Gilmore peered through the stage curtain of the Sea Otter. Something was terribly wrong.
Only a half dozen men sat in the big auditorium.
He looked at his watch in the backstage light.
10:45 PM.
Most of the inmates he'd invited should have been out front by now, hooting for the Sea Otters.
All they had to do was shake off Villa's night patrol.
Tiger Kirkland stood nearby, waiting. "I ain't staying here all night, Gilmore,"
she said.
She was dressed in the bra, panties and stockings she would rip off during the show.
She was the only one of the Sea Otters who had showed tonight.
Even though he didn't like it, she called him, "Gilmore."
Everybody else, in prison and in the organization, called him, "Boss."
It was probably because he had spent a few nights with her - at three hundred a night.
"They're coming, they're coming," he reassured her.
But were they?
Had somebody met with the Florence bunch already?
Villa? The Duke?
Tiger started a series of kicks, limbering up.
"I get paid no matter what, right Gilmore?"
Her long legs, generous breasts and high cheek bones worked their way through his preoccupation with plans for the evening.
She really was a beauty.
The men at the Sea Otter gave her the name Tiger because of the way she made love.
"I promised you five hundred, you get five hundred."
It was turning out to be an expensive evening.
When he saw that the Duke was not just a contact, but a real leader of
the Florence inmates, he found Larson, apologized for firing him and paid him a thousand to make sure the Duke did not show up at the Sea Otter that night. There could be only one leader at the Sea Otter.
Tiger kicked a few more times then turned and touched her toes, presenting her ass to Gilmore. Her antics started him thinking about Latisha.
Latisha had ten years on Tiger, but she was every bit as attractive and she had a lot more personality.
How was he ever going to live without her?
Sure, he could buy some sex from Tiger, but Tiger wasn't Latisha.
At least Villa didn't get Latisha.
Tiger stopped exercising.
"What time is it?"
"Almost eleven."
"How about I wait until 11:30?
Bitch Blanche wants us at the factory on time in the morning."
"Don't worry.
They'll be coming any minute."
"So pay me now."
"Just wait."
"Listen, Gilmore, pay me now or I walk.
This is a shaky business you're trying."
Was it that obvious - get
the new men behind him and then take over the government?
"Hey, Tiger, it's just a little curfew violation."
She put out her hand.
"Sure it is, Gilmore.
Pay me."
Reluctantly Gilmore took out his wallet and gave her five hundred. Again he peered through the curtains. Even the few that were there before were gone now. Something was going on.
"I'll be back," he said, as he headed out of the backstage area.
This mess was his own fault.
He'd spent half the day trying to persuade Latisha to stay when he should have been looking after details. Usually he thought of every detail in a plan and that was what made him successful. But not this time.
His lack of planning created the dreaded sense that this would be a night of tragedy.
It was like the bar talk about williwaws he'd overheard.
"Shit, man, you can feel it when a williwaw's gonna hit.
There's something eerie in the air.
All the air gets sucked out and then - smash!"
As he rounded the corner into the main corridor of the Sea Otter he ran straight into Duke Jenkins and two or three dozen men.
Two men grabbed him immediately.
"Well, well," Jenkins said.
"Look who we got here.
Boss Gilmore, hisself."
Larson had failed to take the Duke out.
Now what should he do?
Bluff. "I was - ah - just going to ask my muscle, Carl Larson, and his men to join us for the show.
I'm expecting him any minute.
He's been out neutralizing Villa's night patrol."
Gilmore tried to pull his arms away from the two men who held him, but to no avail.
The Duke poked his finger into Gilmore's chest.
"That right, Boss?
Funny thing, I met a guy with the same name on the way over here tonight.
Says you paid him a thousand to take me out.
Says he was looking for a new job as muscle."
The Duke motioned to one of his men to open the office door across the corridor.
"Let's see if this Carl Larson is the same as your Carl Larson."
Larson strode out of the office, stepped right in front of Gilmore and then suddenly slammed his big fist into Gilmore's stomach.
Gilmore bent over in pain. "Let's see the sex show, " the Duke declared.
"Bring the Big Boss along."
Duke's men dragged Gilmore into the auditorium.
"Tell your girls to start the show," Duke ordered.
Gilmore, still recovering from the blow to his stomach, tried to talk, but nothing came out.
The Duke nodded to Larson.
The big man grabbed Gilmore's sweater with one hand and slapped his face back and forth several times.
"Start the show," Gilmore shouted.
"Start the show."
Nothing happened.
He shouted again.
