The Bookie's Daughter (30 page)
That was the beginning. Colton threw down the challenge and my mother accepted. I, on the other hand, could definitely have done without the added drama.
While Bonnie continued her tirade, I went back to the store to call our repairman. I requested that he come immediately to board up the window and secure the store. One police car was still present on the Avenue, waiting for the owners of the vehicles Colton had robbed. The other had taken Colton to the police station for processing. Carted off to jail, he was arraigned the next morning and held over for court. I was suddenly facing my first time on the witness stand.
A short time later, Colton secured a bond release and began systematic intimidation tactics that would continue until the trial date. While on my way to or from school, he would be present somewhere en route, leaning against a parking meter. His message was not lost on me: he knew my every step. At the public library, he would suddenly come around the stacks and stop within feet of me, chuckling but never addressing me directly. At the grocery store, I would find that he and I sought to purchase the very same bottle of shampoo. Often, I would look behind me and find him there—his presence a reminder of his earlier threats—warning me not to testify. I reported these encounters to the police but they were powerless. Colton had not broken any laws. He had not spoken to me in a threatening manner nor had he touched me physically. This was nearly a decade before the first stalking legislation was passed. There was nothing the police could do; I would simply have to endure his intimidation.
My parents were aware of Colton’s threatening presence but had no options within the “legal” realm to prevent his continued harassment. Ironically, this was partly my fault because I had called in the police. Al explained to me, in a slightly annoyed voice, the consequences of having involved the police: “Once you called the law, you took away any possibility of my handling this situation. Colton continues to be a problem because the police are involved. This situation is too public. We will have to go through legal channels, but don’t get your hopes up; there is little justice to be found in the legal world.”
In other words, if I had not called the police, my father’s “friends” would have sent Colton a message, verbal or if necessary physical, that would have halted the current situation. It never occurred to either of my parents that if they had been doing their jobs as parents, I would not have had to call the police. Where was Al that night? Playing cards, just as I had suspected. My mother was trapped in her crazed cycle of “speed and crash.” With my sister’s permanent departure from our home the year before, I was the only guard on duty that night.
As the court date approached, I never doubted that I would go through with the testimony. Still, I could not forget Colton’s threats. I was acutely aware of the possibility of a not guilty verdict or the chance of probation without jail time. I knew my life would be in danger if he somehow escaped imprisonment.
Luckily, I did not have to testify. Colton opted for a deal at the last minute. Arriving at the Westmoreland County Courthouse early, my parents and I stopped by the cafeteria for cup of coffee and bumped into the presiding judge. Apparently, the judge and my father were longtime acquaintances, the judge having purchased a television set from Al some twenty years before. They spoke congenially for a few moments and parted. Colton saw the exchange and feared an unfavorable outcome. The District Attorney agreed to a plea, which would have Colton serve a short jail sentence followed by a long parole. This was an immediate relief for me, but I was acutely aware of the potential for future threats. After all, he knew exactly where I would be when he was released from prison.
I did not have to wait long before I had my next encounter with the new menace in my life. A few months into his incarceration, Colton was granted a weekend pass to visit his ailing mother in Pittsburgh. Even though the judge had ordered that we were to be notified any time he was released from jail, the authorities failed to do so.
I learned of his furlough when I saw him leaning against a telephone pole across the street from the store. Helping a customer out with her shopping bags, I ran directly into his threatening gaze. Squaring my shoulders, I ignored his presence and placed the shopping bags in the car. Once back in the store, where I was working alone, I began to call around looking for my parents. As neither could be located, I called Big John. Luckily, he was in town. Arriving quickly, he checked on me first and then sauntered across the street to have a little conversation with my stalker. Colton told him that he was on a weekend pass and did not want any trouble. Big John warned him away and stayed with me until my parents arrived home. Although I felt uneasy, I hoped Colton would move on and forget his perverse vendetta.
