Prisoners of the Williwaw (21 page)
Despite the cold drizzle, Frank felt hot as he stood in front of a door in the Amulet
housing area.
He hesitated and turned around. Anything but the task at hand. The Announcer of Death.
Across the street and behind some houses, Runway A lay silent. He pictured it during Navy times, lights along the edges, planes landing.
Must have been loud in those houses,
he thought.
If only he didn't have to do what he was about to do.
Far on the right, he saw that Sweeper Creek had flooded a section of the runway.
The Navy must have had a way to control the creek.
He turned back to the door and practiced his line. "Missus Nager, I'm sorry, there's been an accident."
It had taken him all day to piece together what happened in Shagak Bay and who was involved.
He knocked gently on the door.
From inside a woman shouted, "Jason, the door's open.
Wipe your feet."
"This is Frank Villa here."
"So, come in.
The door's open."
Frank grasped the doorknob.
Was it wet from the rain or from his hand?
She stood in the living room, a paint roller in her hand, a baseball cap on her head, her face and clothes smeared with a cream colored paint. "Missus Nager, I'm sorry, I have some bad news for you."
She dropped the roller.
Her hand went to her mouth.
"What?"
"Your husband.
There's been an accident."
Frank took a deep breath.
"He's dead."
"Oh, Bill, Bill, Bill, no, no, no."
A sudden realization hit Frank.
Sixteen years ago someone had knocked on another door and told a woman that her policeman-husband had been killed - in the bank robbery he and Saunders had committed.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," Frank said.
"How?" she asked.
"What happened?"
"It was an escape attempt."
"Escape?
Why did he want to escape?"
Frank shook his head.
What could he do to console this woman?
"I mean he had me and Jason."
She was crying now.
Frank started to open his arms to hug her, but then pulled back.
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
"What happened?
He told me he was working for Gilmore today."
"It was an organized plan, three groups in all.
Your husband's group was the only one that actually put to sea."
"And who…?"
"The Coast Guard."
She sobbed loudly and moved toward Frank.
He opened his arms and hugged her.
"I warned him about Gilmore time and again," she said through her tears.
"I warned him."
The door opened and Jason came in.
Frank guessed he was ten or eleven.
The woman turned from his arms and swept the boy up.
"Mom, why are you crying?"
"Your daddy's been killed.
He's dead."
She wept loudly and hugged the boy.
Frank watched as wave after wave of reality washed over the boy's face - his father was dead, his father had left him, he was alone with his mother.
Frank left the house quietly.
He had to knock on two more doors.
"No, make that three doors," he said out loud.
"I'm going to find out what Gilmore's role in all this was."
*
*
*
In the Sea Otter Frank walked past Gilmore's auditorium, where raucous catcalls punctuated his nightly sex show.
Up ahead, to the left, the juke box in the Bar played nineties' rap.
Frank ignored it all and pushed right into the door marked
Private, Office of James T. Gilmore, Director.
It was 9:30 PM.
Gilmore sat behind his big desk, studying a folder.
Frank marched right up to the desk and shook his wet parka off.
"Gilmore, you've made three widows today."
Gilmore stood, defiantly.
"Hold on here, Villa.
I didn't make any widows today.
Three of my men disobeyed my orders and got themselves killed."
Frank lowered his voice to a deadly, quiet tone.
"Your men, your plan, your responsibility.
You made three widows today and took fathers from five children." He lowered his voice even more.
"No more escape attempts, Gilmore."
Gilmore opened a cigar box on his desk,
took one out and lit it.
"You know, Villa, this is a prison.
Prisoners try to escape from prison."
"This is not a prison.
It's a community."
Gilmore looked sideways at him and sneered.
"Sure, it is."
Frank stared at the man.
Anger welled up inside him.
"Listen, Gilmore, if you want to escape, then you get yourself a boat and
you
go out there and let the Coast Guard blow you out of the water.
Don't get some of your minions to do it for you."
Frank felt his face flush with anger.
Gilmore took a big puff of smoke and blew it at him.
"Like I said, Villa, it was none of my doing. And, as long as we're talking, I never got a chance last week to tell you to stay away from my wife.
You know, it's not the leader-type thing to do.
You talk about democracy and respect for convicts.
What kind of respect is that to me - and to her?"
Frank blinked and pushed his glasses on tighter.
Who was Gilmore to be telling him about morality?
But wasn't it true that he was attracted to Latisha?
No room for that thought now.
"She and I are friends, Gilmore.
We work together, which is more than I can say for you, working that is."
"I work as much as your wife works, Villa."
Frank stopped.
An expression of Doc's pounded into his mind.
"Don't get into a pissing match with a skunk."