Still nothing.
The Duke went up on stage and looked behind the curtains.
"Ain't nobody here.
Bring that ass-hole up here."
Fifteen hundred dollars and nothing to show for it.
Larson dragged him onto the stage.
Gilmore tried to steal himself for more abuse, but the Duke had started talking to his men. "We're gonna take over this Mickey Mouse place tonight.
I know you want to get back to them sheets - mine are still smokin'.
Shit.
That poor woman back there - " he pointed in the general direction of Bering Hill " - she was crying for more.
'Sorry, Babe,' I said, I gotta go. Anyway, boys, looks like one push and we'll be on top.
Hell, we already got the supposed Boss of this place and we took out his seven guards easy.
They won't be guarding anything ever again.
Bring him over here, Larson."
Larson shoved him to the floor and pulled his hair up until he was on all fours facing the audience.
"Nice doggy," Larson said.
The Duke laughed.
"Now this dog's gonna tell us where his guns and booze are.
Larson, do your thing."
With sudden force Larson stomped on Gilmore's hand. Intense pain shot from his hand to his brain and the audience in front of him blurred.
The pain ripped through his stomach and vomit rose in his throat.
The fight to keep vomit down shook him back to reality.
He had to find a way out of this.
Cooperate for now and wait for his moment.
"In my office.
Key's on my ring."
He could barely get the words out.
Of course the office was where only two guns and one case of booze were.
The rest were in a secret compartment right below the Duke under the stage.
"That's what I like to see," the Duke said.
Gilmore contemplated using his code word, sterling, but not enough of his own people were in the auditorium to do anything about it.
"Now, men," the Duke continued, "we're gonna take this place as soon as Villa's night patrol goes home to bed.
First light, I figure.
I looked on a map and it's only three or four miles to Shagak Bay.
Villa will never think to look for us there."
Gilmore saw his chance to survive - information about Adak.
He stood up.
"There's a road up to Lake DeMarie.
You could go there.
It's closer."
"Yeah?
Is what he's saying right, Larson?"
Larson shrugged.
"I heard of it.
But I ain't been there.
I don't trust him."
"Me neither.
We go to Shagak Bay."
"You got to watch out for sink holes," Gilmore said.
"What the fuck are they?"
"The grass appears yellow and if you step into one, you find yourself in an underground river."
"Do you know where they are?"
"Sure," Gilmore lied.
"Enough of this shit."
The Duke turned his attention back to the audience.
"Anyway, men, we've been sittin' in our cells too long.
It's time for a fight.
We move out in a few minutes.
Any questions?"
Instead of strategy questions, Gilmore heard them ask questions about Adak.
"Hey, Duke, when do we get indoor crappers?"
"Do we really have to work in this fuckin' factory?"
While the Duke promised them everything, Gilmore tried to figure out what had happened.
Had Villa set this up?
Met with the Duke and paid the Duke to get rid of him?
Not likely. Then what?
Had a new bunch of cons taken over in one day?
If that was the situation, then they needed a stronger government.
He had lined up seven guards for the night, but obviously seven weren't enough.
And now, if the Duke was to be believed, they were gone.
Maybe he had gotten so anesthetized by Villa's democracy that he had forgotten the reality of cons.
That was the real danger of Villa's ideas.
What he should have done was make a deal with Saturday Phillips.
She looked like she could handle the Duke and then some.
Whatever the cause, he was in deep trouble.
He had started out the evening to begin a takeover of the island.
Now his take-over had been taken over.
"All right, men, let's fuckin' go," the Duke said.
From the back of the hall, someone spoke up.
"Just a minute.
I've got something to say."
It was Frank Villa.
Frank walked into the auditorium of the Sea Otter.
Larson - there he was, on stage, the killer that had taken Jeannie's mother from her.
Frank knew he had made a mistake in not bringing Joe. And right at Larson's feet - Gilmore.
What was going on?
Larson raised his big foot and smashed it down on Gilmore's hand.
Frank winced and felt the pain in his own hand. Could it be that Gilmore was not planning a coup with the Florence cons?
Or maybe he was, but they had co-opted him.
The sight of the three dozen men from Florence tore at Frank.
White or black or brown, they all looked pale.
Twenty-three hours a day in their cells.
Most of them sat in their seats with various poses for 'tough guy of the year,' a snarl on one face, squinty, mean eyes on another.
If only he could persuade them to live as free men.
How hard it would be for these guys to 'melt the bars.'
Frank walked up to the stage.
"I'm a lifer, like many of you," he began.