The next day, I found myself with a rare Saturday off from the store, as my father had decided that I would be allowed to “work” the Saturday night poker game. This was a coveted task. I could easily make between $200 and $400 (a valuable addition to my escape fund) by running the game. My job would entail serving the poker players sandwich platters and drinks, as well as providing them with cigarettes and cigars throughout the evening.
Although excused from duty at the store, I knew preparations for the upcoming game would take most of my day. After making several cold salads at home, I headed up the Avenue to purchase meats, cheeses, and a variety of fresh baked bread I would need to make deli-style sandwiches. Stopping at Jeannette Bakery and F & A Italian Store, I placed my orders and then made a side trip to Urbani’s Pharmacy to pick up some toiletries and browse their collection of books and magazines. While looking through the new release section, I felt the hair go up on the back of my neck and knew instinctively I was being watched. Turning quickly, I caught a glimpse of Colton as he crossed the aisle. A quick check of the corner spy mirror behind the pharmacy counter, allowed me to locate Colton who was kneeling behind a stack of boxes. Knowing that I needed to get home as soon as possible, I decided to make a run for it out the back door and down the alley. As I darted out the door, I heard a thump behind me and turned to see Colton in close pursuit. Kicking it into high gear, I ran through the alley heading parallel to the Avenue. Crossing over Sixth Street, I barely missed being hit by a car. Déjà vu!
Having lost a few seconds dodging the car and fearing Colton would catch me, I decided to make an unexpected turn in the hopes that it would afford me the best chance for escape. Approaching the backside of Sandson’s Grocery, I jumped through the narrow door and onto the conveyor belt that was used to transfer produce and merchandise from delivery trucks in the alley. Crawling through the door and down the conveyor, I glanced back and saw that Colton was still on my heels. As I reached the back work area, I jumped off the conveyor belt and headed for the doors that led to the meat department located at the back of the store.
Bursting through the double doors, I entered the grocery store with a sense of relief, thinking that I had reached safety. But before I could go a step further, I felt a sharp pain shoot through my shoulder and was propelled backwards. Glancing over my shoulder, I found myself staring into the red eyes of twin tattoo snakes that appeared to be slithering down his arms. Anticipating my screams for help, Colton caught hold of my waist, turned my back into his stomach, and placed his other hand over my mouth. The eyes of the snake tattoo glared menacingly up at me. As if intent on tasting me, my captor then flicked his tongue over my ear and explained in detail the revenge he had been planning.
I could feel his hot, alcohol-infused breath on my neck. “Now I have you, bitch. Time for you to pay up. You and I are going to have a little fun.” His raspy voice and the suggestive movements of his body pressed against mine added yet another menacing layer to an already terrifying encounter.
Unable to move in his vice-like grip, I remembered the self-defense class my mother had demanded Vanessa and I attend a few years before. The acronym SING (solar plexus, instep, nose, and groin) ran through my head and I relaxed into him as if in a faint. Colton chuckled, mistaking my submission as a victory, and slightly loosened his hold on me. Knowing this might be my only chance, I stomped down hard on Colton’s instep, threw my head forward and jerked it back hard. Coming up short, I missed his nose but crashed into his jaw. Cursing, Colton let go but I only managed to put a short distance between us when I felt his fingers again digging into my left arm, jerking me back toward him.
The refrigerated meat case, now within arm’s reach, beckoned seductively. Reaching forward with my free arm, I grabbed desperately for an anchor. Connecting with the cold metal of the meat case, I began to scream loudly, “Nooooooo!” Colton seemed startled at my verbal pleas for help and slackened his hold just enough to allow me to grab a leg of lamb from the meat case. Turning with all my force, I swung the leg of lamb through the air, connecting with the side of Colton’s head. The sickening sound of flesh on flesh hung in the air. Stunned, Colton released me. I bolted for the front of the store.
