"And Maggie," Frank said, "you don't have to worry about Joe standing alone.
Doc and I and - a lot of people will be there."
"Joe tells me most cons hate cops.
And you want Joe to be a cop."
"Maggie, to be direct, cons think of Joe as a double - no triple - killer.
They figure he's tough.
As long as he keeps his cool, he'll be fine."
"I don't know."
She was wavering.
Next to him, Frank could feel Latisha's embarrassment about her husband.
She said nothing, but Frank guessed how she felt, the downcast eyes, the sad look, the slight shifting away from the table.
What could he say to put her at ease?
"Ah, Latisha . . . "
"Yes?"
Holy Christ, he was tongue-tied.
He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't think up some pleasantry to say.
He turned to Joe.
"Can you come to the council meeting?
Eleven AM.
Here.
In case they have questions."
"Sure."
"Oh, what I meant to say, Latisha, I'll be recommending that your husband sit on the council."
"Frank, thank you," she said in a quiet voice.
Maggie stood.
"Joe, watch my purse, I'm going to the Ladies."
"I'll come with you," Latisha said.
Frank stood.
"I have to go."
As he left the table, Blanche
Carvinere
blocked his path again.
"Listen, Villa, I want you personally to visit any man who doesn't show up for work tomorrow.
And she - " Blanche pointed to Latisha heading for the Ladies - "is supposed to work, too, boss's wife or no boss's wife."
Blanche went on about how long it was going to take to train people.
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw Maggie and Latisha enter the rest room.
Then Joe stood and went to the cafeteria counter.
Red Miller and Nelson the Plumber walked into the cafeteria, the two of them engaged in a stubborn argument.
Frank heard Red say, "There's Villa. He'll settle this. We gotta fix the roads."
The two of them stood behind Blanche.
Frank moaned to himself.
It would take time to keep Blanche happy, then time to listen to Nelson and Miller.
Miller had a tendency to give lengthy advice whether he knew anything about the subject or not.
Democracy took time.
"Are you listening to me, Villa?" Blanche demanded.
"I am."
But he was also eyeing a middle-aged con carrying a cup of coffee and conducting a lively discussion with no one but himself.
The man wandered past several empty tables then approached Joe and Maggie's table.
He spied Maggie's purse sitting on a chair, grabbed it and headed for the door.
As the man passed the serving line, Joe charged him, hitting him in the side with his shoulder, driving him into the low wall that separated the serving area from the tables.
The man sank to the floor.
With his left hand Joe reached down, grabbed the man by the shirt, and pulled him up.
"Thief," Joe shouted and rammed his large right hand into the man's nose.
Joe hit him again, lower this time, in the mouth.
Frank raced to stop him.
Again to the nose, and again.
Blood and slime dripped from the man's nose and covered his upper lip.
The lower part of his nose was pushed in.
One of his teeth protruded outward above his lower lip.
Just then Maggie came out of the ladies room.
"Stop, Joe," she shouted.
Joe let go and the man fell to the floor, his face covered with blood.
Frank and Maggie reached the man at the same time.
Maggie bent down and wiped the blood off the man's face.
Frank shook his head.
In half an hour he would stand in front of the council and argue that this man would make an excellent policeman.
The man on the floor crawled toward the shiny bars of the serving line, no longer muttering to himself.
As he was about to raise himself up, he noticed the badge on the floor.
He looked at Joe as he stood up.
"You're a
fuckin
' pig."
While he waited for the meeting to start, Frank pulled the list of council members from his shirt pocket again. Maybe, he thought, if he kept looking at it, the list would get better.
Doc sat next to him in an old classroom on the second floor of the Bering Building. To Frank the building itself looked like the Jesuits had built it for a high school in the late fifties. He had established his office in a small room next to this classroom. His office looked right across the street to the former Marine Barracks where he and Judy, Maggie and Joe and several others stayed.
In the classroom a patch of ceiling in the corner had soaked through and fallen down. Green slime covered the windowsill. At the front the council members lounged around two tables pushed together, waiting for the last council member, Big Jim Harris. One of the members spent his time loudly proclaiming he was 'making motions', that is, giving the finger to as many people as he could.
Doc glanced at the list. "You've got some real winners there, Frank. Tom Jefferson, Ben Franklin, Patrick Henry and the like."
Frank smiled. "You voted for them."
"Like hell I did," Doc answered. "I voted for you, that's all. These assholes - " He thumped the paper which contained the list and Frank's notes.
Harris, Big Jim: Pro football player. Affair with a woman. Killed husband of woman and then woman herself to shut her up. Loudmouth. Popular with men. Tries to go with the winning side.
