Prisoners of the Williwaw (13 page)
"Listen, Britt," Wilson, the environmentalist, demanded, "What are you
gonna
do about the eagles?"
"What do you mean?"
Wilson let out a sigh of exasperation. "Guys shooting eagles."
Fitznagel
laughed. "Yeah, I got six."
Wilson jumped up. "That's the kind of thing we have to stop here on Adak! Eagles are predators, birds of prey, the natural enemies of rats. Kill an eagle and you've let generations of rats live."
Wilson sat down, then stood up again. "So, Britt, what are you going to do?"
"Hey, hey, hey!"
Fitznagel
said, "the nigger has spoken! Lay off the eagles! Nature boy wants to protect his
fuckin
' paradise! And - "
Fitznagel
leaned into the center of the table and shook his finger in mock warning, " - he's already killed a big shit factory boss for the environment. So, watch it!"
Big Jim whispered something to
Fitznagel
.
Fitznagel
looked toward Gilmore and said, "That nigger isn't for you, Boss. This Wilson - " he pointed across the table - "hell, you'd call him a nigger, too. He made this place out to be a
fuckin
' paradise at the teleconference."
Fitznagel
took on a black accent. "'Birth place of the winds, home of the American bald eagle, wildlife refuge.' God damn!"
Frank picked up his hammer. If people rose to the job history called on them to do, they'd better start rising.
"We're deciding on Joe Britt for sheriff."
"Answer my question, Britt. What about people shooting eagles?" Wilson repeated.
"Who gives a fuck about eagles?"
Fitznagel
asked.
"I do."
"You're an asshole, Wilson. You know, I mugged a few old black ladies in Detroit in my day. Too bad I didn't get your mama."
Instantly Wilson was on top of
Fitznagel
. The two of them rolled on the floor, scrapping for advantage, right at Gilmore's feet.
Frank hammered the table hard. Here's where his dream of democracy had led him - two cons rolling on the floor. Maybe dictatorship was the right approach.
Gilmore leaned down and put his arm, fancy cuff link and all, between the two fighters. Both men stopped. Wilson pulled his arm back to strike
Fitznagel
again, but thought better of it. Slowly they rose and returned to their chairs.
What power Gilmore had, Frank thought, to break up this fight by putting his arm between them. What a leader! What an ally to have! But Gilmore was the man out to destroy his dream.
Best to get this vote over as soon as possible. Stokes would support Britt as would Wilson and Rodriguez. That was three votes. Then if he got either
Muscoti's
or Baker's vote, that would be 4 to 4 and he could break a tie vote. It was a good gamble. "I'm calling for a vote," Frank said.
"Wait a minute," Gilmore said. "What we need is a peace officer, not a head basher. Joe Britt is a good dude and all, but he's not police material."
"Vote."
Both
Muscoti
and Baker voted for Britt, making the vote 5 to 3.
"Congratulations, Joe," Frank said. "I'm instructing you, now, in public, to confiscate any guns you find. Is that clear to you?"
Joe nodded.
Frank glared at Gilmore. "Is it clear to everyone else here? No guns."
Stokes mumbled something about it being an American's right to bear arms, but nobody else said anything.
Frank looked at the council and then at the others in the room. "And Joe will be armed."
"Of course," was the reaction on everyone's face. An issue he had worried about for months, upset no one.
"Any other business?" Frank asked.
"Just one point before we go," Gilmore said. "We need more people up here. Originally the Navy had ninety thousand people on this island. We have less than a thousand."
Gilmore passed out a two-page proposal, addressed to the Bureau of Prisons. "This is a request for the government to send more inmates before winter. I know the original plan called for six months before the feds shipped anybody else up here and six months before any wives could leave. But we just don't have enough population. I've based my proposal on a theory of critical mass. In other words we need a certain number of people here to make this experiment economically viable.
"Specifically, my proposal calls for the Bureau of Prisons to ship another three hundred up here before winter."
Frank pictured the letter Gilmore would send to the next three hundred. "Despite the opposition of Frank Villa, I fought for your chance to come to Adak."
