Prisoners of the Williwaw (11 page)
The sun disappeared shortly after sunrise on Sunday morning and a black cloud covered Adak.
Maggie woke up early as she usually did, but for the first time in twenty years another person slept in the bed with her.
She sat up.
She was married.
She was no longer Maggie Krueger.
She was Maggie Britt, wife of Joe Britt, and she was very much in love.
She touched the massive shoulder of the big man next to her.
Last night he had made gentle love to her.
A killer?
A man of uncontrolled temper?
No.
He was gentle, he was loving.
She'd been right about him.
Rain beat against the window.
She looked at her watch. 6:30 AM.
If this was a weekday, she had to get up in order to leave for the office by 7:20.
If it was a Saturday she could sleep until eight, then she had to do the laundry and clean her apartment.
If it was Sunday she could sleep until ten and still make the eleven AM service at Our
Savior
Lutheran.
For twenty years life cycled on this way.
Except for two weeks vacation in the summer and a rare sick day, every week matched the pattern of the one before.
Not since she left her parent's home had anything varied.
The days and months gave her a sense of security.
Everything was regular.
She belonged.
She was part of her time.
She was part of the A.E. Housman Co. of Chicago, Illinois.
The large man next to her stirred. He was her age, forty-two.
He had a bulldog face set on a thick neck.
Though his arms did not ripple with steroid-induced muscles, they were big.
She rolled onto her side and pushed herself next to him until her breasts brushed against his chest.
She kissed him lightly on the mouth and pulled back to watch him wake up.
His eyes opened.
He blinked and looked around.
Maggie smiled.
She guessed he wasn't sure where he was either.
The last time he woke up in the morning, he was in prison.
At first there was terror in his eyes.
Then he seemed to calm down.
"
Mornin
'," he said.
It was the only thing he'd said since they got into bed the night before.
"Good morning, Joe.
Isn't it a wonderful morning?
I love you."
He
propped
his head up on his hand.
"
Rainin
' again," he said with a slight smile. He bent his head down and kissed her, first on the top of the head, then on the lips.
She snuggled up close to him and they both drifted in and out of sleep, their lips together.
Suddenly she awoke, put her hand on his face, and started to giggle.
Joe moved his head back and looked at her. She anticipated his question.
"I'm laughing because - I don't know why.
I guess I'm just happy."
Joe said nothing, but in his eyes she saw a quiet happiness.
He looked like a fisherman watching a sunset or a man standing alone in front of a magnificent waterfall.
How different he looked from the Joe she went to see in prison.
When she first saw him behind bars, he looked out of place surrounded by cold steel and concrete.
She watched as his love of trees and clouds and nature faded into the prison stone.
Each time she went to see him, nature seemed further from him.
Tension increased until at the end it seemed as if electricity crackled all around him.
She could barely see the gentle soul of the man she loved.
Then a month previous, a mere month, he told her about the Adak prison and asked her if she would go with him, and when she said, "Yes, Joe, yes I will," she saw the quiet happiness again.
He circled his hand several times over her breasts, barely touching the tip of her nipples with his palm.
She could feel her nipples rise and harden and she felt him, full and large, against the side of her leg.
She pulled herself close to him and kissed him passionately, trying to become one with him.
She gestured for him to come into her.
Slowly he got on top of her and gently, carefully, he entered her.
Maggie closed her eyes and began to move her body in slow, undulating circles. Joe bent down and kissed her on the forehead.
She put her hand up and rubbed his rough black stubble.
He put his fingers on her hair near the top of her head and moved his hand down slowly following the flow of her hair, just barely touching it.
How different Joe was than the last man she'd slept with twenty years previous.
She'd met that man in a
single's
bar.
He gave her a night of drunken sex, a night without love, without feeling, without hope.
It was, as Maggie remembered it, a terrifying night.
She'd been alone since then, fearing all men until she met Joe.
Maggie put her arm around his head and pulled his mouth to hers.
She kissed him, fully, deeply, passionately.
She was alive now, unafraid after all those years.
A man was with her, in her.
She was exploding inside and so was he.
"Joe, I love you."
"Maggie," he said.
"Maggie."
They kissed and held each other.
After a while Joe held her close and eased himself back onto his side.
Again she looked at his face.
He never really smiled a full teeth-showing smile, but now there were slight lines around the corners of his mouth.
She traced them with her finger.
It had been a long time since she had seen him enjoy something.
He used to smile - back when he first came to work for Housman.
He ate his lunch in those days on the outdoor patio just as she did.
All the other men in the shipping department played a noisy game of cards in the dispatcher's smoky office, but he read his sports pages on the patio during lunch, alone and in silence.
