Prisoners of the Williwaw (29 page)
She heard dishes bang in the cafeteria below her.
Jeannie.
Staying here would make her a big sister to this wonderful girl, who now had no mother.
She walked down the hall to think.
Get real.
You're not a trained counselor, you're not a trained anything, except a trained buyer for medical supplies.
Staying here intensifies the conflict between Gilmore and Villa.
And with Larson on the loose, you're not safe here.
And Jeannie has a father.
Monica came out of the office and she went in.
She sat down on the auditorium chair.
Graham looked at her and tapped his pencil.
She asked him to transport her back to the mainland. On the wall opposite her, Frank had hung a sketch of Williwaw, the same picture as on his medallion. The puffy cheeked god, hiding behind a mountain, ready to blow down on Adak.
She made all the arrangements with Graham and then glanced up at the sketch again. The devil wind was laughing at her.
*
*
*
Frank felt strange to be interviewed in his own office.
Graham had saved him for last, the day after everyone else,
just a few hours before the Coast Guard helicopter was to pick him and Alexander Duban up.
Graham, short in stature with a narrow face, looked tired, Frank thought.
Three days of interviews, tours of inspection, and -
looking over his shoulder
-
had worn the man out.
Graham took a pencil from the pencil cup.
Frank gazed at his pencil supply in amazement - they were almost all gone.
Graham turned his chair sideways toward the wall and tapped the pencil on the edge of the desk.
A minute, two minutes, nothing.
Hell with it, Frank thought.
I'm gonna start the interview.
"Listen, Mr. Graham, no way we can handle three hundred more at the end of November.
In fact three hundred at one time is too much next March. We just can't absorb that many at once.
How about a hundred men and their families at one time?"
Graham turned back to face him. He started to say something, but then stopped and tapped his pencil some more.
Finally he said, "Your wife's leaving, Inmate Villa, do you know that?"
Frank felt the energy leave him.
He was Inmate Villa again.
And he had failed at his marriage.
"I know," he said, filled with a sense of shame and failure.
Graham pointed with his pencil to a paper on the desk.
"Here.
Statistics.
Nine inmates dead, two women and one child dead, dozens injured. A killer running loose.
What the hell you been doing, Inmate Villa?"
Oh yes, the unspoken rules were clear.
Be guilty.
Be wrong.
You're evil and I'm good.
Listen to the words of wisdom.
Assume the position.
Nuts.
Rudy used to tell him to learn from the politicians. "Answer the questions you want to answer, Frank, and no matter what the question, answer it with the information you want to get across."
Graham stared at him, tapping his pencil.
"How do you explain these statistics?"
"The Bureau wants us to succeed, right?"
"Of course, of course, but…"
"And you want us to work democratically, not by a series of coups?"
"Yes, yes. Don't interrupt, Inmate Villa.
There's tremendous pressure on the Bureau right now.
The public demands longer sentences, but they won't let us spend any money."
"So you're cleaning out some of your maximum security places including Florence, Colorado and dumping them on Adak."
Graham's voice went up.
"Absolutely not.
Many of those places have medium and minimum prisons attached to them.
We're sending you prisoners from all levels of security."
"But mostly maximum."
Graham tapped the pencil so hard it broke in half.
He threw the two pieces in the garbage.
"Inmate Villa, you have no right to question the Bureau.
Who comes here - that's our decision. Now what about this Larson?"
"We're doing the best we can."
"Not good enough."
If this were a boxing match, Graham would have him on the ropes here.
Time to change the subject. "I need paint."
Graham took another pencil and tapped it hard.
"Paint?"
"Colors.
Paint.
Bright stuff.
This place is incredibly dull.
Could you go easy with the tapping?"
Graham looked at him as if he had never heard such a bold challenge to authority.
He threw the pencil on the desk.
"Seems to me those pencils were government surplus, but… If you want paint, you'll have to pay for it."
Villa got up from the subservient auditorium chair and walked a few paces toward the window.
Graham picked up the pencil again.
"We need more money for fuel oil."
Graham slammed the pencil on the edge of the desk and cracked it.
"No, Inmate Villa.
Absolutely not.
You know the agreement. Sit down."
"Are you going to let women and children freeze?"
"You agreed to this venture, Inmate Villa.
You signed a waiver freeing us from all responsibility.