"Oh, crap!" Doc shouted from the back of the room, "You just want more suckers for your club, Gilmore."
And, Frank reflected, more convicts to produce more items at low pay.
Doc continued. "Two hundred dollars times three hundred is sixty thousand dollars."
Gilmore turned to Frank. "Mister Chairman, do we have to put up with a running commentary from Doctor Raymond?"
Gilmore was right. Frank hammered the table. "Doc, you have to stop. You're welcome to attend these meetings, but you can't just shout out your opinions."
Frank turned back to the council. "We'll discuss this at the next meeting. We always intended Adak to be home for many more than ourselves, but new inmates should come only when we're ready. As Mister Gilmore mentioned, the schedule calls for a new group of cons to land next March. At that time the feds will take back any family members who want to return to the mainland. If there's no further
- "
"The wives can't leave until March?" Big Jim asked.
"That's what they agreed to," Frank answered, wondering if Big Jim's wife was objecting to all the '
fuckin
and
fuckin
and
fuckin
.'
"One thing more," Gilmore said as he passed out an expensive-looking envelope to each man including Frank, "I'm inviting all of you to a super-fine party tonight to initiate my new club. I'm not ready for the public yet, but I thought I'd have my special friends over."
"Hey! Okay!" said Big Jim.
"Yeah, let me at that booze and them women," said
Fitznagel
.
Frank hammered the table. "Meeting's adjourned."
Doc joined him at the table. "Had enough democracy, Frank?"
"No," Frank said emphatically, realizing his no was so definite he probably meant yes. While women and children were at risk, he had to work patiently with the likes of
Fitznagel
and Big Jim.
Frank left the meeting last. He paused at the door of the Bering Building to tie his parka. The wind outside drove sheets of rain into the door. Why did he feel so depressed? After all he'd just won another victory, getting Joe appointed. But it was Gilmore. He had legitimized Gilmore, given him a platform to speak from. And Gilmore was moving fast - a party at his club to win the key people over, a motion to bring three hundred more. Frank glanced at the medallion Nelson had given him - Gilmore was trouble. He was fierce Williwaw, hiding in his mountain home, about to blow across their settlement.
Frank tied his parka and stepped out the door. The wind beat at him, stung his face, drove rain under his hood and tried to sneak under the ties of his parka. The wind was under him, over him, all around him. Adak was not a place for the gentle, slow workings of democracy. It was a wild place of wind and violence.
That Sunday evening at the Officers' Club, Gilmore was listening to Red Miller, when he saw Doc saunter in. What the hell was he doing here?
He had not given Doc an invitation. This evening had a carefully scripted agenda and Doc's mouth could mess it up.
Gilmore and Red stood on one side of the auditorium.
In twenty-four hours Gilmore's men had replaced the broken window, gotten the stage lighting working and hung a big welcome sign.
Red, as long-winded as usual, was in the middle of a description of his troubles with the roads and his lack of a bulldozer.
"Now that you're on the council, Boss," was how he prefaced it.
Gilmore interrupted him.
"Ah, Red, I got a little problem to deal with, but I was wondering if you could do something with our parking lot here.
Lots of holes and ruts.
You know how it goes.
When the issue of a bulldozer comes up, I'll be right there for you."
Gilmore put his hand on Red's shoulder.
"Yeah, sure, sure."
The light dawned on Red's face.
"Yeah, I get it."
"Thanks, Red.
Now you've got to excuse me."
"Sure, Boss.
One thing, though."
"Yeah?"
Red pointed down at the carpet of the auditorium.
"You ought to replace this with a good nylon carpet."
Gilmore nodded and said, "Excuse me, Red," and stepped in front of Doc.
"This party is by invitation only."
Doc pulled Gilmore's fancy envelope from his pocket.
He waved it under Gilmore's nose.
"Frank's invitation.
I'm here on a pilgrimage to the Gilmore shrine.
I want to see how you're helping humanity."
"Is there an invitation in that envelope?"
Doc laughed and slowly pulled out the invitation.
"What time does the show begin?" he asked, pointing to the stage.
Gilmore walked away.