When he finished his lunch he would watch the clouds or the birds or whatever caught his interest.
Often he would walk around the factory and look at the flowerbeds old man Housman insisted on. The other men on the shipping dock called him - behind his back, but never to his face - 'the flower child.'
In early June of his second summer there, he finally said something to her.
He'd seen her looking at some bright yellow marigolds with little red splotches on them.
"I got some at home just like '
em
," he said. "I saved the seeds from last year.
I'll bring you some."
Maggie planted the seeds and gave him one of the new impatiens for sun. "They come from New Guinea," she told him.
Over that summer at lunchtime they discussed the flowers that Housman had - and the ones he didn't have.
She asked if his wife liked flowers and he said she didn't have time for them, because she had to work extra hours on a big case.
She was a filing clerk at a downtown legal office.
One day late that summer he failed to show up for work.
Maggie ate her lunch on the patio, finished her day in the office, and went home.
She turned on the news - and heard he'd been arrested for killing his wife's lover.
'The big case' his wife had told Joe about, was really a junior partner with a wife and three kids of his own.
He found them in a motel room and killed the man with his bare hands.
His wife escaped and told the papers that Joe was an animal, that she feared for her life, and she wanted a divorce.
Maggie went to the trial.
She listened as the prosecutor said Joe took the law into his own hands, that he had a violent temper, and that no one could predict when next he might fly into a rage and kill.
She heard these things, but only with her ears.
She believed he was a good, gentle man.
She loved him.
He was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to fifteen years in prison.
Maggie started driving to the prison to visit him.
He would smile when he saw her on those visiting days.
She kept reminding him that his sentence was relatively short,
"a crime of passion," the judge had said.
With good behavior he could be out in seven years.
On her fifth visit to prison he told her how the convict bosses were putting the screws on him to join the organization, to become an enforcer. "'No.' I told them, Maggie.
I just want to do my time and get out."
A week later she read in the newspaper that two men were dead and two hospitalized in a fight at the prison.
Charged with first-degree murder was Joe Britt.
Joe told her later that four guys from the organization had jumped him in a walkway.
"I lost control," he said and he admitted to her that he had smashed one man's head repeatedly against the cement block of the walkway.
He killed the other man by breaking his neck.
"Then the other two ran away, but one of them planted a knife on me.
They told the warden I was hustling them for money and protection.
They said I was beating them."
A fifteen-year sentence with hope of parole in seven, became a life sentence with parole possible only after twenty years.
She kept going to prison to see him, but it was like watching a man on a medieval rack.
Each time he was stretched a little tighter and he ground his teeth together a little more.
He blinked his eyes incessantly.
Prison, which the judge said would teach him to overcome his anger, was making him worse.
Thank God, she thought, this chance to go to Adak came along when it did.
She ran her hand through his hair.
It was very short, cut army style.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Breakfast."
Maggie laughed. "There's nothing to eat here.
Let's go to the cafeteria."
She went into the bathroom to put on her makeup. For once the mirror seemed to give her good news, shining eyes and - yes - a sensuous mouth.
She laughed to herself.
If her friend, Carla, were here, she'd make some comment about sex improving her appearance.
Leaving Carla was the one bad thing about coming to Adak.
For eight years they'd been friends. "You're going to the North Pole to marry a killer and live on an island with three hundred murderers and you want to know what I think?" Carla had said when Maggie first told her about Adak.
Once Carla accepted the fact that Maggie was going to Adak no matter what, she'd said, "Work on that anger of his, girl, work on it hard before it turns on you.
You have to start over with him, just like a kid."
Maggie turned on the faucet to wash her face, but only air came out.
She smiled.
It was not going to be easy living on Adak, but together they'd make it.
Outside the wind drove rain into her face as they started for the cafeteria.
Chicago was supposed to be the windy city, but she'd never experienced anything like this. As they walked the short distance, it felt like the wind was trying to stop her.
She put her head down and plunged forward.
At first he put his arm around her, but then he moved in front of her to block the wind.
Together they would make it, she thought, him helping her, her helping him.
Hardships were just going to make the two of them closer.
She'd be right with him all day, working together in the factory. She could help him gain control over the anger that had led him into trouble.
She could defuse any situation that came up. Anything.
Frank took a sip of his cafeteria coffee. Beyond a doubt, it was the worst brew he'd ever had, but he had to shake his fatigue somehow.
He paid Jeannie Dickinson the $1.50 for the coffee and turned toward Joe and Maggie's table. From the other direction he saw Boss Gilmore approaching their table as well.
Jeannie called to him.
"Mister Villa."
Frank turned.
"I'm going to start a newspaper.
