14: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Everything would have gone fine if the McCarthy mob hadn’t told Oscar Rayne to kill a stripper for being pregnant with Leo McCarthy’s child. Or if that stripper hadn’t been a police informant.
For the full saga go to the February folder on this blog and start with Part One of Crime SuspenStory.

Based on true events.
He should have kept himself calm and the girl calm so he could figure out what the hell was going on, but instead Leo had lost his temper. It had just been too much in too short a time, shock after shock in just a few seconds, and the rage and the fear had broken free like a stupid animal. But it couldn’t be helped. All he could do now was minimize the damage.
He opened the door to the office and took a sweep of the bar. More people had shown up, Beagley and his mistress and a couple of firefighters in their uniforms, already drunk. The music was still playing, people laughing between sips. Leo motioned to Charlie and the old man stepped inside.
“We got a problem,” Leo said, closing the door behind them. “Something happened with that girl, the young one. She just called.”
“She called?”
White Charlie stood up straighter.
“She said Oscar shot the guy from out of town.”
“What?”
“That’s what she said.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think I do? The crazy fucking tart was babbling all over the place about the police and and a bunch of-.”
“The cops?” The wrinkles in Charlie’s face had come together, forming one large frown. “She want money? Why she call you?”
“The hell should I know?”

Leo gripped his wedding ring with his right hand and turned in on his finger anxiously.

“Where was she?” Charlie asked.

“She didn’t say,” Leo went into his coat for his phone as he spoke. “She seemed to think Vaughn was acting on his own and that’s why Oscar shot him. I don’t know what she meant about the cops.”

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the kid, what do you think?”

“He’s here,” Charlie said.

Leo put the phone back in his sports coat and looked towards the door. After losing it on the phone with Judy time was of the essence, not a minute to spare for wavering or wondering, only clear thinking and exact action. He was determined to stay calm.

“What did he say?” Leo muttered.

“Nothing. He was getting a drink with Pat.”

“He didn’t ask for me? Didn’t seem worried?”

“Not that I could tell.”

Leo swallowed what was left in his glass and leaned back against the desk that was shoved into the corner of the office. He was confused and nothing made him more angry. That little piece of ass Judy was out there doing God knows what talking to God knows who-

He stopped himself. The brain had a tendency to run off when panicked and he refused to let that happen. He had been betrayed in his time; people double crossing him, threatening him, pointing guns at him; but he had never panicked. It was how he had got to where he was and he would take care of this situation like he had others; step by step, point by point, until all loose ends were tied up.

“Are you heavy?” he asked Charlie.

“Yeah.”

“Who else?”

The old man smoothed out his mustache with his fingers.

“There’s a couple behind the bar. I know Ken got a scatter gun back there and pistol probably. Dick should be too.”

Leo rubbed his temples. What the girl had said didn’t make sense, it was insane. He wanted to send Charlie right out to grab Oscar and they could sort it out. But the girl had mentioned the cops and it was best to go with caution. Step by step. The facts were this: the girl was alive but Oscar was in the bar, acting like all was good.

Leo put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to go out there and talk to the kid,” he said.

****

“Tina! Hey there. You got a fresh one coming.”

Claudia watched Pat approach her with the drinks, speaking her dead sister’s name. She had given it out of desperation, realizing she hadn’t thought things through to the point of even coming up with one when he asked. Tina came off her lips and then she was going through other answers in case they came up: where she was from, where she danced. It was distracting her from playing the role. She gripped the purse and tried to keep the grin on her face.

The nephew was already on her, pushing the drink forward. She was sipping and discarding, it was no good to get liquored up and start slipping. The whole night was surreal; all these men surrounding her who’s files she had studied for hours, men she knew pimped, pushed drugs, hurt and killed people.

“Tina, this is my buddy Oscar,” Pat slurred at her and Claudia found herself nodding at Oscar Rayne with the straw of her drink lazily hanging from her mouth. Rayne nodded back, barely acknowledging her. She hadn’t seen him come in and she made an effort to tilt the eye of the purse towards him, getting a clear shot.

