from demanding the information about Amy. He still had the important gun charge hanging over his head, so she had leverage on him.
A few weeks later she called Branch at the trailer. Tina answered, sounding strung out, and handed the phone to Paul.
"I got a terrible hangover," he said. "So don't shout."
"Has your partner gotten to where Amy is yet?" Sue asked.
"Not yet. He's had car problems and now I've got to go to St. Pete to scare up some money to send him. He's got a Polaroid camera, though. So as soon as he sees Amy, he'll send a picture of her."
Again, even though Sue had arranged for his legal defense, he wasn't asking for any money, so that reassured her that he was speaking the truth. She would have done anything to move things along at that point. The weapon trial had been postponed until June, so Paul wasn't about to disappear.
"Don't worry," Paul said, "everything's on track. It'll just take a few more days."
"I'm tired of always hearing a few more days, Paul," Sue complained. "String a few more days together and it turns into weeks. You know better than I do how she could disappear at any moment. It's taken you months to find her already."
"Look, lady," Paul said, "it'll happen when it happens."
Goading a biker with a hangover wasn't a good idea, but Sue couldn't help herself. Sometimes it seemed she was the only person in the world who was really looking for Amy. The idea that her daughter's sprightly, blithe spirit could be transformed into a soul as tragic as Tina made her ill. "I don't think you understand how much is being done for you between Frank, Rex, and me," Sue said.
"You think I care that much?" Branch said. "If I really wanted I could hightail it out of here and buy a completely new identity tomorrow. You'd never see me again. But I'm staying here, going through the court trials and everything. Doesn't that mean something? I wouldn't be going through all this if I didn't plan to keep my end of the bargain." He yelled off the phone. "Tina, make me a Bloody Mary and roll a fucking joint. I can't stand this anymore." Back at Sue: "Listen, when we find Amy, I think Rex should be the one who comes out and gets her. You're too damned emotional. When you see Amy you're going to break down, and it might fuck everything up."
Sue choked back her first reply and took a deep breath before replying. Tina must have finished making his liquid breakfast, because Branch slurped something noisily. "I can control myself," Sue said in a stern voice. "I have complete control, and I think I've proved that."
"You just keep it that way," Paul said. "I'll think it over. My guy is almost there. I'll talk to you soon. Now where is that fuckin' joint!"
Over the next few days, Sue went to pick up the phone a dozen times to call Paul to find out if his friend had arrived. She would start to dial. It even began to ring once before she hung up. No, she couldn't make him think she was falling apart. She tried to take her mind off Paul, cleaned the house incessantly, made sure Amy's room was gorgeous and ready for her return, packed a suitcase full of her daughter's favorite clothes, and made sure she had the latest photos and news of Amy's friends. She would take Amy by force if she had to, but wouldn't it be better if Amy came home because she wanted to, because she couldn't help but do anything else?
Sue had to prove she was as strong and in control as she had promised. Her patience paid off. Paul called her two days later in the afternoon. He'd already started drinking, and his craggy voice was slurred.
"My buddy's out there. He's located Amy," Branch said. "Now it's just a matter of getting the picture."
"Oh, my," Sue said. Her heart beat a staccato in her chest. Her head felt like it was full of helium. Could it be? "When? When can he get the picture?"
"It's not so easy," Branch cautioned her. "The guy has her, he knows this guy is my buddy. He's trying to keep her hidden from anyone knows me, 'cluding my buddy."
"But you said your friend knows where Amy is?"
"In general," Branch said. "We're close. We're close. Very close."
Things were happening in rapid succession now. A few days later Rex Ryland called to say, "All charges against Branch have been dropped!"
"Just like that?" Sue asked. "I thought that weapon charge was serious."
"I found some procedural problems in the arrest. Once we got the DUI thrown out, the other charges stemmed from it. Everything's tainted now. It's a technicality, but that's how things work."
A tornado was spinning in Sue's mind. "That's great. Let's get Paul on a plane and fly him out to wherever his friend is to get Amy."
"Listen, kid," Ryland said. "I called out to the trailer the other day and got Pompano Red on the phone. He said Branch is really worried about you coming along."
"He told me the same thing. Get this straight: I am her mother, and I am
going. Get that guy to send the pictures, and if it's her, like Paul says, let's go."
Ryland sighed. "You're a tough cookie, Sue. I'll call Paul now and give him the news, and we'll figure out what our next step is."
-8-
J une in Miami meant rain. Days on end of thick, warm rain that flooded the streets and eventually turned your roof into a sponge. Combined with the summer heat, it made you feel like you were living in a natural steam bath. Tempers flared easily, and be-leathered bikers like Paul Branch— especially those living in hot, rancid trailers — were definitely looking toward cooler climes. He wanted to get out of town and on Amy's trail as much as Sue wanted him to. So it was a desperate Pagan who called Sue on the first day of June.
"Mrs. Billig…" he began. Not the usual "babe" or "look lady," and the dozen other implied put-downs. His voice didn't even have its normal sound of a grinding transmission. "I really hate to ask you this, but I have nowhere else to turn."
Sue had never heard Branch speak so softly before. "Yes, what is it?"
"It's my bike. It needs repairs for the trip, but I just ain't got the bread. A friend of mine will do a complete overhaul for one hundred and twenty-five bucks."
"Paul," she said, "get your friend to send the Polaroid and we'll buy you a new bike. We haven't gotten anything from you."
"My guy is there. He's keeping tabs on the situation. The guy who has Amy isn't going anywhere without us knowing. But getting the picture is tougher than I thought. One hundred twenty-five bucks gets me there, Mrs. Billig. It's worth it."
"I'll meet you at the Fina station at three P.M.," Sue said. "We'll talk."
Though the amount of money he asked for was not considerable, the Billigs' finances were already operating on fumes. Sue called the bank president in charge of the Find Amy Billig Fund and asked him to release the amount of money in question.