By Andy Seaton
Hawthorne Fellow 2011
___________________________________________________________
It’s tired and I’m late. Sorry, other way around.
So, I win game 603 of FreeCell on the computer. The clock on the screen says 2:58 AM, so I lean back to stretch, getting three good pops out of my back, but then I smell smoke. It’s faint and not the happy smoke of a campfire or the sweet painful smell of a burning building. Something else, more organic, maybe electrical, maybe the “Magic Smoke” that lives inside computer chips and makes them run. I lean forward, sniff the computer monitor and sneeze. Just ozone and dust. I blow my nose and wipe off the monitor and look around.
No obvious wisps or haze in the lobby. So, I get up and follow my nose down the counter, thru the office, and around to the lobby. I find the coffee in the lobby pot sizzling, so I turn it off. I don’t drink the stuff, so JR can fuck with it in the morning.
Looking around, the plastic plant by the door is still dead. A crack still runs thru both H’s in the letoH notpmaH on the window. There’s a decade of dust in the corners, but cleaning it isn’t my job.
Out the window, a bloody fog oozes up from the river. It glows from the neon bar signs and beats with blinking stop lights. I open the door and breathe in the cool wet air, washing the smoke out of my nose. The mist caresses my face and fogs my glasses. I love foggy, rainy, drippy weather. It’s the real reason I moved to Portland. I want to go out and get lost in this fog. Maybe find some little cabin off in the Cascades and go native, or more likely Kaczynski.
Instead, I get a bottle of Mt Dew from the machine next to the smoldering coffee. I look at myself in the mirror above the pot and smile. The fog has left real dew in my scraggly beard. I stretch again, but now knees are beginning to hurt. I grab the fake Dew from the machine and limp back to the computer. It’s only 3:17 AM. So, I start game 604 of FreeCell.
***
It’s almost five am when I buzz Reuben through the front door. He shuffles up to the desk in his desert army jacket. He looks like an after picture in an altar boy scandal, but in a nice way. All grown up and scabbed over. He has that pale Irish complexion and faded red hair that only generations of malnutrition can give you. Or maybe a few years on Meth.
“Hey, you look like I feel” I say.
“George, if I looked like you, I’d be dead. Nice shirt tho.”
I look down at my considerable gut and smile. I’m wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt with a rainbow of parrots on it. “Hawaiian shirts hide a multiple of stains.”
“Anything going on around here?” he asks.
“Pretty quiet. Boss called in sick.”
“Party at the Hotel Hampton!” he offers.
“I wish, unless you’re buying...”
He just shakes his head, “As if.”
“How’s life out in the real world?” I ask. “I’ve been stuck in here all night.”
“Usual, I guess. Nobody stiffed me and no one puked, bled out or otherwise died in the back of my cab, so I’m not complaining.”
“You seen Vicki out and about? She hasn’t been in all night.”
“Spotted her earlier, down at the end of the Stroll, looking pretty used up.”
“Sounds about right.” I hand him his room key.
He slumps over to the elevator. “Don’t know what you see in her,” he says as the doors rattle shut.
‘Don’t know either’, I say to myself. She does remind me of my little sister, flat chested, short brunette hair and thin. That’s pretty fucked up, too. And, Vicki never listens to me, just like sissy. I’m sure she puts up with me for the free room. All in the cost of doing business.
***
Shanda wanders in about ten games later. She’s in her usual black miniskirt with torn t-shirt and fishnets. A fresh bruise on her cheek stands out from her normal pallor. Her hair seems to have sprung a leak out of its usual bun. “What happened to you?”
“That fucking Johnny. Slow night, ya know, but he don’t care. How the fuck am I supposed to make him money with a face like this? Asshole. He don’t think.”
I give her a no comment shrug as she fishes out a couple of bucks Johnny didn’t find. “Shit, this is all I got left.”
“Sorry, not nearly enough,” I say.
“I guess, unless you wanna give me a discount.” She leans over me like she’s leaning in a john’s car window. Her hair falls to the counter in a stringy black puddle. She doesn’t have much cleavage, but gives me her best “looking for a date?” smile. She even has all of her teeth. “I’ll make you forget all about your little Vicki.”
“No thanks, I’m saving myself. Now, maybe you, me and Vicki…”
“I’m game, but it’ll cost you a room for the week, honey. Be worth it though.”
“Not looking like that it won’t. Besides, you know how jealous Vicki gets.”
”Fuck you, George.”
“Promises, promises, that’s all you ever do, Shanda.”
“Nothing’s free, everybody pays. Like I’d give a fat fuck like you a freebie. Mary still in 212?”
Rude bitch, but what should I expect? “Yeah, you gonna crash with her?”
“Guess so.”
“I haven’t seen her all night. I doubt she even got out of bed. Holler if you can’t find a pulse.”
“Yeah, right.” She staggers off to the elevator muttering how all men are pricks.
No argument from me.
***
A police cruiser pulls up a little before six. This big black sergeant lets Vicki out the back. I think his name is Gerald, or something. His cruiser has “Supervisor” written on the door. He runs his hands all over her, feeling her up right in front of the door. She twists away and I buzz her in.
“Fucking nigger,” she says when the door closes. “He picked me up coming out of the Roxy hours ago. Been fucking me all night long. Says his wife don’t understand. Says she can’t keep him satisfied. Like I even care. I hoped for a quick blow and go, but no... Fucking asshole Dirty Sanchezed me!”
I don’t ask, but she tells me anyway.
“He reamed me up the ass and then made me blow him! Jesus, I can barely sit down.”
So much for my good morning fuck. “Sorry darling. Nobody’s in the Jacuzzi suite. You go up and have a long soak. I’ll be up in a bit.” I slide her the key and kiss her, remembering too late what she just said. She tastes like asshole cop. Old coffee, stale cigarettes and, well, shit.