Where was Larson?
He was supposed to be watching the door.
The man had his mind on his prick and nothing else.
If he was backstage ogling the women again . . .
No.
There he was, leaning on the wall gaping at Big Jim's wife.
Fuckin
' peckerwood thought with his
willy
.
"Larson.
You're supposed to be at the door.
Doc walked right in here.
Get on the door right now, then wait about ten minutes and tell Doc there's an emergency at the hospital."
Larson glared at him and walked toward the door without saying a word.
That one is going to be trouble, Gilmore thought. He turned and saw Latisha by herself arranging glasses on the liquor table.
Damn!
What a job she'd done!
Coming up with great-looking trays of hors d'oeuvres from nothing more than cheese and crackers.
That's all there was on Adak for snacks, enough cheese to bind up a herd of elephants and caseloads of stale crackers.
She'd cut the sharp cheeses as lightning bolts, the mild ones as clouds.
A few were shaped as question marks.
It was so intriguing you didn't pay much attention to the stale crackers.
Latisha.
Maybe she was going to fit in after all.
But on the way home from the council meeting she'd peppered him with questions: Why was he against Britt? Why did he want more cons on the island? What was this party all about?
Since coming to Adak she seemed different, nosing into his affairs.
Her willingness to help with the party was the first indication that she meant to go along.
All she asked was to be introduced to people.
"These are my new
neighbors
," she said.
Well, they were hardly
neighbors
.
A few short months and he'd find a way off this island, a way to escape.
He took another look at her.
A sleek wine-red dress. The brothers would say she was 'fine,' stretching out the word to encompass such beauty.
She had locked him out last night, but he'd warmed her up a little by taking her for tea and discussing 'having a family.'
Maybe tonight.
He saw Doc walk up and start talking to her, which could be nothing but trouble.
The sooner he started the show, the better.
He glanced at the crowd.
About fifty people.
The majority were people he'd lined up to work for him, but he noted with satisfaction that five of the eight council members were present.
Six counting himself.
After tonight there would be no more defeats, like the vote for Joe Britt today.
He jumped up to the stage and called for quiet.
"I've got a special performance for you tonight and it's just a preview of a show we hope to put on nightly.
"Some of you may have noticed the sea otters in Sweeper's Cove or over in
Kuluk
Bay.
If you haven't seen them yet, you're in for a treat.
These little seals swim on their backs.
They look like they're enjoying the hell out of life in the freezing waters.
They pick up a couple of clams and, as they swim on their backs, they pound one clam against another.
Sometimes they balance a rock on their bellies and hammer the clams against it."
Gilmore stepped aside and called for the curtain.
As the curtain opened he jumped off the stage and walked to the back of the audience.
He looked for Latisha and saw her leaving with Jeannie Dickinson.
She just didn't understand kids like Jeannie.
Jeannie was probably not upset at all that her mother was in the show.
Latisha had no idea of the world most of the people on the island came from.
The lights dimmed, the curtain opened all the way, and bump and grind music came over the speakers.
Three women lay on slanted pieces of plywood facing the audience, each the center of her own spotlight.
Jeannie's mother was on the right.
A ledge at the end of the plywood kept them from slipping off.
The women wore sea otter whiskers on their faces, sea otter fins on their feet, a rock on their stomachs, and nothing else.
They began to open clamshells in time with the music, pounding them against the rocks on their stomachs.
The music slowed, then speeded up, then slowed again.
When the audience clapped for the second time, two spotlights went out and the single spotlight focused on one woman after another as they put on mini sex plays for the audience.
Gilmore glanced at Baker and
Muscoti
and their wives.
They were older than the other council members, yet he was pleased to see they looked mildly amused.
He was glad they were here instead of trying to set up a rival organization.
And
Fitznagel
and Big Jim?
Gilmore glanced at them.
They were like teenagers at a peep show.
Rodriguez sat by himself, looking stern.
At least he was here.
Muscoti
, Baker,
Fitznagel
, Big Jim, Rodriguez and himself - that was six of the eight members of Straight Frank's council in the room.