“Jesus, why don’t you take it easy. Stay a minute why don’t you,” Pat said and he was pulling the purse up over Claudia’s head with a grin across his face, much too familiar. She fought the nearly overpowering reflex to snatch it back and thrust a knee into his groin. He grinned at her, shaking his head, and placed the purse on the wooden outcrop that protruded from the bar’s wall.

“Somebody’s gonna steal it,” she said flatly.

“Trust me, nobody here is gonna steal your little purse. You're making me nervous holding onto it like that. Plus, the cops are here.”

Claudia looked in the direction he was nodding and sure enough there were two uniformed police at the bar, laughing with Murph as the bartender brought them and the firemen drinks. They were young, probably rookies, she didn’t recognize them and she hoped to God they didn’t recognize her. They must have been men from the local precinct, possibly on McCarthy’s payroll, who knew? She looked over at the purse and saw it was turned towards the bar. Hopefully Alex were getting a good image from that far away.

“You ever work at any of the clubs in town?” Pat asked her.

“Once or twice. I mostly work down in San Jose. They just call me to fill in for people,” she said.

“You gotta let me know when you’re working up here. Me and Oscar’ll come by and see you dance,” he nodded back at his friend who took no notice. “I got a lot of admiration for the work you ladies do. A lot of people think dancing is some kind’a easy gig but I know you work at it. Some of the shit is amazing, hanging off the pole, all that. You gotta work out to keep your body good. You work out regular?”

Claudia nodded, noticing White Charlie making his way towards them.

“Sure,” she said, and stepped closer to the wall, making room for the old man pushing his way passed her and stepping between Pat and Oscar.

“I thought so,” Pat said. “I could tell, I mean don’t take this as too forward Tina but Jesus, you got a body. I’m sure you’re pulling down money wherever you're working at.”

She gave him a wide grin and Pat elbowed White Charlie who looked over, annoyed.

“Don’t she have a great body?” Pat said.

“Yeah, real nice,” the old man replied. The shark eyes didn’t seem to even take her in as he turned his head towards Oscar Rayne. She heard Charlie say: “Everything go okay? With the thing?”

Claudia stepped closer to Pat, looking him right in the eye, and she saw the drunken grin lengthen across his face. She put her face close to his and she could hear Rayne reply to the old man: “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“And our friend? From out of town?” White Charlie said.

“On a plane.”

Claudia realized she was too close to Pat, it was odd whether he was drunk or not.

“You smell good,” she lied.

“Yeah?”

He kissed her hard on the lips.

“Hey! Everybody listen up, I got something to say!”

A man had climbed up on the bar and was holding his glass up in the air. Everyone near the bar looked up at him and Claudia took the opportunity to pull away from Pat, giving herself a good four feet.

“I want to thank McCarthy Paints for having us all here. One night away from the wife right?” A few people laughed. Most weren’t paying attention. “Where is Leo? Leo? Where is that old bastard? Well, I just wanted to say thank you to Leo and everything he does for the union and everything he does for a lot of people. What he does for this city damn it. Right? Let’s hear it!”

Ten or twelve people clapped, more might have but the jukebox was still playing music and it was hard to make out what the man was saying. Claudia noticed the cops had left, which was a relief,  then she noticed Ron Harvey approaching her. The lawyer’s thin lips pulled up into what was supposed to look friendly.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you.”