“Thanks, Georgie,” she says, not noticing my face. She waddles off to the elevator.
I wash my mouth out with Mt. Dew after the elevator closes. I hope Vicki remembers the Jacuzzi suite has free mouthwash.
***
The usual crowd staggers in as it begins to get light. Trish followed by Terri, then Peggy and Athena together. They all head directly for the elevator without saying “Hi,” although Peggy waves. None of them have any visible bruises, just the usual amounts of wear and tear. I guess Shanda was the only one Johnny caught up with.
***
JR, the A shift manager, shows up late as usual. “Anything unusual?”
“Pretty quiet. No raids, no ambulances, the till balances.” I leave out Officer Gerald’s little visit. “Linda called. She took off early for the weekend. I guess that makes you boss.”
“Great. Party at Hotel Hampton.”
JR checks the computer logs. “What’s this about the Jacuzzi being broken?”
“Just for today. Vicki had a hard night.”
“I’ll tell housekeeping to use extra Lysol on it. If I was you, I’d use two condoms, too.”
“Thanks for the advice, Dad.”
“If I was your dad, I’d shoot you, and feed you to the pigs.”
“JR, I can always count on you for the bile of human cruelty.”
***
Vicki’s fallen asleep in the tub. She didn’t drown though. The drain does have a slow leak. She’s in about two inches of tepid water. I turn on the hot and kiss her, this time on the forehead. She stirs and smiles. I pull off my clothes and climb in. After she comes to, she manages a “blow and go” before the tub fills up.
2.
When I wake up, Vicki’s gone. It’s beginning to get dark, or is it light? The little dot is on in the corner of the clock radio. Things are too blurry to make out if that means AM or PM, even with my drug store reading glasses. I guess it is PM because no one woke me for my shift. Or maybe I’m fired. That’d be good news.
I make some coffee. We cracked the minibar before we crashed. Actually we seriously broke it. Now my head is broken. I put on the TV but leave the sound down. The evening news is on (so I’m not fired, dammit). A few minutes in, I turn it up, despite my pounding head. Another dead whore washed up downriver, third so far this year. The police assure the taxpayers they are safe, despite finding bodies in their riverfront parks. I wonder if it’s anyone I know.
***
I wander down to the Roxy for breakfast. The Roxy is in its usual black formica and leopard skin splendor. Jesus still frowns down from his life size crucifix over the jukebox. At least his fluorescent halo is turned on. I think the Stonewall movie poster next to him is new. Did it replace a Reservoir Dogs poster? I can’t remember. The crowd is thin as the afternoon fades.
Reuben’s nursing a beer at the counter. I sit backwards next to Reuben and lean back with my elbows on the counter. “Hey stranger,” I ask, “isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
“It’s happy hour,” he mumbles.
“Maybe for the rest of humanity. It’s breakfast for you and me.” Reuben tries to give me an evil look, but fails and grins. He raises his glass to me and takes another sip.
“I saw on the news they found another floater this morning,” I continue.
“Yeah, some jogger found her down in Linnton. They had him on Fox. He sounded pissed that she interrupted his cardio sprints.”
“I’m sure that’s all he cared about.”
“Nobody cares, you know,” Reuben adds.
I order poached eggs on toast. The grease wafting out of the kitchen isn’t helping my stomach.
“Sorry, no poached after lunch,” the waitron of decidedly undetermined gender says.
“What?” I grab a menu from under the newspapers. “It says breakfast all day.”
“Yeah, well, the swing cook don’t do poached.”
“Fine, scrambled then.” It doesn’t pay to piss off the food service staff. They’ll spit in your food, or worse, especially at the Roxy.
I turn back to the newspaper pile. “Let’s see,” as I find the afternoon addition. “His Honor the Mayor says it’s not his problem because the body washed up outside city limits. The Sheriff says it’s not his problem because it’s been in the river for a while, so it clearly came from the city.” I take a sip of coffee as I scan down the article. “And, the state police are waiting on the medical examiner. Probably be ruled a suicide again.”
“Like I said, nobody cares,” Reuben grumbles. “Why should they? Those girls are disposable. You and I are disposable. Everybody in here is fucking disposable.”
“No argument from me. Speaking of disposable, you seen Vicki? She was gone when I got up.”
“I saw her having coffee with some suit over at Starbucks. Guess she was getting an early start.”
“She said she had her hooks into some accountant. You got any Vicodin? My back is killing me.”
Reuben reaches into his Army jacket and comes up with a little baggy of pills. “How many?”
“How much?”
“For you, 10 buck apiece.”
“Just five, then,” checking my remaining roll of cash.
Shanda wanders in a while later. She’s put too much makeup on her eye, which makes it more noticeable. But she’s going for the school girl look with pigtails, a plaid skirt and knee socks. The pigtails are cute, but the part reveals her inch long brown roots. Not that they’d show in the dark. Those suburban johns will have her up against the wall all night in that outfit.
“You look like an abused altar girl,” I tell her.
“I wish. One of my regulars was a priest’s fuck toy. He’s spending his settlement on me. Ain’t I lucky?”
“I wish I could get someone to pay me for all the abuse I took in junior high,” I say.
Reuben chimes in, “We should all be so fucking lucky.”
“Oh, well, one of the downsides of being an atheist,” I say, but Shanda doesn’t hear. She sits down under the life-sized crucifix, complete with fluorescent halo, at the end of the bar.
I root thru the paper pile. The floater didn’t even make the front page. She’s on B4 of the Metro section. I doubt my death would even make the obits.
Reuben tosses off the rest of his beer.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the designated driver?” I ask.