The press will be allowed back on this island in March.
We've kept them off for six months, as you requested, but they'll have a field day when they return.
They'll report that you're going back on your promise to pay your own way.
They'll have stories about dead eagles, about an innocent woman being murdered, about a woman committing suicide."
"And about the Bureau shipping us three hundred of their worst."
Graham threw the pieces of pencil in the wastebasket.
"Coming to this island certainly hasn't helped you, Inmate Villa.
Your prison report says you get along with the administration.
For your information we have an intensive course going on right now at Florence Prison and other places.
It's called Your Future on Adak."
Frank repressed the desire to comment.
The course sounded like a video promoting a retirement village.
Dare he threaten the Bureau with standing on the runway to prevent the three hundred from landing?
He and Doc had talked about it.
Doc said they'd land anyway, "unless of course you put Hanna out there, in which case they'll think they're in the Amazon."
"What about this election?" Graham asked.
"What about it?"
Frank sat back down.
"Are you going to win?"
"What's important is the democratic process.
I put Gilmore on the council to give him a voice in a legitimate forum.
This election is…"
"Spare me the lecture, Inmate Villa.
Remember you're still a criminal with a life sentence.
You killed - or rather your partner killed - a policeman.
Remember that.
That's all, Inmate Villa."
Frank stood up.
He held up his medallion of Williwaw so Graham could see it.
"This is an Aleut representation of the wind here.
It's called a williwaw. Just last week I watched this fierce wind take a child's life.
Sending three hundred maximum security
convicts here is like letting loose a williwaw on this island."
Graham looked at his watch and stood.
"Yeah, well the wind is the wind.
Good luck to you, now."
*
*
*
Graham opened his briefcase, took the last pencil from Frank's cup and tapped it on the edge of the desk for several minutes.
One hundred Thanksgiving baskets waited in a warehouse in Seattle.
They were the Bureau's to distribute, but that wouldn't look good.
The inmates on Adak would then be back on the dole.
But how to get the message across?
He checked his notes.
The plumber.
Nelson.
Inappropriate fellow who told him the Bureau was like a toilet that wouldn't flush.
Reported that earthquakes had damaged all the sewer and water lines leading to homes.
No indoor plumbing.
That was the answer.
Graham took a 62-L form from his brief case. Executive order memo.
Mr. James T. Gilmore has advised the Bureau of the serious health hazard posed by the lack of indoor plumbing. Not only is waste material left in outhouses, but children are getting ill running in and out in the rainy weather.
The Bureau was not aware that earthquakes had so severely damaged water and sewer.
Consequently, as a direct result of Mr. Gilmore's diligence, the Bureau will immediately hire a plumbing contractor to repair the lines.
Graham put the memo in his briefcase.
He'd have to move fast.
The election was next week.
A quick check with his boss in Washington, a phone call to Gilmore on his satellite phone, an official fax to Villa.
Maybe there was even time to do a flier for Gilmore and send it by air with a fresh fruit shipment.
As Graham put his parka on, he glanced at the sketch of Williwaw.
He took Frank's last pencil and tapped the sketch.
"Gilmore's the Man, ain't that right, Williwaw?"
He broke the pencil in half and dropped it on the desk.
Gilmore took a pen from his shirt pocket and opened his briefcase for a piece of paper.
He needed something to keep track of his votes as Blanche called them out. Within an hour he could be the leader of Adak - and all without taking anybody out.
The campaign flyers Graham had sent him littered the top of his case.
He picked one up and laughed to himself again.
In any other place but Adak this kind of advertising would be a disaster. Only people who walked outside five, six times a day in slashing rainstorms to use the outhouse would appreciate the flyer.
Only people who plunked their cold asses on wet, stinky holes in wooden shacks that often blew over in the middle of the action, only those people could appreciate Gilmore's ad.
The flyer was a large picture of a modern bathroom with the words VOTE GILMORE at the bottom.
The color picture showed a warm, modern bathroom with clean porcelain fixtures, orange-yellow towels, sunflower wall paper, a spider plant hanging in the corner, and best of all, a large heat lamp, glowing red.
As he felt the paper, he smiled again. Graham had provided a rich, glossy paper that said, "You deserve the very best.
Vote Gilmore."
On the other side he drew two columns, Gilmore and Villa.
