Prisoners of the Williwaw (31 page)
"Sure, I bet so, with a chest like that."
She moved her hand up over the black hair showing through his unbuttoned shirt.
He put his left hand behind her and pulled her closer and kissed her.
This is going to go good, he thought.
Saturday wasn't like that whore so many years ago who laughed at him.
Hell, he was just a kid then, released from reform school only the day before because he turned eighteen.
He'd gone with another guy to a house where they could get some, and this whore had told him to, "come on, come on, get that thing hard, the meter's running."
She kept looking at the clock and after a half-hour she called for the bouncer to throw 'this homo' out.
That was two nights before he killed the clerk in the 7-11 store.
No, it was going to be different with Saturday.
He could feel her nipple rising up with the gentle massaging of his hand.
She broke off the kiss.
"God, did I miss this in prison.
Shit, Duke, you're really turning me on.
How the hell did you survive all that time in prison - twenty years?"
"Never mind that now."
Some guys had queens or were queens, but he was a beater, a late night masturbator.
He didn't know what she would think of that.
She took his hand off her breast and slid it down inside her panties and held it there.
His heart beat faster now.
Damn, this is going to go good, he thought.
He remembered getting just this far when he was eleven.
A neighborhood girl let Bill touch her there.
Bill was the son of the foster family he was staying with - and when Bill told him to try it, he didn't, because he was too shy.
The neighborhood girl reached over and put his hand down her pants.
Saturday looked at him now and her eyes were shining.
He had never seen that look in a woman's eyes before.
She reached over and undid his belt and began to pull at his shorts.
Duke stood up and removed all his clothes.
"My God, that's nice, very nice," she said, staring at him.
In one smooth motion she stretched herself down on the bed and slowly began to take her panties off, her hips gyrating seductively.
Duke stood at the edge of the bed, watching her.
She reached up and pulled him down on top of her, placing his head between her two large breasts.
She kissed him gently on the forehead.
Oh shit, Duke thought, here we go.
He inched forward.
This was the hard part now.
"Come on now, take me, take me, Duke," she whispered.
"I'm yours."
Oh Jesus.
Where was it?
Where was it?
He lifted himself up and felt his penis move around, searching.
He started to sweat, and now - Oh shit - he was losing it, he could feel his penis shrinking.
Think about the woman with the long blond hair.
She visited him in his dreams when the lights went out at Florence.
She wore nothing except high heels, some nights red shiny ones, or sparkling black ones, even dull white ones.
There.
He had it back up again and Saturday reached down and gently placed it in the right place. Nice, very nice.
This was going to go good.
His heart pounded with excitement and his body sensed the passion ahead.
He was getting close now.
He reached his right hand down to feel her bottom and his hand was lost in the waves of flesh.
Hell of a good place to hide a knife, he thought, but then he sneered at himself.
What a dumb thought to have at a time like this.
And then he remembered.
She was in prison for bank robbery and - for killing her husband.
He hadn't checked.
He should have searched the bed before he lay down with this stranger.
One day out of prison and he was getting sloppy.
Maybe Saturday was just sweet-talking him, waiting for the right minute.
Maybe somebody had put her up to it, the screws or the family of somebody he'd done in.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
His penis hurt and he began to lose his erection.
Maybe if he checked quickly under her, maybe then he could go on.
His hands slid down her back, across her bottom, feeling, moving, searching.
Nothing.
"What's the matter, big Duke?" she said.
"Come on, now, take me."
She kissed him again on the forehead.
"You're the Duke."
He tried to think of his night-time visitor, but it was over and he knew it.
"Holy fuckin' shit." he said, looking over at the clock.
"Nine-forty.
We got a meeting with Gilmore."
"He said ten-thirty."
"Naw, I got to be sure we get all the boys away from these fuckin' night patrols."
He pulled out of her.
She gave a short cry of pain and longing.
"Listen now, I'm coming back," he said.
"I told you how if we go for it, me and the boys can be on top of this fuckin' place by tomorrow evening.
We won't even need this fuckin' Gilmore."
Duke put his clothes on, pocketing his knife and the gun one of his men had acquired during the orientation session.
He chatted with her the whole time he was getting dressed, but he couldn't look at her.
Finally he toughened his face and glanced over his shoulder,
"Well, good-by, Saturday," he said and walked out the door.
A cold rain, driven by a strong southwest wind, stung his face as he stepped outside.
He heard a noise next door and in a second the night patrol appeared out of the rain.
"Who's that?" the man asked.
"Duke Jenkins.
Just out for a bit of air."
"Okay, but you have to stay there."
"Yeah, sure."
"Care for a smoke, Jenkins?"
"Sure," Duke said.
"What's your name?"
"Johnson.
Darrell Johnson."
Duke took a cigarette and lit up.
"Shit, just had me some fuckin' great sex.
I fucked that old woman in there right up the goddamn wall.