The sun-deprived, twisted, evil faces watched him.
"There's a strong wind here called a williwaw.
The wind dams up behind the mountains and suddenly overflows and comes ripping down the mountain.
Everything is demolished in its path: houses, cars, boats, even small airplanes. It can rip the roof off a house, kill a child, knock a man off a cliff.
"We can fight this wind if we stick together.
We can win.
We're free now. The Bureau of Prisons says, 'No, they'll never succeed.
They're losers.'
"I want to prove the Bureau wrong.
I want to show them we're not animals; we're free men.
We are ruled by laws and a government council.
I've asked your leader, Duke Jenkins, to join that council.
I'm asking you to go home now.
I'm asking you to become free men."
Frank stepped back from the mike.
He felt good, like he had said what he wanted to say.
The room was silent.
Had he reached them?
A few faces looked at him, not with hostility, but with interest.
There was hope for the world.
The Duke walked over to Frank.
"Nice fuckin' sermon, Villa.
But me and the boys ain't fuckin' dumb. We know you want a curfew just so's you can stay in power." He lifted the williwaw medallion off Frank's neck. "You won't be needing this anymore," he said, turning to the audience.
"Guess that makes me the boss of fuckin' Adak now, right, men?"
Frank heard a few tired responses.
"Yeah, sure, Duke."
"Look, men, we got the two guys who are supposed to run this place.
All we need now is their muscle."
The Duke motioned to Larson and he hit Frank hard in the kidney area.
Frank sank to the floor.
Larson slammed Gilmore down as well.
Frank could hardly breathe.
Through the fog of his pain he heard the Duke order Larson to get Gilmore's guns and booze.
Then Larson asked,
"How about I finish these two ass-holes first?"
Death.
It was coming.
Okay, Rudy, Okay.
Except that two things are incomplete, this prison and my relationship with Latisha. How strange to die next to Gilmore.
"Naw," Duke said.
"We're gonna use them as sink-hole finders."
Big laugh from the audience.
Larson stuck his boot between himself and Gilmore and kicked Gilmore with force.
"Can I have this nigger's woman?"
"Sure," the Duke replied.
"As soon as we get back."
Frank's insides froze into hard steel.
No one was going to have Latisha.
"She's gone," Gilmore muttered from the floor.
"Tie them two up prison style," the Duke ordered, "and let's go.
We ain't afraid of any williwozzles, are we, men?"
*
*
*
Snow bit into Frank's face when Larson shoved him out the door of the Sea Otter. Rain had battered him on the way to Gilmore's, but now it had turned to heavy, wet snow.
The wind whipped across him with the same intensity, however. Luckily he had dressed warmly in the morning, unsure of what the day might bring.
He wore Polypropylene long-johns he'd bought off a prison guard who used to hunt in Alaska. Wool socks,
two wool sweaters, rain and wind resistant pants and a good parka.
Fortunately he had taken the time to repair his right boot.
Hypothermia was nothing to fool with.
He'd read up on it.
Only a little exposure to this wind and wet could put a person in danger.
Frank knew that Gilmore would soon be in trouble.
Gilmore was tied as he was, hands behind his back, ankles hobbled with ropes.
The Duke had shoved him out without parka or hat, dressed in just a shirt, tie, sweater, slacks, thin black socks and black dress shoes.
The two of them were roped together, prison style, himself in front, Gilmore behind.
He hated this chained image.
Once he and two other cons had to go to the hospital for tests.
They were marched out of the prison van, through the main hospital entrance, down the corridor, up the elevator, chains clanking, nurses staring, mothers grabbing their children.
He was a man, damn it,
not an animal.
After only a few steps Gilmore fell and Larson kicked him until he stood.
Larson jabbed both of them.
"Faster, you motherfuckers."
Frank had to run with short steps to avoid being jabbed.
After only a short time it caused his legs to hurt.
Fifteen minutes passed, the rain assailing him.
Gilmore would have to be in trouble by now.
A faint whisper came from behind.
"How far is Shagak Bay, Villa?"
"Three or four miles," Frank answered.
"I'm shivering.
I ain't gonna make it."
A plan.
What could he do?
A few minutes later he saw an answer.
Black garbage bags on the trail.
Frank turned his head and whispered.
"We're gonna fall, Gilmore.
Get the garbage bags."
Frank fell on top of the bags and Gilmore fell right behind him. Frank managed to grab a bag and shake the garbage out, even with his hands tied behind him. However Larson, who was a dozen paces behind Gilmore, came up quickly and started kicking Gilmore.