I want to be a reporter."
She picked up a notebook from the counter.
"What are you going to do about all the people dying?"
What a question at 9:45 in the morning!
Frank eyed the young girl.
"We're holding a council meeting this morning.
We'll be talking about law and order then."
Realizing he'd spoken gruffly, he tried to smile at her.
He liked Jeannie; she was worldly, yet she was innocent.
Turning away from Jeannie, he saw Gilmore sit down at Joe and Maggie's table.
Frank took another sip of the coffee and winced.
A large woman drew near, Blanche
Carvinere
, the woman who was going to manage the factory.
She was the wife of convict Tony
Carvinere
, a mousy man, a strong contrast to his two-hundred-pound wife.
Blanche loomed in front of Frank, like she was the only person in the room.
"So, Villa, what are your plans to get these lazy bums to the factory tomorrow morning?"
"It's work or starve, Blanche.
Everybody knows that."
"Not enough, Villa.
I've heard about a lot of people who plan not to show up."
Blanche pointed to Boss Gilmore.
"Him for instance. Big boss, my ass."
Frank felt like a canoe facing a battleship.
"I'll bring it up at the council meeting."
"Oh, fine, talk about it.
I want action, Villa."
Frank noticed Gilmore get up from Joe and Maggie's table and leave.
"Excuse me, Blanche.
I have to see Joe Britt."
Frank joined Joe and Maggie and sat down opposite Joe when they invited him to.
The two of them were holding hands under the table.
He pushed his glasses on tighter and, without preliminaries, got right to his subject.
"Listen, we had big trouble here last night, six people dead and seventeen wounded.
There are guns, booze and pills all over this place.
Children are running wild.
Boss Gilmore opened his whore house just six hours after the Feds left.
I tell you, we've got to get this whole thing under control and right away."
"That's right," Joe said, his big face showing disgust at all these carryings-on.
"I wanted to talk to you about working as an officer of the law on Adak."
Joe put both of his hands on the table and looked directly at Frank.
"We need a peace officer, a sheriff, a cop, if you will," Frank said, "somebody the men will respect.
One they'll listen to.
I think that's you, Joe."
"Me?"
He pointed to himself.
"Me?"
"You."
Maggie leaned in toward the center of the table, getting in the way of his view of Joe.
"We already have jobs in the factory, Mister Villa."
She put her hand on top of one of Joe's hands.
"We told Mister Gilmore the same thing."
"What?"
"Mister Gilmore offered Joe a job."
"As what?"
"As the head of his security force."
"And?"
"We turned him down."
"Good." Frank relaxed a little.
"I need you, Joe.
You want this place to work and so do most of the men.
There isn't a con here who would rather be back in prison."
Joe looked flattered, on the verge of saying 'yes.'
"What did Gilmore offer you?"
"Twice my salary.
But I told him no."
"I can't match his offer, Joe, but I do have this."
Frank pulled a shiny, five-pointed star from an envelope, with the words Police, Adak Island etched into it in black.
"I had the shop in prison make this."
He handed Joe the badge.
Joe pulled his hand free from Maggie, picked the badge up and fingered it, almost reverently as if it were a religious icon.
Maggie's eyes narrowed with worry.
"What about Joe's job in the factory?"
Frank shrugged.
"For now somebody else will have to fill in.
Law and order is absolutely essential."
Joe turned the badge over a few times and self-consciously held it up to his chest.
Frank rocked back on two legs of his chair.
Other men were coming into the cafeteria.
What if he had chosen one of them?
If he had selected another man as his law
officer
, he could have a quiet talk with the man about Gilmore. "Rough him up a little," he'd say.
A few bruises and a few broken bones would make Gilmore understand that if he were going to screw up this island, he'd have to pay a price.
The picture was tempting.
For twenty-four hours he'd done nothing but worry about Gilmore, when he should have been worrying about Judy.
He'd failed her miserably yesterday, support-wise, sex-wise, everything.
When he left this morning, she handed him a grocery list, but said nothing else to him.
But this was Joe Britt, straight arrow.
A talk about roughing up Gilmore wouldn't work.
Joe put the badge on the table and centered it right in front of himself.
"There are a couple of problems, Joe."
Maggie listened carefully.
"What problems?"
"For one thing I have to get the council to okay Joe's appointment.
For another - pardon me for saying this, Joe
- you do have one hell of a temper and you'll have to control it.
You're being hired to enforce the council's law, not your own whims.
These guys have seen enough of cops making their own rules and beating people up because of their prejudices."
Maggie put her hand on Joe's arm.
"I'm against it, Joe."
"Why, Maggie?" Frank asked.