Fucked her so hard the first time she cried for more and I had to give it to her again.
Fuckin' shit."
"No kidding," Johnson laughed.
He was missing some front teeth.
"Yeah, me and my woman had some great old times when we first got here."
"What do you do?" Duke asked.
"Here?
I work on cars.
I never had no training or nothin', but I'm damn good at it.
I had to take these old cars left by the Navy - Gilmore got all the good stuff - and get them working."
"No shit, huh?
Tell me about this Gilmore."
"He runs the candy store here, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah.
What muscle does he have?"
"Used to have a killer name of Carl Larson, but he fired him."
"Who's got more muscle, Gilmore or Villa?"
"No comparison.
Villa's the government here."
Johnson took a step back from the Duke.
"How come you want to know all this?"
"Just curious, man.
Relax.
I'm trying to get oriented."
"Well, finish your cigarette, then you'll have to get back inside."
"Okay.
Shit, man, this place sure beats Florence."
"Yeah.
Is Florence as bad as they say?"
"Worse.
It's a fuckin' hellhole.
Lock down twenty-three hours a day."
Johnson shivered in the cold rain.
"Yeah, well, hey listen, you'd better get back inside.
Britt's out patrolling in his van and all you guys are supposed to stay inside tonight.
Nothing personal, man.
Them's the rules."
"Sure, sure," Duke said.
"How about another of those cigarettes before I go in?"
"Better still, man - " Johnson reached inside his parka - "here's a joint I just rolled.
You and the Missus can enjoy it."
"Oh shit, she's so high on me now, I let her toke that and woooooeeeee."
Johnson laughed through his missing teeth.
"Hell, you'll turn into a fucking fucking machine."
Duke laughed and with his left hand reached out to take the joint.
Johnson put it in his hand carefully, protecting it from the rain and then - suddenly - Duke's right hand came pushing upward with a six-inch switchblade extended in it.
Duke rammed the knife into Johnson's chest, twisted it expertly, once, then twice.
The knife pulsated in his hand as Johnson's heart beat against its cold steel.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Faster at first, then tapering off.
Finally there was nothing.
Damn.
I'm good at this. he thought.
I'm the Duke.
He pulled his knife out and the body fell to the ground.
He reached into the man's parka and took the bag of grass and with his bloody knife slit Johnson's hip pocket and removed his wallet.
Then he cleaned his knife carefully on the torn pocket.
"Ha." he laughed out loud, standing up and kicking the body.
"Night patrol.
What do they think we are?"
He pulled up the hood of his parka.
His head felt cold and wet, though the rest of him felt warm, even hot.
He turned to start down the street toward Boss Gilmore's place when he saw Saturday in the window watching him.
He waved weakly and hurried down the wet street.
A minute before he'd been hot.
Now he was cold all over.
Get me through this night, Rudy.
Frank sat in the kitchen of Doc's clinic, coffee cup in hand.
What was Gilmore up to?
He glanced at his watch - another hour and he'd know. Darrell Johnson was going to finish his rounds and stop in for a drink at the Sea Otter. Darrell could talk to anyone on the island, whether Gilmore's people or his, because he spoke the universal language of cars.
In a corner Doc fiddled with a black and white TV he had found. He turned the aerial slightly, the fuzzy picture sharpened and the mumbled sounds became Russian.
"I've fuckin' got fuckin' Russia," Doc exclaimed.
Hanna sat at the table with Frank.
She pointed to Doc.
"He's such a poet."
Frank sipped his coffee.
"Yeah," he muttered.
He didn't feel like talking.
These two had each other to kid - and to hold.
How could it be that chance would put Doc and Hanna together and they got along so well, when he had failed with Judy and had probably failed with Latisha.
What if he had come right out and said, "I love you," to her, would she have left?
"Get the weather, Doc, can you?" Hanna asked.
"Can't.
Just Russia tonight.
Anyway you know it.
Worse and worser."
Someone knocked on Doc and Hanna's back door.
It was Sam Wong.
The man's face dripped water and as Frank looked at him more closely he noticed red splotches on his face.
"Damn," Sam said.
"This is the worst yet.
Rain drivin' into me like somebody throwing stones.
Wind whippin' me this way and whippin' me that way."
Sam gestured back and forth.
Frank could easily picture the wind kicking Sam around.
He was only a slight man.
Sam looked directly at Frank.
"I just come by to tell you lots of activity at Gilmore's place.
Saw a couple of the new cons just walking in there big as you please."
"Did you go in?" Doc asked him.
"No.
I'd probably kill the son-of-a-bitch if I did.
I got to get home to Jeannie, but I tell you, Frank, you're gonna have to get off the dime tonight."
Sam pulled up his parka to reveal his revolver.
"Only one thing that guy understands."
Sam left.
Frank got up and refilled his coffee cup and stared out the dark window.