“Don’t get me started. I drive better buzzed. Besides, I can’t take the idiots out there straight. I was safer driving in Baghdad,” then he gets up and wanders out to his cab.
Later, I’m sitting at a table doing the NY Times crossword amid the detritus of my breakfast. Vicky wanders in when I am about half done. She has that “just fucked up the ass” glow, again. She sits down next to me on her coat. “What is it with these assholes? The bigger they are the more they like my ass.”
“It’s a very pretty ass,” I tell her. “It’s your best feature.”
“At this rate it’s gonna fall off.” She gets serious and says, “Did you hear? They found Liz in the river.”
“I was wondering who it would be. What’s the word?”
“I haven’t seen her since Monday. She told me one of her regulars was taking her out to the burbs to make out in the park.”
“I swear you’d all be out of a job if the johns would just fuck their teenage daughters like they want to.”
“You’re sick, George.”
“But true. He’s the one who probably killed her.”
“Who?”
“The parking fanatic.”
“I guess,” she says. “Not like anyone cares.”
“Yeah, they’ll probably call it suicide again, just like, what’s-her-name...”
“Francie. That was a load a shit. How can someone kill themselves by breaking their own neck?”
“Wait a minute, it was here in the article,” I say flipping to page B4 again. “They said ‘Injuries consistent with impact with the water.’ I tell you, we’re having a rash of assisted suicides. Good thing that’s legal here in Oregon.”
“Yeah, they’re happy to get rid of us.”
“Reuben said he saw you with your accountant this morning. You going up market?”
“It’s better than walking the Stroll. He’s says he is a CPA. You should take your taxes to him.”
“What taxes? I’m strictly cash and carry nowadays.”
“Guess what, it turns out he’s in the Mayor’s office.”
“Really, how’d you find that out?”
“I looked in his coat and found his business card.” She digs into her purse and finds it. Marshall Jones, CPA, Campaign Finance Director.
“Hmm, what do you think? Should we call Mrs. Jones and say ‘Hi’?”
“Nah, I don’t think there is a Mrs.”
“Mind if I keep this?”
“Sure, it doesn’t have his cell on it anyway.”
“You got that too?” I ask.
“Sure,” she pulls out her cell and reads it to me. I write it on the back of the card.
Vicki picks over the remains of my toast and drinks my coffee.
“You want anything,” I ask.
“Nah, the CPA fed me.”
“Suit yourself.”
Vicki gets up and goes over to Shanda. Shanda knew Liz pretty well.
“What!” Shanda shrieks in a moment, then “Fucking assholes!” and she storms out in tears. Her eye camouflage fails under the liquid assault. Vicki lets her go.
On my way back to the Hampton, I see Shanda talking to Officer Hendricks. Hendricks is the bane of both the working girls and homeless downtown. He towers over her. She’s maybe 5’2” and he’s well over 6’6”. He looks like the center of a Hitler Youth basketball team, all blond and a credit to the Fatherland. I’m surprised to see Shanda talking to him. Of all people, Hendricks won’t give a shit. Hendricks wanders off muttering into his pocket tape recorder. Shanda just stands there. She’s still standing there when I walk up.
“Why do I even try?” she says. She’s more sad than upset now.
“What’d he say?”
“Suicide. He told me to get out of town before I kill myself, too.”
The next day the paper reported Liz had broken her neck, too. No one cared. No comment from His Honor, Sheriff, DA, Medical Examiner, et al. Just another used person disposed of.
3.
Things get back to normal, if that’s the word for it, over the next week or so. I’m well into the 700s in FreeCell, but I am skipping more games than I win. Shanda’s eye heals up. Mary finally ODs. Vicki’s accountant becomes a regular, her ass gets used to the punishment. I remember to get my jollies the night before his Wednesday “hump day” ritual.
***
One Thursday morning Vicki looks more ragged than usual when she comes in. “What’s up, darling?” I ask.
“The CPA has a nasty friend. He got a little rough.” She shows me the bruises on her wrists.
“Well, shit. I hope you kicked him where it counts.”
“I should have taken off, but the CPA asked me to put up with him. They paid extra to handcuff me to the bed.”
“Always the entrepreneur, my dear.”
“I guess. Next time I’m askin $500. I hate cuffs. The worst part was his friend’s breath really stank.”
“Well, at least the CPA is cute, how about Stank Breath?”
“I don’t know. The CPA cuffed and blindfolded me before Stank came in.”
“What’s the going rate on the Stroll for a tag team?”
“Not enough. Stank had a gut on him, too.”
“Well, live and learn, darling.”
“I guess. Is the Jacuzzi free?”
“Let me see...Yup.” I hand her the key. “I’ll be up in a bit.”
***
A week or two later, I’m sitting in the Roxy reading the Willamette Week. There’s a story about some new “Brotherhood” in the police department. A few years ago, one of they ran an expose on neo-Nazi cops, complete with a picture of a Police Lieutenant in full SS uniform. At the time the Chief actually said “What my officers do on their own time is their own business.” He said it was a “free speech issue.” Free speech my ass, “Sieg Heil, officer.” Come to think of it, I think Mayor Conner was that Police Chief.
According to this new story, it wasn’t just after hours. The Brotherhood has been “looking out for each other on the job.” One of them, an Officer McClusky, got a little too thorough “interrogating” a drug dealer on the way to the station. The perp then had the audacity to up and die. The investigation turned up a pattern of e-mails between several officers, including Hendricks, before the torturer was interviewed by Internal Affairs. Cop Watch called for an FBI investigation, but the FBI said they are waiting for the Internal Affairs investigation to complete. Typical.
It’s getting dark when Reuben wanders in. I’m almost finished with the crossword. Reuben’s wearing his usual uniform: Army jacket, flannel shirt and ratty blue jeans. He doesn’t look happy.