Desperate to escape, I sprinted up an aisle, startling patrons along the way. Spying a group of customers talking to the store manager near the door, I threw myself into the middle of the group and shouted that I had been attacked. Springing into protective action, the manager ordered one of his employees to call the police while pushing me toward a stairway that led to the safety of his office. As I climbed the stairs, I glanced back, looking for Colton. He was calmly moving through the store as if his even demeanor would allow him to blend in with the customers. Despite his acting abilities, he stood out loudly. His considerable bulk and menacing snaked arms screamed for attention. As he approached the checkout lines, our eyes locked. He mouthed the words “next time.” Then, he exited the store, where he was promptly grabbed by the police, who had just arrived on the scene.
My mother appeared shortly thereafter, as word spread quickly down the Avenue that Colton was in hot pursuit of her youngest daughter. Of course, I heard my mother before I actually saw her. She was on the street screaming at the police and Colton, her words peppered with a unique and colorful combination of vulgarities. Although her coarse language could have made a sailor blush, I could not help but marvel at my mother’s ever creative and interchangeable use of blue terms. As Bonnie continued her tirade, I thought back to a recent argument she had with my sister, who was now working at Jeannette Glass Factory. Having stopped into the store to visit my mother after her shift, Vanessa swore several times during the course of their conversation. Still furious with Vanessa for dropping out of college and taking a job in the factory, my mother responded to Vanessa’s casual use of curse words in an unusual and exasperating manner; she held the factory culture responsible for my sister’s “filthy mouth.” Vanessa and I found considerable humor in my mother’s failure to understand her own culpability. After all, we had learned from the master.
The store manager’s slight but reassuring pressure on my shoulder shook me from my temporary mental departure from the day’s unsettling exploits. He accompanied me onto the Avenue where I stood as my mother finished her creatively descriptive tirade. Colton sat silently starring at me from the back of the squad car. His parole was promptly revoked and he returned to jail, but I knew there would be another encounter to come. I wondered if I would survive it.
Although the encounter was distressing, I had a poker game to run. I recovered quickly and returned to the task at hand. After all, this was not my first assault. Even so, I wondered at my calm response. Then again, my mother had trained her daughters well. She saw crying as a weakness, one that she rarely permitted. “No tears, no fear” was a motto the Abraham women lived by. The advice Vanessa had given me years before, during the aftermath of the Trial, still applied: “Never show fear, hold your head up high, and spit in the devil’s eye.” Of course, in this instance, a leg of lamb was more effective than a defiant attitude.
That night, I contemplated the day’s events while sitting in the musky, smoke-filled basement surrounded by gamblers. I noticed, and thought it odd, that for the first time in days I was out of harm’s way. Among the many not-so-upstanding citizens, I found comfort. I spent the night making sandwiches and serving gamblers with colorful names such as Fast Eddy, Mayhem, Tricky Pete, Fat Head, Cleats, Hook, and Triple D. Many of the gamblers had been filled in on the day’s events and made an effort to be especially kind. My father tried to insert some humor into the earlier events by repeatedly calling me “killer” or “Little Bonnie,” referring to my mother’s fearlessness when confronting danger. In his way, he was telling me that I handled myself well and that he was proud of me.
It was a long and profitable night, and I earned a few hundred dollars for my escape fund. As morning dawned on the city of Jeannette, I began to make breakfast for the players, many of whom were Catholic and would leave the game in time to make the late mass. Others settled in, determined to see the game through to its end. I often wondered if the God-fearing Catholic gamblers confessed the many nights they spent in pursuit of the big take. My mother, always straightforward and blunt, would sneer at them as they passed through the store on their way out, calling them hypocrites and telling them that they had better “pack a fucking lunch” if they were going to confession.
After the faithful gamblers left, I turned the game over to another employee, and headed home for a long soak in the tub and for the first time, to have a good cry. As I slipped into bed that night, I prayed for a peaceful night’s sleep, but Colton was there in my dreams and in my uncertain future.