"Mister Villa, when I was a kid, my dad worked third shift.
He watched TV when I did.
He loved westerns.
We watched westerns after school, westerns on Saturday morning.
We watched westerns on cable, we rented westerns at the video store.
So I know westerns and you've just told me one.
The town leader asks the man to become the marshal.
The town is overrun with bad guys and the marshal's job is to clean up the town.
When the big fight comes, the marshal stands alone against the bad guys.
No."
Tears came to her eyes. "No.
Not Joe.
Get someone else."
No question, Maggie was a tough opponent.
How was he going to deal with her?
In prison he had watched other cons
maneuver
and manipulate and slip around to get their way.
His way had always been to lay the story out and wait for people's reaction.
That's all he could do now.
No one said anything for a long minute.
Maggie dabbed her eyes, then said, "Besides, Joe has no training in police work."
Frank smiled slightly.
"None of us do, Maggie, none of us do."
He shifted in his seat and leaned toward Joe. "We're going to make it here, Joe.
We've got all the things that keep the straights straight: a job, a family, a little money, a stake in the system.
We're free.
There's only one thing wrong."
"What's that?"
"We ourselves.
That's what's wrong.
We can kill each other, rape each other's wives, steal food, sell drugs.
Joe, you gotta help.
We need a good police officer.
If we don't get things under control, guns and crime and violence and men like Gilmore are going to rule Adak."
"I'm your man, Frank."
Joe's face showed the earnest look of those called to higher things.
Maggie put her hand on Joe's arm.
"Wait, Joe, please wait."
"Oh - I almost forgot," Frank said.
"I'm arranging for an old van to be used as a combination police car and ambulance."
"What kind?" Joe asked.
"Chevy.
Old, but still runs."
Joe smiled. He put his hand on Maggie's.
"I had a good buddy with a Chevy van."
Frank knew he had scored a good point.
And then he realized that maybe he had manipulated Joe, seconds after congratulating himself for not manipulating people.
The door to the cafeteria opened. Frank looked around. It was Latisha.
She looked tired, as if she'd had little sleep.
When she opened her jacket, he noted the dark beauty of her face in contrast to the swirling yellows and oranges of her sweater.
She got an order of toast and a cup of coffee and looked for a table.
Maggie saw her and waved.
Frank watched her approach their table, tentatively, to see if she were welcome.
Maggie stood, "Come on, Latisha, join us.
You don't mind, do you, Frank?"
"No, no.
That's fine."
Frank glanced at Maggie with admiration.
She knew Latisha's presence would shift the talk away from Joe being a policeman.
Latisha sat down and laughed.
"Five dollars for two pieces of toast and a cup of coffee."
"Wait till you taste the coffee," Frank said.
He felt her presence next to him.
Her motions.
Her smell.
The perfume or powder or herbal shampoo or God knows what it was that smelled so wonderful.
For sixteen years he knew nothing of the life of women except what he learned on TV commercials.
Frank rubbed his forehead.
Why was he so fascinated with this woman?
He had a wife who had left a comfortable, semi-retired life to be with him.
And even the smallest hint of interest in Latisha would intensify the conflict between himself and Gilmore.
He pushed his glasses on tighter.
He had to get Joe lined up.
"A good cleaning with vinegar would help the coffee maker," Maggie said.
"How did you sleep, Latisha?"
"Not well."
"We're up in the Marine Barracks," Maggie said.
"Where are you?"
Latisha paused for the longest time.
What was going on? Frank wondered.
Finally she said, "Gil's getting a house ready in the Birchwood Housing area.
We had to stay at the Officers' Club last night.
Our car wouldn't start."
Jesus.
He had her staying there.
He himself had heard the partying early in the morning.
Latisha and Maggie talked on - what the grocery store would be like, what each thought of Sheila Evens opening a beauty salon, whether the impossible weather was typical.
Frank looked at his watch.
Near 10:30.
"Excuse me for interrupting.
Joe, I'm sorry, but I need a decision.
I'll be meeting with the council shortly and I have to discuss this with them."
Maggie put her hand on his arm.
"No, Joe, no."
He turned to her, took her hand. "Ah, Maggie, you don't got to worry about me.
Frank's the right guy.
That Gilmore, I - " Joe glanced suddenly at Latisha, "Oh, I'm sorry, Missus, but I just don't go with your husband's ideas."
"Neither do I," she said so quietly, Frank was sure she meant no one to hear her.
But he did.
"Anyway, Maggie," Joe continued, picking up the badge, "I can take care of myself.
You don't gotta worry.
And I agree with Frank.
We gotta have law and order."
A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Besides a lot of the guys here are just punks."