“What is the latest, Ruby?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“My apologies.” Actually, I don’t really care but Rueben looks like he wouldn’t mind killing more than just a little time in the Roxy.
“A girlfriend called me that once. She’s now a very ex-girlfriend.”
“Alrighty then, I’ll make a note. You see this?” I show him the Brotherhood story in the paper.
“Yeah, Hendricks may finally get what he deserves.”
“Don’t count on it,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time any cop in this town was arrested.”
“The last time I remember was a cop got caught with two kilos of smack in his house. He tried to claim it was evidence. That was, shit, ten years ago.”
“Before my time,” I say. “He must have forgotten to give the Precinct Commander his cut.”
“The chain of command must always be respected,” Reuben says as he sits down and orders a burger and beer.
“So, you seem like a man between Iraq and a hard place this morning.”
“Shit, there ain’t no place harder than Iraq. I did a tour and a half over there.”
“And a half?”
“I left in a medevac. I still have shrapnel in my leg. At least I’m not going back. Some of my buddies are on their third tour now.”
“So you’re not a big fan of the War on Terror, then?”
“War of Terror, you mean. Fucking Republicans. I just found out the VA has declared me only ten percent disabled. That won’t even cover coffee and cigarettes.”
“Well, Semper Fi.”
“Shit, I wasn’t stupid enough to be a Marine. I was in the goddamn 7th Cavalry.”
“‘Napalm in the morning’ huh?”
“Fuck that shit. Look, I just drove a humvees, but they played that ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ shit so much, I never want to hear opera again.”
Rueben takes a long pull on his beer and I go back to my crossword. Reuben looks over and shakes his head. “You do that shit in ink?”
“It’s no fun in pencil. If you notice, I still do make mistakes.”
Rueben’s burger shows up and he attacks it. He must come from a large and hungry family. He slows down with it gone and munches a few freedom fries. After grabbing a waitron by the arm, he gets a refill on his beer. “You seem to have a brain in your head, what the fuck are you doing in this cesspool?”
“Surviving, I guess. I used to be a contract programmer with Microsoft up in Redmond, but moved down here to work full time for Intel out in Hillsboro.”
“Sounds great.”
“Not really. Remember all those stuck up straight-A science geeks from school with no sense of humor? Imagine an entire company full of them. That’s Intel. Plus I’ve never seen a more risk-averse, high stress company in my life. Your entire worth as a human being out there is measured by how long it has been since you crashed the Fab.”
“Fab?”
“Fabrication Plant, a two billion dollar temple to modern technology. Anyway, they even give you little pins with the number of days you’ve ‘kept it up’ to put on your ID. It was all some fucking computerized Viagra nightmare. Plus all of my stock options were worthless after the dot com bubble burst.”
“Shit, even for the base pay, I’d put up with anything.”
“I did for as long as I could. Come to think of it, I left in a medevac, too. Much less noble than you, though. They wheeled me out of there feet first with chest pains. I managed to stretch the sick pay out for six months. When I finally did go back, my dumbshit manager put me on probation for all the work I didn’t do while I was out. I shit you not. I talked to a lawyer, but there wasn’t much I could do until they fired me after 90 days. I was so fed up, I took the option for 90 days severance and walked.”
Reuben chuckled. “So, why aren’t you working for some other company?”
“Oh, I left out the best part. My fucking wife, the double fucking divorce lawyer, stole the severance out of the joint account, changed the locks on the house, and filed for divorce. She won alimony and the house. When she was done with me, I had to declare bankruptcy and still pay the fucking alimony. After all of that, I just gave up. I mean what is the point. You get married, work your ass off, get a nice house with a mortgage from hell, and still get screwed in the end. I should get a t-shirt that says, ‘Line forms at the rear. Bring your own Vaseline, ‘cause I am fresh out.’”
Now Reuben really is laughing, now, “You married a divorce lawyer?”
“Yeah, I ain’t as smart as you think. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to give that bitch another damn cent. I’m very happy, thank you very much, to work for minimum wage at the Hampton and get paid in cash. Surviving is just fine by me.”
“Still, you pay for it one way or another.” Reuben adds as his laughing winds down.
“Not anymore....” I add after a moment, “I don’t know. I’m not paying Vicki, but am I her john, roommate, landlord or what?”
Reuben looks at me like I just crossed some invisible line in the sand. “Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t touch her without a dozen condoms.”
Vicki and Shanda wander in together a while later. Vicki’s looking pretty smart in some new outfit. It’s not wearing Prada, but lately it’s been more wool skirts and blouses than spandex. She was using the money from the CPA and Stank Breath to buy some nicer clothes and some fur lined restraints, so fewer bruises.
Vicki and Shanda sit down in the corner under the glowing Jesus and whisper. After a while, Rueben gets up to use the john and Vicki comes over and hugs me and kisses my cheek, which was unusual for her.
I hug her back and ask, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Maybe I have,” she whispers as she sits on my knee, which is also unusual. “I think I just met Stank Breath.”
“And he is…?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Sure I do.”
“No, you don’t. I don’t want to know, either. Knowing this could be very dangerous.”
“Now you gotta tell me. Who the fuck is he?”
“Well, I just met the CPA at the Starbucks across from City Hall. As I was leaving, I bumped into the Mayor, literally. And I recognized his breath.”
“Mayor Conner is Stank Breath?!”
“Ssh, keep it down. I don’t know, but I’ve gotten pretty used to that halitosis from hell the last few weeks.”
I notice Rueben is back from the john, “What are you two whispering about?”
“Nothing,” Vicki stands up and leaves. Shanda gets up from Jesus’ feet and follows her.
“Was it something I said?” Reuben asks me.