Harvey nodded and rocked on his heels a bit. He smelled strong of cologne and booze and Claudia had a hard time keeping her grin in place. She hated the man. She had read the court summaries of his cases, had traced the lies and manipulation he used to push things his way, protecting his number one client with underhanded trick he could pull. She had never met him before and had always imagined that she would punch his face if she did.
“You here with someone?” he asked her.
“No.”
“You came with the other girls? The one’s from the club?”
“Yes.”
Harvey nodded knowling.
“Well, I got to say, you don’t really seem like one of them.”
“What’s that mean?” she asked. It was making her sick being so close to him and she wanted the purse back in her hands.
“I just mean that you carry yourself differently. Not like a, you know, a working girl.”
Claudia nodded, forcing herself to be pleasant, and Harvey smiled sly and hungry.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked. “I got an apartment downtown. It looks out over the whole city, got a real nice view of the bay. I could open some champagne and you could tell me about yourself. I bet it’ll be real cozy up there with the rain and everything. Does that sound good?”
Claudia wanted to gag but she forced herself to keep the smile and pushed her bare shoulders up.
“It does sound nice but I don’t think I can.”
“Come on. I’m good friends with your boss. You’ll like it up there.”
“It’s so early though.”
“More time for us to get to know each other don’t you think?”
The lawyer smiled, his eyes squinting and the tanned orange skin around them stretched.
“Thanks Mr. Harvey but I really can’t right now.”
The smile drooped.
“You know my name?” he said. Claudia’s breath caught in her throat.
“One of them told me your name. They said you're a lawyer or something?”
He looked at her, the eyes squinting, the smile erased. How could she have been so careless?
“Ron boy, we’re moving the party now,” a voice said.
Dick Fagin had crept up behind them. His face was stern, staring at the lawyer and ignoring Claudia.
“Moving the party? What are you talking about?” Harvey snapped.
Claudia looked around and noticed most of the crowd was being herded towards the door by various members of the crew. The girls from the van were gathered near the bar, watching perplexed as the party was dispersed.
“That’s right, we’re all moving out to Sam’s.”
“Sam’s?” Harvey was irritated and the orange skin tightened on his face as he scowled. “That fucking dive? Dick, what’s going on? Why don’t we just stay here?”
“You heard me Ron. The party’s moving. There’ll be a couple taxis outside if you aint for driving.”
“But some of my guys are supposed to be stopping by here. Tommy and Burn and them.”
Dick Fagin’s face burned redder.
“Bleed’n Christ Ron, you heard me. The party’s moving.”
Claudia watched as Murph helped one of the drunker fireman towards the door. Supervisor Pernivo was shaking hands with a couple of other men as he stepped out with an umbrella in one hand and his other arm around the redhead from the van. The party was breaking up before her and Claudia felt the trap closing in. One of the cops must of made her. That had to be it.
A shadow crossed over her and she looked up into the round black face of the giant Cabbagepatch.
“Let’s go girl,” he said. The enormous head jerked towards a door leading to another room.  Bobby Flores was coaxing the remaining girls into the room as well. Claudia didn’t budge.
“Why?” she said.
Cabbagepatch looked down at her, really noticing her for the first time.
“What do you mean why? Move your ass girl.”
Pat McCarthy stepped forward, placing his hand on Cabbagepatch’s broad shoulder.
“I got this one,” he said.
“We’re shutting the party down Pat. Your Uncle want to see you in the office in back right away.”
Pat was lighting a cigarette while the big man spoke and stopped short, glancing at Claudia before staggering towards the back of the bar. Cabbagepatch swung his wide head back towards Claudia and pointed towards the room with the other girls. Claudia stepped away from him, one step,  two. The purse was sitting almost ten feet away, if she could just get in front of it, throw some sort of signal, give herself a chance at least.
Before she could make a move the sound of glass smashing filled the bar and Claudia looked towards the bar where Murph and Dick Fagin were struggling with Oscar Rayne. Murph had Rayne’s arms and Rayne had kicked out wildly with his legs, knocking drinks off one of the tables. Claudia watched as Fagin grabbed one of Rayne’s feet with one hand while going in his coat with the other, yanking a chrome revolver from a shoulder holster. He shoved it against Rayne’s cheek.
The scene whipped away when Cabbagepatch snatched Claudia’s wrist, dragging her towards the storage room where the other girls were gathered. He threw her inside, hard, and slammed the door. She heard the lock snap. She brushed the hair from her face and then turned, looking at her companions. There were four girls left, confused, surrounded by bottles of liquor and beer on shelves, paper towels, dirty mops.
One of them, a voluptuous woman with a grape vine tattoo between her breasts, tossed her hair back and said: “Well, there goes our fucking tips.”