Gilmore looked to see where Doc was.
He was slouched in a chair at the back.
And where was Larson?
Of course.
Off to the side, in the front, his eyes riveted on the stage.
Why couldn't he have gotten Joe Britt as muscle?
Britt was narrow-minded, but at least he wasn't a sex maniac.
Gilmore motioned to Larson and nodded toward Doc.
Larson walked over to Doc and tapped him on the shoulder.
Doc started talking out loud, interrupting the show.
"Sorry, folks.
Medical emergency.
I have to leave Gilmore's idea of culture.
And it's just what I wanted to know, how to open clams."
Gilmore stood.
"Sorry for the interruption, folks."
He nodded to the stage and the spotlight shifted to another of the sea otters.
After more antics, someone started a great stamping of feet offstage.
The curtains on the side of the stage near the first woman moved and the spotlight revealed the great god, Neptune, holding his trident and wearing nothing except his crown.
The spotlight followed his antics with all three women, focusing on his extended penis.
When the curtain closed it was
Fitznagel's
wife who cheered the loudest.
Gilmore bounded up the stairs to the stage and held his arms out.
When there was quiet he said, "That's only a preview.
Wait till you see the whole show!"
The audience clapped again and Gilmore said, "I have a question.
What do you think we should call this club?
We can't very well call it The Officers' Club anymore."
Somebody shouted from the back, "The Sea Otter, Boss, call it The Sea Otter!"
Big Jim picked it up. "Yeah, that's good, The Sea Otter Lounge!"
Others said, "Yeah" and "All Right!"
"The Sea Otter Lounge it is.
There's drinks and snacks for everyone.
Make yourselves at home."
Gilmore stuck his head behind the curtain.
"Hey everyone, you were great."
He moved to the steps of the stage, but paused to survey the crowd.
This was the important part of the evening.
This was where he influenced people to go his way.
He walked down the steps and patted the stage.
He was the stage manager, as he always had been.
His parents had barely settled into their dream suburban home, when he
molded
a group of ninth graders into a cohesive gang.
Their first project was an electronics store at the shopping center.
"Fats, you can't run, so you stand in the middle of the shopping center near the store and scream 'Bomb! Bomb!'
"Rocco, you're the fastest, you light those smoke bombs and run.
"Whiz and Dave, your spot is in the store.
Be ready to grab as much as you can when everyone clears out.
"Bob, you have your brother's car waiting outside."
Everybody was tested, pushed just a bit further than in the past.
Everybody was treated with respect and given a role of importance.
He himself never got involved; he was the stage manager, making sure everyone was in place, making sure the back door to the electronics store was unlocked as it usually was.
He never made apologies for his lack of involvement; his job was the hardest: the planning, the detail, and the human factor, putting the right man in the right place at the right time.
Now he was about to stage-manage a big project, the island of Adak and Frank Villa's new prison.
The important thing was to contact each member of the council, and - and there was something else.
Oh yes, Latisha wanted him to introduce her to some people.
She was in the room again, standing behind the liquor table.
Big Jim and
Fitznagel
were the first to approach him. "Some show!" Big Jim said.
"Wow.
Sea Otters.
Who was the girl in the middle?
I
ain't
seen her around yet."
"Goes by the name 'Tiger.'
Gutsy girl.
Her husband bought the farm last night."
"
Fuckin
' shit,"
Fitznagel
added.
"But all them broads were great."
If these two weren't on the council, Gilmore reflected, they'd be perfect for his probe to the east.
The island of
Kagalaska
was only a quarter mile off Adak.
Would it be possible to island hop back to the mainland?
The Aleutians were a chain of islands.
The big problems were the spy satellite and the Coast Guard, and, of course, the stormy seas.
Rumor
had it that the satellite could spot a hard-on from outer space and the Coast Guard were going to shoot first and ask questions later.
Gilmore looked quickly over their heads, then asked in a low voice, "Where are your wives?"
"Who knows?"
Fitznagel
answered.
"Well, the thing is, council members get one free romp a month."
Gilmore pointed to the back of the building where the hotel-like rooms were.