Frank shoved the edge of the bag in his back pocket and grabbed for another.
Larson kicked him as he shook the garbage out of the second bag.
As they walked along in the dark, Frank felt along the creases of the bag and pinched a hole in the bottom.
He bunched the bag up and Gilmore, seeing what he was doing, bent down and stuck his head through the bag.
"Thanks, Villa,"
Gilmore muttered.
Frank felt the irony of it all.
Now, finally, the two of them were working together - when it was too late.
What if they had met the Duke with a united force?
What if he, Frank, had been a little more accommodating, sharing power somehow with Gilmore? And the matter of Latisha - he suddenly realized that Gilmore didn't know she had stayed on the island.
How was he going to tell him?
Behind him he heard the Duke muttering
about the weather.
"Fuckin' wind," "fuckin' snow,"
"fuckin' muskeg sucks my fuckin' foot up." The litany of "fuckin' this and fuckin' that," did not cover the terrible inadequacies of the man.
After an hour, the trail got rougher and the Duke called a halt.
Everyone huddled out of the wind in the shadow of a small hill.
Frank and Gilmore leaned against a large rock.
When he had caught his breath, Frank motioned with his head off to the left.
"You better warn the Duke about sink holes, Gilmore.
There are some off the trail."
Gilmore told this to the Duke, who told his men not to wander off.
Somehow Frank had to bring up the subject of Latisha.
Gilmore was going to be pissed when he found out that Frank knew she had stayed, while he didn't.
But nothing came to mind.
He leaned toward Gilmore.
"Are you still cold?"
"Better, but not warm.
My left foot is wet."
"Let's bend down.
Get your shoe and sock off.
Use the garbage bag in my back pocket.
Put it on and run it up your leg, too, under your pants."
"Thanks, Villa.
I got another bag for later."
The two bent down and Gilmore slipped the bag over his foot.
While they
rested on the ground Frank asked, "You got this Duke figured out, Gilmore?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this whole trip is stupid.
If you were planning to take over from me…" Frank glanced sideways at Gilmore "…not of course that you were ever planning to do such a thing … when would you do it?
What time of day?"
"Early morning.
Fresh, dry troops."
"Exactly.
Why is the Duke taking his men on this crazy jaunt?
March down to Shagak Bay, get wet, march back, get wetter, then attack Joe and my forces.
It doesn't make sense."
"I don't know, Villa.
I think he's afraid of that big mama he married.
You should have heard him before you got there.
Locker-room talk about him and Saturday.
Maybe he's afraid to go home."
Frank leaned his head back against the rock.
It felt good to work with Gilmore. The man was smart.
Together they were a team, a mix of realism and idealism.
Rudy always told him that was the formula for success.
Frank eliminated several other reasons for the Duke's behavior: a need for an adventure the first night, the Duke pretending he was a general and so forth.
Gilmore was probably right.
He himself had seen some evidence of raw sexual fear when he had coffee with the Duke and Saturday earlier that day.
"I wish I had a smoke," Frank said.
"Bad for you," Gilmore said.
Just then one of the Duke's men walked past, smoking.
"Hey," Gilmore called.
"My buddy here needs a smoke.
I run the club and I'll sure remember you."
"You don't run fuck all," the man said with a sneer, "but here…" he put the lit cigarette in Frank's mouth "…Villa, he ain't so bad.
Started this place.
I gotta take a piss."
"Watch out for sink holes," Frank said and blew out his first delicious breath of smoke.
"Yeah, yeah," the man said and walked off into the darkness.
"Thanks, Gilmore," Frank said, "you know, for the smoke."
It made it even harder now to tell him about Latisha.
He closed his eyes.
Latisha. He yearned for her, but she kept talking about helping people.
She sounded like she wanted the same thing he had started off with - to make a difference with people who needed help.
Frank sucked the last drag from the smoke and then spit it out of his mouth.
He exhaled the smoke.
"You know what your problem is, Villa?"
"What?"
"You don't believe in your own idea."
"Meaning?"
"Just figure it out, man.
The people in America are getting tired of paying for prisons, yet they want the bad asses locked up.
This place is gonna grow and grow.
It's a perfect answer - and we're right here on the ground floor.
I want to open a bank."
"A bank?"
"Yeah, you know, loans and mortgages and interest and all that."
Couldn't the man think of anything besides his own profit.
Plumbing, roads, more police - that's what they needed.
Not a bank.
"That's a …"
Frank was cut off by a scream.