“Nah, she was a little freaked out by one of her regulars. He’s getting a little too kinky, even for her.”
“Is that possible? Vicki has quite the reputation to uphold, ya know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
***
“Sheeit,” Trish swears as she comes in the door at the Hampton a few mornings later. It’s just getting light. She’s all beat up, barefoot and limping.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“Hendricks happened, the bastard. I’m going to kill him.”
“You’ll have to get in line, I think. You’re the third girl this week, from what I’ve seen.”
“Fuck it. I’ve had it! The Tenderloin down in Frisco is easier than this town right now. I’m leaving, even if I have to walk. Fuck ‘em all…” She trails off as the elevator doors closed. Knowing Trish, she has fucked them all.
Things have gotten worse on the streets since the Brotherhood stories broke. Hendricks was found to be “uninvolved.” He “only sent one well meaning e-mail.” The suspect officially died of a heart defect. The officer that “interrogated” him was given one month’s suspension with pay and a year’s probation. But all of that’s on hold while the Police Union appeals. Cop Watch is screaming about “a culture of torture,” but the Chief and Mayor are “waiting for the process to run its course.”
In the mean time, Hendricks and his cohorts are taking their frustrations on the homeless and the working girls. Any complaints from the homeless shelters are being ignored. Nobody’s even complaining for the working girls. As usual, they got the blunt end of the object. The newspaper welcomed the “Crackdown on Lawlessness.” As Reuben says, it should be the “Crackdown OF Lawlessness.” Nobody cares, same as always.
A few more girls straggle in. I’m a little worried when Vicki doesn’t turn up. It’s not that unusual. She has a few regulars she spends the night with, especially since she’s been going up-market lately. Now that I think of it, it’s the CPA’s regular night.
4.
The cops show up in force at about six in the morning. Sergeant Gerald has four other officers with him. JR’s with them, but I buzz them in.
I stand up as three officers line the counter. I notice none of them are wearing their required name badges. JR, Gerald and an officer to be named later come in the office door. “Can I help you?” I ask.
Gerald grabs me, turns me around and slams me up against the wall. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Dorothy Victoria Johansen.” H e knocks me to the floor and kneels on the middle of my back. “You have the right to remain silent...” he drones as he cuffs me.
At the end, JR adds “And you’re fired, too.”
“Do you understand these rights that I have explained to you?”
What the Fuck? But after a moment I say one thing, “I would like to speak to an attorney.”
Gerald seemed to take my request very personally. I suppose he’ll have to find some new ass to ream, hopefully not mine. Gerald drags me to my feet by the cuffs and bounces me off the wall a couple of more times. On the third rebound, I slip, knocking him over. His brother officers jump over the counter, landing on top of me. I remember my nose breaking, but not much else.
***
They put me in a holding cell in the Justice Center (a fine euphemism). It’s a beige cinderblock room with benches around three sides. The steel toilet in the corner is stopped up and smells like Barney Fife’s outhouse. There’s a little video camera in a mesh housing above the toilet. I’m in with three other outstanding members of society. I don’t ask why they are here and they don’t tell. I get a bench to myself because I am bleeding all over my city jumpsuit, which is better than my best Hawaiian shirt.
I get plenty of time to think waiting for nothing to happen. If I get out of here, part of me wants to just cut and run. Run very, very far very, very fast. Do I, or did I love Vicki? I don’t know, maybe. She is the first woman to put me in jail but getting killed myself won’t bring her back. That is exactly what could happen if word gets out that I know about her and His Honor. Another part wants to get the bastards that killed her. And not just for Vicki, but all the girls who ended up in the river. Someone has to stand up for all of us disposable people.
***
I never see a doctor for my nose, but a medic comes by and sets it around lunchtime. No pain meds either, so it hurts like hell. It also hurts to breathe. The medic says I probably have a few cracked ribs, but there’s nothing he can do about that.
Late in the afternoon they sheriff’s deputies take me to a smaller beige room. This one doesn’t have a camera, but does have the stereotypical mirrored window. Gang tags are scratched in the glass. I sit in a flimsy plastic folding chair and am handcuffed to a scuffed table bolted to the floor. After another indeterminate period of time, an older fellow comes in wearing a tweed jacket without a tie.
“I’m Tom Renton,” he introduces himself. He sits on his folding chair on the other side of table. We don’t shake hands. He flips open a file and says “You have been charged with capital murder, assault with a deadly weapon, resisting arrest and possession of a controlled substance.”
“Jesus, they’re going to kill me,” I say. After a moment, “Hold on. What deadly weapon? Resisting?? They cuffed me then beat the shit out of me! And what controlled substance?
“Well, let’s see,” Renton flips thru the pages. “They found Vicodin in your room at the hotel. They claim that bleeding on the arresting officer was assault with a deadly weapon. Resisting is their excuse for the beating. The capital murder charge is a bit of a stretch, too. Ms Johansen had semen in her and they claim you raped her. They also are calling throwing the body in the river an aggravating circumstance. That’s actually good news though. Because it’s a capital case, I get more time and money to spend on it. Not enough of course, but you’re my number one case and they’ve transferred half of my case load to other public defenders.”
“So how many cases do you have left?”
“Twenty three.”
“Shit. Welcome to the Monkey House.” I shake my head. I’m lucky to be talking to him.
“Hmm?”
“Never mind. Look. I didn’t kill her. The last time I saw her was last night at the Roxy. She was there when I left for the night shift at the hotel. I was there all night until they arrested me. I should be on the hotel video tapes all night long. As for the rest of the shit, I have a prescription for the Vicodin for my back. I got it before they tossed me off the Oregon Health Plan. I rarely take the shit, unless it is really killing me. The resisting arrest is crap, too. They arrested me at the front desk of the hotel. Check the tapes on that, too. You should arrest them for assault with a deadly weapon. And please fucking forgive me for bleeding on them after they broke my nose. And I still haven’t seen an actual doctor for it.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try to get those tapes. I can probably get the resisting and deadly weapon tossed without much problem.”