Fitznagel
, Fred: killer. Hard drinker. Buffoon. Won election to the Council by sending out dirty poem. Unpredictable.
Stokes, Jonathan: killed his mother. Won election by mailing a long essay on prisoner rights. Can be persuaded by appeals to law and order and to the rights of prisoners.
Baker, William: drug kingpin in his day. A has been. No real muscle left. Tired. Appeal to 'making things easy.'
Rodriguez, Victor: elected by small, determined group of Spanish-speaking prisoners. Appeal to minority rights.
Wilson, Pete: self-made environmentalist. Only black in radical environmental action group. The president of a chemical company agreed to meet with group, but turned down their demands. Wilson shot him. Won election to Prisoner Council by saying he was for the environment. Appeal to environmental issues.
Frank pushed his glasses on tighter. The trouble was that Doc was right about the council.
Fitznagel
was a buffoon, Big Jim not much better. But didn't history teach that people often rise to the office they're elected to? Harry Truman was a haberdasher, Golda Meir a schoolteacher, Gorbachev, a party functionary.
Frank knew the men weren't good at democracy - they came from a place where no one practiced any real democracy - prison.
"All losers," Doc said. "Why don't you just appoint Britt as your cop? Never mind all this democracy crap. Let the council meet and decide what color to paint the cafeteria."
The door behind Frank opened and
Muscoti
walked in, nodded to Frank and sat down. Along with Gilmore he was the other prison boss Frank had called to sit on the council.
Muscoti
came from Chicago where he was known for giving money to the Catholic Church and to the soldiers who eliminated any competition to his trash collection business.
Gilmore and Latisha were right behind
Muscoti
.
Gilmore wore a new suit, an expensive shirt, cuff links and tiepin, all under a stylish parka. Frank shook his head. Everybody else packed their limited luggage with sweaters and rainwear and extra socks and here was Gilmore looking like Wall Street. How did the man do it?
Waterproof boots were the only concession he made to Adak.
Doc whispered to Frank. "You're a masochist. Putting Gilmore on the council is like inviting a bank robber into the vault to help count the money."
Just as Gilmore sat down in the audience, the door opened again and Big Jim Harris walked in. "Sorry I'm late folks. Shit, I'm worn out.
Fuckin
' and
fuckin
' and
fuckin
'! Four times last night! Hey Doc, did I make medical history?"
"No, social history," Doc replied. "There are four really dumb women on this island."
"Fuck you, Doc."
Frank stepped up to the table, reviewing his strategy as he went. He had to get at least a tie vote among the council members, so his own vote could break the tie. He would just lay out the facts of the killings last night and hope for the best.
There was no gavel, but someone had put a carpenter's hammer on the table. Frank picked it up. It felt good, like he was going to build something, like he could really accomplish something.
He tapped the hammer on the table. The noise level stayed high. He pounded the table harder and repeatedly until only Big Jim could be heard, bragging to his fellow council members.
"Reminds me of the time I scored twice in the
Superbowl
. Only this time I scored four times! First I
-
"
Frank pushed his glasses on tighter. He had to get some law and order, but maybe, in the process, he could build this council into an effective government. "Big Jim, the meeting will come to order. We've got some important issues to deal with today. First off, I'm appointing the two remaining bosses to this council, Mister
Muscoti
and Mister Gilmore. Any discussion?"
"They weren't elected," Stokes said.
"But they should have a voice," Frank responded. "Let's vote on it."
This would be an easy vote. Only a fool would vote against a prison boss. "All in
favor
?"
All the council members raised their hands, except Stokes.
"Opposed?"
Stokes raised his hand.
"Motion carries. Mister Gilmore, Mister
Muscoti
, would you join us at the table?"
Frank watched Gilmore come forward, nodding to council members, smiling, taking congratulations. Doc was shaking his head like he was witnessing Satan get up to take communion.
Fitznagel
and Big Jim shook Gilmore's hand. "Now we're
gonna
get something done," Big Jim said.
Frank toyed with the hammer, sliding his hand up and down the handle. Was he making a mistake?
Gilmore and
Muscoti
sat down. Frank continued. "First of all, I have a fax here from Mister Graham, the Assistant Director of the Bureau of Prisons."
Fitznagel
gave a Bronx cheer.
Frank read the fax:
The director of the Bureau wishes me to congratulate all of you on your assignment to this experimental prison.
Several notes:
1. Do not forget the island is monitored by satellite and by the United States Coast Guard. Their policy is to shoot on sight any boat off the coast of Adak.
2. The United States Weather Service warns you again about the danger of williwaws. Children especially should be made aware of these destructive winds.
3. According to the agreement establishing Adak Island Prison, federal officials have the right to visit Adak at least four (4) times in a year (Paragraph 6, sub. 9). I will be visiting you in the near future.