This was the final election, Thursday, the first of November.
Graham had come through for him, at least in the sense of producing this flyer, which he himself could never have done.
Blanche Carvinere opened the first envelope, counted the ballots and called out the results:
Gilmore
- 15
Villa
-
7
Rambo
- 1
A good beginning.
Big Jim, Fitznagel and Nelson the Plumber walked into the cafeteria.
Nelson went over to Villa's table, while Big Jim and Fitznagel headed for his.
Too bad about Nelson, Gilmore thought.
He had
expected that the news about the Bureau hiring a plumbing contractor would win him over, but the man could not see beyond his fittings and pipes.
"Yeah, see Gilmore, the Bureau finally recognized what I've been saying.
We need new water and sewer lines."
"It was me that convinced the Bureau."
"It was Graham coming here and having to place his sorry ass on a cold, wet board that convinced him."
Big Jim and Fitznagel approached him.
"Sit down, men," he said.
Big Jim looked at the vote tally.
"All right.
I told my people to vote for you, boss."
Another envelope:
Gilmore
- 10
Villa
- 9
Still ahead.
He'd gotten a call late last night on his satellite phone.
Congressman Murphy was now Senator Murphy.
Murphy said the voters liked his prison plan.
It pleased the budget conservatives, the family lobby groups, the
get-tough-on-criminals
organizations and even the liberal elements with their talk of freedom and democracy.
Murphy talked expansively of more businesses, until Gilmore slipped in a reminder about his sentence reduction.
That ended the call.
Doc and Hanna, Joe and Maggie walked into the cafeteria. Doc had his arm around Hanna and she was laughing at something.
Joe held Maggie's hand.
And then, behind them, Latisha.
Gilmore stared at her.
Once he had walked with his arm around her, just like Doc with his Hanna.
The two couples went to Villa's table
and
she did too.
He watched her lean over Villa's shoulder and look at his numbers.
She sat down next to him and put her hand on his arm.
No question.
Villa had to die for stealing her. Gilmore had had the crap beaten out of a brother who said she was PHAT, pretty hot and tasty. Villa's crime was much worse.
Villa
- 16
Gilmore
- 6
Doc stuck his fist in the air.
"Yes," he shouted. "The good guys are ahead."
"Shut the fuck up," Big Jim shouted over at Doc.
Another envelope:
Villa
- 19
Gilmore
- 12
Uncle Sam
- 1
"Whoeee," Doc shouted. "You're losing your fuckin' ass, Gilmore."
The next time he talked to Murphy or to Graham he'd see if there wasn't another doctor in some prison or other, one with a smaller mouth than Doc's.
Villa
- 11
Gilmore
- 1
"Ho, ho.
The great Gilmore, king of the bathroom, is gonna find himself in the outhouse."
Gilmore jumped up and strode over to Villa's table.
"Villa, would you call your dog off?"
Villa started to stand, but Latisha put her hand on his arm.
Gilmore saw the look of concern in her eyes, concern not for him, her husband, but for this stupid honkie or spic or whatever he was.
Rage filled him, blind, hot, red.
Doc jumped up.
"Larson, that's
your
dog, Gilmore," Doc said. Then Doc turned to Villa.
"You know, Frank, I hear that after Boss Gilmore loses this election, he's planning a takeover with the new cons.
Did you know that, Frank?"
Gilmore stuck two fingers on Doc's chest and pushed him slightly.
Doc did the same to him.
Gilmore saw that Big Jim and Fitznagel were coming toward them.
Villa stood and tried to move Doc out of the way.
Gilmore grabbed Villa by the shoulder and spun him around.
Big Jim and Fitznagel were right there.
Gilmore stared hard into Villa's eyes. "You're a fuckin' wife stealer, Villa."
Gilmore knew men.
This was the moment Villa would react and take a swing at him.
Good.
Then Big Jim would step in and pulverize Villa.
But it didn't happen.
Villa stood there, emanating some kind of power to calm everyone down.
It was something in his eyes.
Why the hell didn't Villa ever play by the rules?
Gilmore formed a fist, pulled back and let it sail into Villa's stomach as hard as he could.
"All right, children," Blanche yelled.
"If you're not too busy fighting, here's the next result.
Everybody listening?"
Gilmore went back to his table.