“JR, the day manager, hates me, but Linda the owner likes me. Ask for her. But do it quickly, they recycle those tapes every week.” I keep the bit about His Honor the Mayor to myself for now. I didn’t know who was listening in.
***
I made the evening news. The guards had Fox on at the end of the hall. His Honor himself said “The recent string of tragic deaths of women found in the river was being reopened.” I bet. He’s dumping all his dirty laundry on me. What I don’t get is why me? Not that many people knew about me and Vicki. And why now? His Honor has probably been offing his little toys for years and getting away with it. Why not just list Vicki as another suicide?
***
The lawyer’s back the next day. We meet in the same little room. One of the tags on the mirror is Xed out and a new one is scratched next to it. I wonder how my fellow prisoners did that while handcuffed to the table. I hope I’m not here long enough to find out.
“Good news,” Renton starts with. “I got the videotapes and your story checks out. I also made a copy of your arrest for the media. The prosecutor isn’t happy about it, but they dropping the capital murder, resisting and assault.”
“Great! When do I get out of here?”
“Well, they are still making noise about the Vicodin. Your prescription checks out, too, but the drugs they found weren’t in the dosage on your script. They’re still holding you on the drug charge.”
“Look, my original bottle got stolen, so I got some from a friend.”
“I can probably get it tossed, too, but it may take me a while.”
I think about and say, “I don’t think I have a while. It’s probably not safe for me in here.” I look at the mirror. “Is there a camera or anyone on the other side of that window?”
“There shouldn’t be.”
“Go check. It’s important.”
He shakes his head, but gets up and knocks on the door. After a few moments, a guard opens it. He comes back in a minute. “All clear.”
I lean forward and quietly I tell him about Vicki and His Honor.
“Jesus Christ all-fucking-mighty,” he swears when I’m done. “That changes more than a few things. How many people know about this?”
“Just you, me and maybe one of Vicki’s friends. I think Vicki told her.”
“Man, oh man. This is…”
I interrupt with a sudden thought. “Have them run the semen they found in Vicki against the Mayor.”
“Why?”
“The last time I saw her, she was on her way to see the CPA and His Honor.”
“Hmm. Conner should be in the DNA database from his days on the police force,” Renton makes a few notes, then packs up to go. “I’ll see about getting you put in protective custody. I have a law school buddy at the FBI I can trust. I have friends at the ACLU, too. Let me see what I can do.”
The guards take me to isolation. They also put me on suicide watch. That’s close enough to a homicide watch for me.
5.
I don’t know who my lawyer talked to, but they let me go in the morning.
They release me out the front door of the Justice Center, rather than the back door where I came in. I stand at the top of the steps and look out over the park across the street. I start to take a deep breath of the cleaner air, but my ribs stop me.
Renton’s waiting at the bottom of the steps. I walk down to him holding the railing. “Let’s get out of here before we talk. My office is three blocks away. Can you walk it?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I limp along side him.
After we’ve gone a block, Renton speaks up. “Good news, they dropped the remaining possession charge. Plus a Lawyers Guild lawyer is taking your case. He thinks you have a good civil rights case based on the video tapes of your arrest. The ACLU doesn’t seem to care, though.”
“I don’t know if I feel safer out here than I did in there. And, what happened to the money and stuff they took out of my room? I didn’t get any of it just now, just my clothes.”
We get to his building. It’s an old turn of the century, last century anyway, office. We take an old rattling elevator up to the seventh floor. “Don’t worry, you can replace it.”
His office was a half cube in the Public Defender’s office. We talk in their one conference room. The chairs are mismatched and the table in it is more torn up than the one in the Justice Center. But you can see a little sky out the window. And the walls are lined with law books.
“So, what happened? How did you spring me so fast?”
“Well, video tape is a wonderful thing. There was no way you could have killed her, and them beating the shit out of you on tape helped too. But most importantly, I mentioned a little about your situation to a Lawyers Guild friend, Stu Hanson. I figured Stu was the best person to talk to. He’s worked on His Honor’s election campaign.”
“Jesus. You trying to get me killed??”
“Don’t worry. I told him I gave a copy of my notes to the FBI. If anything happens to you, there will be no end of shit for the Mayor. Plus, I made more than a few friends in the media with the video of your arrest.”
“None of which will do me any good if I am dead. That would just make it a better story for the bastards at Fox.”
“Look, all I told Stu was that a senior police official was ‘connected by DNA’ to Vicki.”
“Police Official?”
“Yeah, you may not realize, but the Mayor is also the Police Commissioner in this town. It was close enough, and it worked. Stu says the city is ‘Eager to put this ugly incident behind us.’ He says they are willing to make a quick cash settlement of your civil rights claim.”
I think about this for a moment. “How much?”
“Ten thousand. That should make up for what’s missing from your room. I think the idea is for you to forget all about this and get out of town.”
“I suppose, but what do I do right now? I got no money, no place to stay and no job.”
“Ah, I talked to Linda over at the Hampton. She said you can stay there and have your old job back. I think she doesn’t want to get sued, too.”
“Ten thousand. That’ll get me a long ass way from here. I got cousins in Florida I haven’t seen in a while.” But… fuck it. Vicki is dead, either way. “One thing, though, why’d they pick me up in the first place? Why not just call her a suicide like all the rest?”
“They got an anonymous tip. Said you killed her and all the other girls, too. The Mayor was catching flak. The jogger that found Vicki was a lobbyist for the Portland Business Alliance. Fortunately, the videos spoiled the hanging party.”