Remember that prison experts everywhere will be watching to see how this experiment turns out.
"What's say we cut his throat when he gets here?"
Fitznagel
said.
Stokes sat up straight. "Real smart," he said in his prissy voice. "Then they stop the weekly drop of food."
"That
willi-wazzle
stuff is bullshit," Big Jim added. "I seen what the Navy did. They got a totem pole with
Willi-wazzle
up on top. It's just fairy-tale stuff."
Frank hammered the table "Now we've got to - "
"Who's the spy?"
Fitznagel
asked, eyeing everyone at the table. "The guy the Bureau is paying off to pass on information about this place?"
"It's Billy the Cheese," Big Jim said immediately, referring to the store owner, named after his most predominant product. "How could he afford all that grocery stock unless the government helped him?"
Frank banged his hammer. Even though
Fitznagel
was probably right - Graham had a spy on the island, maybe Billy the Cheese, maybe Big Jim himself - finger pointing and suspicion would destroy the meeting.
"First order of business," Frank said in a commanding voice, "we've got to settle the issue of whether to fix the roads or fix the plumbing. I've asked Nelson the Plumber and Red Miller to make presentations."
Between puffs on his roll-your-own, Miller described pothole after pothole, then shifted to how to run a meeting. "You have to follow Robert's Rules of Order and - "
Nelson was standing at the council table, waiting. Suddenly he took out his big red pipe wrench and rapped the table. "Where did
youse
take a
shit
last night?" he asked, pointing to all the council members.
"Outside."
"Behind the building."
"In the rain. Got a mighty wet ass."
"So this is my point. We need money for plumbing."
Red threw his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. "Fuck we do. We need to fix the roads. What if a kid gets sick and we have to rush him to the hospital?"
On the council two sides quickly emerged, Big Jim and
Fitznagel
for Miller and the roads, Stokes and Baker arguing for Nelson's position. It was obvious to Frank that Miller and Nelson had been lobbying. Better lobbying, he thought, than knifing someone to get your way.
The debate heated up. Baker turned to Villa. "What's your position? You're running this place."
Frank eyed Miller and Nelson. "Well, Red Miller makes a lot of sense, but so does Nelson. I think…"
"Fuck, Villa," Big Jim said, "you sound like a politician. What do you think, Boss?"
Gilmore spoke quietly, thoughtfully like he'd given the problem hours of reflection. "Small children should not be going out in this weather to use the outhouse and we need good roads for emergency vehicles. I say we work on both equally, and we all tax our factory earnings five percent for each."
From the back of the room, Doc shouted out, "You mean tax your factory earnings, Gilmore? You
gonna
work in the factory?"
Frank rapped the table. "Out of order, Doc."
Gilmore's suggestion carried. It was a good solution, Frank thought, and it was democratically arrived at. But it rankled because it came from Gilmore.
Frank glanced at Latisha and saw she was looking right at him. She smiled at him, a grateful smile. Why? Because he had involved her husband in council?
A chill went through his body. This quiet, distant woman was affecting him deeply. It was like prison, where he would come to know a teacher or a female guard and in his mind he would fall madly in love with her. Then he would have to discipline himself to face reality. There was no future with any woman.
He pushed his glasses back on his nose. He wasn't doing very well with the woman he had, Judy, never mind the woman of his mind. But for now he had to face the big battle of establishing a police force. He had thought of raising the issue at the teleconference, but the issue was so important he wanted everyone free of prison posturing before discussing it.
He stood. "We still haven't resolved the basic need for our families - security. After last night I'm sure you all know we have a problem. We need law and order here. We need a policeman. I've asked Joe Britt - stand up, Joe - to come today. I nominate Joe as our law-enforcement officer."
Fitznagel
let loose with a loud guffaw. "A cop. Villa, you are a true asshole."
"Let's ask him some questions," Big Jim suggested, a sneer on his face.
"Come forward, Joe," Frank said.
Joe lumbered to the front of the room and stood near the Council table. He took off the stocking cap he wore under his parka hood and twisted it with his big hands.
"Suppose, Britt," Big Jim asked, "you were to find one of us Council members breaking the law, what would you do?"
"The law's the law," Joe said.
Gilmore laughed easily. "That's a clear and simple answer. However, I think this is an important decision and we should take our time. I move we delay this matter for a couple of weeks."
"Horse shit, Gilmore," Doc yelled from the back of the room, "pure horse shit! You just don't want a cop up your ass."
Frank hit the table with his hammer. "Doc, you can't shout out in a council meeting." Frank turned back to the council. "But I can't accept two weeks. We need police now, today."
"What the fuck," Big Jim said. "Let's just get out of here."