He saw Latisha bending over Villa, who had his hands on his stomach. He himself had acted exactly the way he wanted to provoke Villa to act.
"That Villa's an asshole," Fitznagel said.
"Shut up, Fitz," Gilmore said.
"Okay, here's the next result:
Gilmore
- 37
Villa
- 21
Karl Marx
- 1
Gilmore added his column of numbers.
Villa was only two ahead of him.
Another envelope:
Gilmore
- 15
Villa
- 7
He was 6 ahead.
Maybe a coup with the new cons wouldn't be necessary.
He'd already made contact with a leader from Florence, one Duke Jenkins. At least the organization said he was a leader. Jenkins had sent word back that he'd be happy to work with Gilmore.
Villa got up slowly, walked to the door and left the room.
More results came in:
Gilmore
- 27
Villa
- 20
123 for him, 110 for Villa.
He was 13 ahead.
Villa came back into the cafeteria holding a couple of sheets of paper.
He looked upset.
"Excuse me a minute," he said, standing by Blanche's table.
"I've got two faxes here I want to tell you about."
He looked at the first one.
"This is a fax from the National Weather Service saying that a severe low pressure system is going to hit the Aleutians this weekend."
He ran his finger down the page and then read out loud.
"Conditions are favorable for the development of williwaws."
He looked at everyone in the cafeteria. Gilmore smirked to himself.
This was part of Villa's technique, to scare everyone with the bogeyman of this williwaw business.
Yes, the wind was fierce here, but it was just the wind.
"The other fax, I'm going to read," Villa said.
He pushed his glasses on tight and began:
From the Bureau of Prisons
To Mr. Frank Villa:
Three hundred new inmates and their families will be landing on Adak sometime on Friday, November 2.
For security reasons we cannot be more specific as to time. This operation must be accomplished before an approaching dangerous front hits the Aleutians.
The Alaska Air National Guard will secure the air field and the surrounding area before disembarkation.
Additional military support will be at hand, so all are warned to stay clear.
At this time those non-prisoners, wishing to return to the mainland, may do so.
All returnees should be ready as of Friday morning, November 2.
Thank you for your cooperation."
Villa looked up from the document.
"Just a reminder, we're going to have an orientation session for these men tomorrow.
And there is a
curfew
tomorrow night."
He glanced over at Gilmore.
"I've deputized thirty men to keep order."
Gilmore laughed to himself.
No way was he going to allow a curfew to get in the way of a big party at the Sea Otter.
Three hundred new cons just out of the joint with two hundred dollars in their jeans - what an opportunity.
Villa returned to his table.
Gilmore watched Latisha and wondered what she thought about the news.
She would be leaving tomorrow, leaving him forever and now she sat at another man's table.
He watched her talking to Villa, asking him questions, her hand on his arm.
Damn.
Villa had to die.
Blanche's loud voice filled the cafeteria.
"Now that the interruption's over, we can get back to the election.
I've got the results of three envelopes here:
Villa
- 75
Gilmore
- 67
Doc Raymond
- 1
He was still 5 ahead.
On Villa's table, Hanna punched Doc on the arm.
"He did it again.
Voted for himself."
Sam Wong and his daughter, Jeannie, came out from the kitchen.
A month ago Sam would have come over to him, rooted for him.
Now he went to Villa.
What was it about Villa that attracted men?
The little girl, Jeannie, a needy sort, put her arm around Latisha.
Villa
- 16
Gilmore
- 5
He had lost his lead.
A crash came from the kitchen and Sam ran back in.
When he came out a few seconds later, Gilmore did a double take.
He was chasing Carl Larson.
Larson had a box of groceries under one arm and a gun in his other hand.
Sam brandished a kitchen knife.
Larson was heading for
the exit.
Larson shot at Sam, but missed.
The shot reverberated in the low-ceiling cafeteria and assaulted Gilmore's ear drums.
Out of the corner of his eye Gilmore saw a sudden motion from Villa's table - Joe Britt was bulling his way toward Larson, knocking over chairs in his path.
Then from the other side of him, Gilmore caught another motion, Big Jim going for Britt.
Larson pointed his gun at Britt and shot, but Britt was in motion, leaping forward to tackle Larson.
Big Jim hit Britt from the side.
They ended up in a heap on the floor and Larson ran out the exit with Sam Wong chasing him.