“Fuck it. How long til I get the money?”
“Dunno. Give Stu a call,” passing me a card that says Stuart Jerome Hanson, Esquire. “His cell is on the back.”
***
I call Stu’s cell and he answers on the first ring. He says to come right over to his office, even though it’s Saturday.
His office is in the high rent district across the street from Pioneer Courthouse Square. He meets me at the mahogany door that says “Blazevich, Jaworski and Hanson” on it. I guess he’s the token WASP. He shakes my hand firmly, looks me in the eye, and smiles, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m sure.”
He leads me to his corner office overlooking the Square. His desk and credenza are all mahogany. He sits in a burgundy leather chair and I sit in a matching wingback across from his huge desk. He has a laptop on one corner of his desk and a plasma screen TV on the credenza showing Bloomberg with the sound down. He grabs a remote and turns off the TV. “How’s your nose?”
“Broken, hurts like hell. When do I get the money?”
“You cut right to the chase, don’t you? The city is unusually eager to settle. Tom, your PD, mentioned something about the police being ‘involved’ with the latest victim.”
“Well...” I think about what to say for a moment. This guy’s in His Honor’s pocket. That’s the only reason he’s talking to me. “That’s the real question, isn’t it? Vicki was involved with a lot of guys. It was kinda her job, ya know. Let’s just say she recognized one of her more illustrious clients. And I hear she was found with someone’s DNA where the sun doesn’t shine.” I look at him and smile. He smiles back. We both know exactly who I’m referring to. “Frankly, my memory is a little hazy, and the further I get away from this town, the hazier it’s going to get.”
Stu smiles and says “I’m sure an equitable settlement can be made very quickly, probably within a day or two.”
“Suits me fine. How much of that ten thousand do you get?” I ask.
“Oh my fees are being handled separately,” Stu says with a smile. He gives me $500 to cover my immediate expenses. I put it in my left boot.
***
By now, I’m exhausted and smell, if I could smell, like three days in hell. I walk the few blocks back to the Hampton. Halfway there I realize Stu didn’t have me sign anything and didn’t send me to a doctor. Yup, he’s deep in His Honor’s pocket.
JR isn’t at the desk, which is just fine by me. Lisa is working and gives me the key to the Jacuzzi suite without being asked. I take the key, a quick shower and a fourteen hour nap.
6.
I come to after midnight. My nose hurts like hell. I have two very nice black eyes to go with my new crooked nose. I’ll have to find some more Vicodin. I have the money for it. I’m sure I can find some down at the Roxy.
Reuben’s in the corner booth when I walk in. “Shit, you look like you’ve had fun,” he says as I sit across from him.
“You should see the other guy. Blood all over him.”
“Yours, I bet.”
“Yup. Good thing it’s all on videotape.”
“Lucky you, I saw it on Fox. Your 15 minutes has arrived.”
“Anyway, my nose, back and ribs all hurt like hell. You got any Vicodin?”
“Let’s see,” he said as he rummages through his coat. He pulled out a baggie, “How about twenty for two hundred.”
“Shit, at that price, ten will do. Besides, I hear they’re addictive.”
“A useful feature,” Reuben replies. He counts them out and I pay him. I take two with his beer.
I order some gravy fries and a beer.
“So, what else has Fox said about me?”
“The Oregonian calls you the River Killer, but Fox is calling you the River Freak. They said you were released on a technicality, but say there is an ‘ongoing investigation.’”
“Since when is innocence a technicality?! Fuck it. I’m getting the hell out of this town as soon as I can.”
“They did say that you were suing the city.”
“I guess, more like a payoff.” “Grab it with both hands. Cop Watch is screaming about police brutality. How this shows the true nature of the Portland Police.”
“I’ve had enough. I’m getting out as soon as I get the rest of my money.”
“How much are they settling for?”
“Enough to get very far from here. I don’t trust this town at all anymore.” I keep my mouth shut on the details.
“I don’t blame you. People in this neighborhood would turn in their own mother in for twenty bucks.”
I look at him. I hadn’t mentioned that someone dropped a dime on me.
Reuben continues, “I was wondering, does this have to do with that suit Vicki had her hooks into?”
I shrug and take a long sip of my beer and wait for the vikes to kick in. The fries get delivered dripping with brown gravy and I eat a few. I decide not to trust Reuben either. He is a drug dealer, among other things. “Dunno. No telling.” I go back to eating my fries.
“Well, I’ve got to get back on shift. Don’t leave town without saying bye.”
After a while the victory pills start to kick in. I head back to the Hampton. I climb into the Jacuzzi, but it’s lonely without Vicki.
***
I wake up shivering in the empty hot tub. Someone’s pounding on the door, or is it my head? I grab a towel and stagger to the door. It’s Shanda. She looks scared.
“Take me with you,” she says then bursts into tears.
I try to dry off as she clings to me. “What’s wrong?”
Between sobs she says, mostly in this order: “Johnny is pissed. He beat the shit out of Peggy, put her in the hospital. None of my regulars are coming downtown. The Stroll is completely dead. The cops are cruising every half hour. Everybody is scared and no one is making any money.”
I’m freezing, so I climb into bed. Shanda kicks off her boots and climbs in with me. I hold her. At least she’s warm.
Despite all of her tears, she grabs my dick like a true professional. Next, she’s blowing me. Then she’s naked and on top of me. I slow her down long enough to grab a condom. What the fuck, literally. I can’t complain too much. She is my type, small, skinny and flat-chested.
Afterwards, I doze off. When I wake up, Shanda is still curled up next to me. It occurs to me she could have robbed me while I was asleep. She must really want to blow town with me.
I look at the clock. It’s after eight, so I leave Shanda snoring lightly and called Stu at the number on the back of his card.