Water slammed into it suddenly as the wind shifted, then nothing, then another blast of rain.
Unfortunately Sam was right.
Sixteen years of opposition to violence was probably going to end tonight.
How hard he had worked at non-violence.
The Alternatives to violence courses in prison had started him off, but he's gone far deeper.
He saw that those who taught and sponsored the course believed in violence themselves.
They endorsed capital punishment, they locked people in isolation and they ripped a man's dignity out of his soul.
There had to be more to it than their little nostrums. With Rudy's help he dug deep, humanism, Christianity, Jainism, Ghandi, Martin Luther King.
People were children of God, made in God's image.
All people were brothers and sisters.
He tried to live this way, giving respect to every man, guard or convict.
If he bumped a guy, he said he was sorry.
If a guard yelled at him, he tried to understand where the guard was coming from.
Guards, after all, were just men trying to do their jobs.
Tonight Gilmore was forcing him to end that dream, forcing him to set up a society ruled, not by law, but by the power of the gun.
Damn him.
Damn him.
"Shit," he said out loud and turned back to Doc and Hanna.
Doc looked at him.
"What shit?
What's wrong tonight, Frank?"
"Nothing."
The bell from the clinic sounded.
"Your turn," Hanna said.
Doc left and Frank sat down at the table.
He sat quietly with Hanna for a few minutes.
She spoke quietly.
"Missing her?"
He knew she meant Latisha.
"Yeah," Frank said.
She said nothing more.
They sat in silence. Doc came back from the clinic, but he stopped in the doorway. "Guess who's here."
"Elvis Presley?" Hanna replied.
"Cut the crap, Doc.
Who?"
"Guess."
"Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
Shit, Doc, you know I hate these fucking games."
Doc stepped aside and Latisha walked into the kitchen.
Frank looked up, stood up.
"Latisha!"
He opened his arms, she came to him.
"Oh, Latisha."
But wait.
Had her flight come back?
He pulled back so he could see her face.
"Trouble?
Did you run into williwaws?"
That meant Judy was here, too.
She smiled.
"No, I stayed.
There's a lot to do here.
I looked for you earlier, but you were busy with the orientation."
He pulled her tight to himself.
His heart pounded with excitement. There was nothing else in the world, just the two of them. They sailed among the snowy volcanoes of the Aleutians.
They sailed through the air in a magical flying boat. The sun shone brightly, warming them, and no wind, oh thank God, there was no wind.
The background noise from the TV changed suddenly.
Doc shouted, "I fucking got Japan."
Hanna got up and pulled Doc from the room.
"Come on, let's go make our rounds.
Frank whispered in Latisha's ear.
"I love you."
She stepped back to arms length. He saw in her eyes that special glow that a woman has for the man she loves.
Once or twice Angela gave him that look, but never Judy.
"I need time Frank.
I've got a lot to figure out about myself.
This place has changed me and I need to know who I am now."
The smile left her face and her eyes.
"I left for me, Frank, for me.
I want to be clear about that.
I don't want to be in the middle of you and Gilmore.
I left for Jeannie, for.. so I can make a difference in this life.
This terrible wind, all this death, has taught me that life is fragile.
We have to do what we can while we can."
"I understand."
"I mean I might decide to go back in spring, do you understand that?"
"I hear you."
She relaxed her face.
"Good."
He took her in his arms again and hugged her tightly.
"I don't care what you say," he whispered into her ear, "I still love you."
He touched his lips to hers, gently, lovingly.
They stood there - Frank did not know how long.
They were back in the magical flying ship.
Below them the green, green tundra of Adak shone in the sun.
Suddenly someone burst into the kitchen area from the clinic.
It was Joe Britt.
"Frank - oh, I'm sorry. Darrell Johnson's been killed.
Right in front of the Duke's house.
And Gilmore's holding a big meeting at the Sea Otter."
The time had come.
The moment of decision. But now she was here.
What seemed impossible before, now looked do-able.
Get control of Gilmore and the Duke.
Stay the course.
Doc and Hanna came back in and Joe told them the news. They devised a plan: defend the airport with its communications facilities.
Their weapons cache was just off the runway, in an underground bunker.
"All right, let's go, Doc said.
"Let's start.
Where's my gun?
We drive the sons of bitches into the ocean."
"Easy, Doc, easy,"
Frank said.
"Before we have bloodshed, I'm
going down
to the Sea Otter and make one more appeal to Gilmore.
He's an intelligent man."
Doc put his hands on his hips like a cowboy about to draw his six shooters. "You're gonna walk right into the Last Chance Saloon and tell the bad guys to lay down their guns?"Frank took Latisha's hand.
"We can do it."
"Go in with guns blazing. At least take Joe and Nelson.
Arm them."
"No, by myself.
I want to talk to him. If I don't come back, put your plan into operation."
"You're nuts," Doc said.