That's what he was doing.
He turned around and left.
He needed to do something to stop Gilmore.
But what?
*
*
*
When Frank left the Sea Otter and started back up to his office on Bering Hill, the rain had changed to a low black cloud that discharged a cold mist over him.
It was like a funeral pall, which was appropriate for what he had been doing all evening - announcing death.
The cloud hung so low he felt he could push through it. He stretched his right hand out as far as he could as if to touch the cloud, push it aside or puncture it.
But he couldn't.
The pall of death and depression hung over Adak and he could do nothing about it.
In his office he flicked on his portable radio to get the weather forecast.
It was 11 PM and he supposed he should go home.
It was only a few steps away.
Bubba Jones, a former inmate himself, delivered the weather from Dutch Harbor, Alaska:
"Here's the bad news for all you new families on Adak.
The last half of October looks pretty bad.
As usual for this time of year a low pressure system has settled in, northeast of Adak and, folks, it's gonna sit there!
That means a mixture of rain and snow.
The temperature's gonna drop and the wind's gonna howl a little faster. But if that depresses you cons on Adak, here's Elvis and 'Jailhouse Rock' to remind you of what you left."
The weather fit his mood, but at least Bubba was fun.
He seemed to have made a good adjustment after prison. He did the weather every night.
Frank got up and stared out his window into the darkness as if to confirm the weather.
There was a loud knock at his door.
"Yeah," Frank called.
Joe Britt came in and, without any introduction, said,
"It's Amy O'Donnell. She's dead."
"Who?"
Had Joe said Amy O'Donnell?
Five children under ten, the woman Latisha was worried about?
"Skeeter's wife.
She's got all them young children."
Frank grabbed for his chair and sank into it.
"She hung herself in the garage. Her oldest boy found her."
Death was winning.
The low, black clouds were pushing them all, one by one, into the grave.
"Skeeter?" Frank asked Joe.
"Does he know about this?"
"No," Joe answered, "he's in Gilmore's bar."
Frank heard the judgment in Joe's tone.
Skeeter - and Gilmore - were responsible for Amy's death.
"The kids?" Frank asked.
"Maggie's looking after them."
Frank got up.
"Let's go get Skeeter."
Frank walked back down to the Sea Otter with Joe. Walking next to the big man made Frank feel that maybe a big man like Joe could push aside the pall of death that hung over the island.
He put his hand on Joe's arm. "Stop a minute."
"Yeah?"
Frank hesitated.
"Nothing.
I'm just glad you're with me, Joe."
"Yeah."
When they arrived at the Sea Otter, they found Skeeter in the bar, his head down on his arms.
"Skeeter, Skeeter," Frank prodded him.
"Skeeter, wake up."
"What the fuck do you want, Villa?"
"It's your wife."
"What about my wife?"
Here he was, announcing death again.
"I'm sorry, Skeeter, your wife died.
She hung herself.
Your son found her."
Frank watched the message sink through several layers of alcohol.
Finally it seemed to reach the man.
"Where is she?"
Joe answered.
"Doc took her down to the clinic for an autopsy."
"My kids?"
Thank God he was sobering up.
"Joe's wife is with them.
You better go to them."
Skeeter left and Joe and Frank walked back up to Bering Hill.
As Frank was about to go into his apartment, Joe handed him a diary.
"I found this right beneath Amy. She must have dropped it."
Frank took it and went inside.
Judy came out of the bedroom holding her wind-up alarm clock.
"1:15 AM, Frank.
A new record."
Frank shook his head.
"Don't, Judy.
I need to talk.
Amy O'Donnell - she's dead."
"The one with five kids?
Dead?
How?"
Frank took off his wet parka and hung it by the door.
"Suicide."
He held up the book in his hand.
"This is her diary.
Joe Britt found it by her body."
"It's no wonder.
All those kids and I heard her husband was playing around with one of Gilmore's women."
"Yeah and Skeeter's a drunk."
"I heard all about the three men killed trying to escape."
Frank shook his head.
"Terrible day."
She wound the alarm clock a little tighter.
"I tell you, Frank, this may have looked like a good idea, but it's not working out, this community of yours.
I…I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my life here.
I mean, I'm just thinking."
He stood there, passively.
She was talking about leaving him. Time for his prison response:
take blow after blow and just stand there.
She pointed to the clock.
"I'm going back to bed.
If you're hungry, there's some chili in the fridge."
He got out the chili and warmed a saucepan of it on the stove.
As he ate, he read some of Amy's diary.
Saturday, September 8.
Landed on Adak today.
Oh Skeeter, it's been two years!
We're a family again!
I'm glad I came.
Never mind what Doctor Arlan said about my stress levels.