“Stuart Hanson,” he answers on the first ring.
“This is George Thompson. You got the money?”
“Good morning, sir. It’s ready. I assume cash is alright with you.”
“Yeah, perfect. I’ll be right over.” I wonder where he got ten thousand in cash on a Sunday. Don’t ask, don’t tell.
The only clothes I have are the ones I was arrested in. None of the rest of my stuff they seized was returned. Luckily, the blood on my Hawaiian shirt isn’t that obvious. The shirt is already three shades of red with flowers and tree frogs. Fuck it. It can all be replaced. I look over at Shanda snoring. She can be replaced, too.
***
“Good morning, Mr. Thompson.” Stu’s waiting at the door again and shows me to his office. “Or may I call you George?” There is a bulging envelope on his desk. He passes me a one page document.
“Whatever. What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s just a receipt.”
I look at it. It is about five pages of fine print legal gobbledygook. Reading it makes my head hurt. “What’s this ‘Fee Agreement included by reference’?”
“Oh, that’s standard. If you want a copy I’ll have to get my secretary to print it out tomorrow.” He starts to take the money off his desk.
I put my hand on his. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Stu.”
He smiles.
I sign.
He hands me the envelope.
I open it.
Ninety five more hundreds. I put it inside my boot, where it makes a nice thick wad. “Thank you, very much.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Stu adds, “Next time you’re in Portland, look me up...but there won’t be a next time, will there?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve had more than enough.” I get up to leave. “Ah, I’d rather not take the train to the airport with this kind of money. Can I call a cab on your phone?”
***
I wait at the Starbucks across the street in Pioneer Square. I figure it’s safer in a public place. I get more than a few stares from my fellow patrons.
After a few minutes, a cab pulls up and I leave my coffee half empty. Reuben is behind the wheel. He probably knows I have my settlement on me. I hesitate, but get in anyway.
“Where to, George?”
“Airport. I am getting the hell out of this town.”
“Yes, sir.”
After we get over the river and on the expressway, I ask, “What are you doing working this time of day?”
“Working a double, covering for a friend, but actually looking for you.”
Fuck. I notice he didn’t drop the flag on the meter. “What for?”
“Like I said, I wanted to say good bye. When I saw your name come up on the dispatch, I took the call. I wanted to make sure you made it out of town in one piece.”
“Thanks,” I offer.
“Yeah, well, you are the closest thing I have to a friend in this town. Believe it or not, I think I’ll miss you.”
“You don’t need friends,” I say, “as long as you have a good supply of drugs.”
“True, very true.”
“I’ll just be glad to get out of town.” I am quiet for a mile or so. I am trying not to think. My head is killing me and I’m out of vikes. I could get more from Rueben, but I don’t want to fly with them in my pocket. Fuck it, I ask, “You got anymore Vicadin?”
He rummages for a moment and hands me back two. “On the house. Call them a going away present. Things didn’t work out like I hoped.”
I take them dry and look out the window, but it is too bright and my headache is going migrainey. I close my eyes and almost drift off. I’m half dreaming of Vicky and the last time she kissed me in the Roxy. Then the penny, or is it the quarter nowadays, dropped. ‘…like I hoped.’ “You called the cops on me, didn’t you!” I almost shout.
“What? Oh, well, maybe.”
“Fuck you, Rueben.”
“Now, now, you came out way ahead. We all did. Hear me out.”
We’re still on the interstate and heading for the airport, so what the fuck. “OK, let’s hear it.”
“I overheard you and Vicki talking about His Honor. I got to thinking. We could all make a lot of money on it. I talked to Vicki, but she wasn’t having any of it. She said she just wanted out. Stupid skank.”
“So...” I said, then the rest hit me, “You killed her! You bastard!”
“Calm down. Not like she’ll be missed. Besides, I hear you ditched Shanda yourself this morning. She stormed into the Roxy this morning looking for you.”
“Shanda ain’t Vicki,” although they’re pretty close, “and I didn’t kill her.”
“Look, Vicki wasn’t willing to play along, so she was actually much more useful dead than alive. Especially since she had just fucked His Honor.”
“Bastard.”
“Who, me or His Honor?”
I look out the window and make sure we’re still on the way to the airport. “Or maybe I should turn you in.”
“Who’d believe you? You’re the River Freak, not exactly an innocent bystander. You got paid for your troubles, didn’t you?”
“I guess.”
“I should ask you for a finder’s fee.” He looks at me in the rearview and makes me feel like an Iraqi.
Wait a minute, “How do you know about that?”
“The CPA told me. Where do think that money came from? Anyway, I’ve worked out a much more lucrative deal with His Honor & Company. When they found Vicki on the riverbank it really put the fear of God into the Mayor. His accountant was very willing to talk afterwards. I’ll be supplying girls on a much lower profile in the future.”
I’m quiet as we exit onto Airport Blvd. It occurs to me that there are telephones in Florida, too. I will return Reuben the favor and make a few anonymous tips.
Reuben seems to hear me thinking. “Don’t bother trying to turn me in. They are spinning the whole thing as you got away on a technicality, so the case is still closed. Besides, too many people saw Vicki with the CPA, not to mention His Honor’s spooge up her ass, for them to restart the investigation. If you start making noise, dead is a permanent version of gone.”
“God damn, I hate this town. I should have bailed years ago.” We lapse into silence for the last mile or so.
As we pull into the airport Reuben asks, “What airline?”
“Southwest, I guess. The sooner I get out here, the better.”
“Yeah, the fewer folks around here that know, the better. If we have any more problems, there is always the river.”
As I get out, the final quarter drops. I lean in the passenger window and say, “You’ve been killing those girls all along, haven’t you?”
Reuben smiles and says “Not all of them.”