A Backpack to Ireland

I’ll be wandering the cliffs and glens of Ireland in September, three weeks of the country on foot, and I’ll be bringing one backpack with me. It will be a large backpack, a Karrimor hiking pack. It’s already broken in, handed down to me by my brother in law Robert, and my goal is to keep it as light as possible while still carrying everything I need for the twenty one days of hiking and travel and still leaving room for mementos that I’m sure I’ll come across and won’t be able to leave the country without.

First thing in the pack will be a rain poncho of some kind. Everyone I’ve spoken to who has spent time in Ireland says “rain” first. “The people are nice” and then “rain”. Being on foot most of the time leaves me especially susceptible to the weather, so plastic poncho it is.
Next will be various clothes. Three pairs of pants? Maybe just two. I’ll be looking to get some laundry done, two pair should be fine. Socks, five or six pair, maybe more? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from books about war that involve marching at great lengths (The Naked and The Dead springs to mind) or just stories about extended hiking in wet places: a person can never have enough socks. It should be noted that I am not by any stretch an expert hiker. I get around and do enjoy some miles but am just above competent. I expect to be pretty beat up by the time I hit Killarney around day seven or eight.
One thick sweater and a down jacket, maybe some long underwear, or is that overdoing it? It’s going to get chilly but this pack is already getting cramped, I’m not trying to become the American hunchback of Ireland bent over with Santa’s Christmas bag on my back. And I’ve got to remember: friends and family will be expecting gifts and nick nacks on my return. Some are even expecting little wooden boxes containing tiny men that will lead them to pots of gold.
So, what else? Phone charger, toothbrush, passport, underwear, sunglasses, the little things. My buddy Jim grew up on the south west of Ireland and went back for a funeral not long ago. There were over cast skies, fog, the whole deal, but poor Jim still got his skin burned to a crisp, so sunblock goes in the pack as well. These are pale people over there but I think I heard him Jim say “there’s a bleed’n hole in the ozone,” or something like that.

That should do it. I think I’ll still have some room for trinkets and things, maybe a couple books I’ll buy. A bottle of whisky perhaps? We’ll see. No matter how much I try to keep it light that pack is going to start weighing me down around the second day and twentieth mile, there’s no doubt. But like a turtle on walkabout that pack will be my house for three weeks so it’s important I have the essentials.

It would be nice to have a smaller pack inside the pack, for day hikes and exploring a city or a town with the large pack secure at a B&B or something, although I’ve begun to suspect it would mean wasting space. I tried stuffing a smaller backpack inside the big pack and it was all bad, no space for the long underwear anymore. Which makes me think: maybe a fanny pack? Was this not what the fanny pack was invented for? But a fanny pack can not carry a sweater, which is half the point in bringing a smaller pack for urban exploring. Plus, I want to come back with my body and spirit intact and I feel like wearing a fanny pack is marking yourself for a foreign beat down, or at least a good heckling from children.

So, out of equal parts fear and foolish pride the fanny pack stays in the states. If I need a bag when I’m out and about then the big pack comes and that’s all there is to it really. All you can do is pack the bag as well as you can, preparing for possible cold and wet conditions, and let the chips fall where they may. Let the cookie crumble, whatever. Erin go bragh!

The Worst Movies We've Ever Seen

Furlough Film # 10

(Every furlough day Dublin and Robert Fong get together to view a film and have a discussion about it. This time Bob Fong's neighbor Paul joined them as well. The following is a transcript of that discussion.)

D: Is this thing on? Check! Okay. We’re doing something a little different this time. Instead of watching a movie together we’re going to just have a discussion.
R: We haven’t got together in two months and now we’re not going to even watch something? We’re gonna discuss?
P: Sounds good to me.
R: Shut up Paul.
D: Well, to be honest, we don’t have anything to watch. Nobody brought anything.
R: God damn it. What are we discussing?
D: I was thinking: worst movies ever made? Or at least, the one’s we’ve seen.
P: That’s easy, Showgirls.
R: That’s one of the best movies ever made. The f__k?
D: I guess you could say it’s so bad it’s good. Is that what you mean Bob?
R: No. I mean it’s f__king good. One of the best sex scenes ever shot.
P: The hot tub? Oh come on.
R: It was a big moment in my life. I'd seen that chick as the tall goofy girl on Saved By The Bell and then she became a woman in front of me in Showgirls.
D: And you became a man?
R: Kind of.
P: Jesse from Saved By The Bell was like a dolphin out of water, writhing in pain.
D: In the hot tub?
P: Yes!
D: That’s right. There was a lot of writhing. I remember that. I also remember Glen Plumber.
R: Who the f__k is Glen Plumber?
D: He was the dancing instructor or something. I don’t really remember. He was the guy who was like “Oh! You're such a good dancer. You have so much talent! I want you in my show,” and you think he’s being sarcastic because she’s really not a good dancer. Then you realize he’s serious and it’s confusing. It’s like the movie takes place in an alternative universe.
P: Wasn’t that guy in Menace 2 Society?
D: Glen Plumber? Yeah, and South Central. He ruled the nineties.
R: He was in Speed too.
D: Yep.
P: What happened to him? You don’t see him much anymore.
D: Showgirls probably killed his career like everybody else. He grew up not far from here, in Richmond. Supposedly, he’s the only Richmond celebrity.
R: There’s no worse movie than The Room. That’s a fact.
D: Haven’t seen it.
P: I have, it’s God awful.
D: Worse than Showgirls?
P: It’s mystifying it’s so bad. Fascinating. You sit there and try to figure what the hell it all means and your kind of laughing but then it just continues on and you become speechless. It’s beyond ridiculous.
D: What’s it about?
R: It’s about a weirdo Euro trash guy that likes to bone his girlfriend until she decided she hates his long hair and his accent and starts bonking his best friend. There’s some retarded kid that hangs around too.
D: What?
R: It’s very strange. A lot of people think it’s just all of the director’s issues with women put into one movie. He also wrote it.
D: Who is he?
P: Tommy Wiseau.
R: He’s the f__king Euro trash guy in it! Half the movie is his weird plasticky ass as he pumps this chunky blond chick. God!
D: I take it that you didn’t like it?
R: All these hipsters like to watch it and laugh at it but f__k that. I can’t stand that s__t.
P: Dub, you got one?
D: Hmmm, I mean I brought this whole thing up but now that I think about it it’s pretty hard. I don’t really watch bad movies. If something sucks then forget it, I’m not watching it.
R: C’mon! I’m committed whether I like it or not. Especially if I paid for it.
D: Well, to me good movies hardly ever come out. At least it seems like it. But I did watch a weird one last week. Tough Guys Don’t Dance?
R: Never heard of it.
P: Me neither.
D: I got it on Netflix on a whim because I saw it was based on a novel by Norman Mailer. He directed it too.
P: Bad?
D: It’s very strange. I feel like Mailer bit a little too much off of David Lynch. Everybody is over acting and being offensive for no apparent reason-
R: Wait, that’s the one with Ryan O’Neal, where he’s going “Oh God! Oh man! Oh God!” Right?
D: Yes! How did you know about that?
R: It’s on YouTube. Supposedly it’s the worst line reading ever done in a movie.

P: It’s true. Here’s what it says on Wikipedia:
“This film also includes the unofficially-proclaimed "worst line reading ever", wherein O'Neal's character Tim Madden reads a note from his ex-girlfriend Madeline informing him that his wife was having an affair with her husband, whereupon he exclaims "Oh man! Oh God! Oh man! Oh God! Oh man! Oh God! Oh man! Oh God! Oh man! Oh God!" This scene has become a popular internet meme. Norman Mailer, in an interview featured on the DVD release of the film, said that he was counseled to cut the ending of the scene due to O'Neal's poor performance, but kept it in because he thought the poor line-reading actually added something to the picture. O'Neal, who had been friendly with Mailer, turned on him as he felt his reputation could be jeopardised by the scene (O'Neal had been nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actor several years previously).”
D: That’s really funny. Ryan O’Neal is God awful in it. As is everybody else.
P: There’s a million bad movies. We could talk about this all night.
R: F__k that. I gotta go.
D: Alright. Next time let’s talk about our favorites. Something to think about until we meet up again. Deal?
R: Fine.
P: Deal.

Taken from a transcription by Peggy Menchstone on 08/27/12