The Last Days of Louisiana Red (8 page)

Chorus:
You know, people will go through many roundabout ways to get what they want. Antigone was that way. Creon had it right when he said that Antigone worshipped one God and that was Hades. She was a monotheist with a twist; she wanted to make it with Death. Creon saw through her rhetoric, her passionate appeals, her attempts to impose mob rule on Thebes. I mean, if she was so interested in Polynices' welfare, why didn't she go and stop him when he started back to Thebes with his seven? Oh, there's that half-hearted attempt to stop him when Polynices went to Colonus seeking information on the whereabouts of his father's gravesite, but Antigone's insincerity is obvious in this scene. I mean, she wasn't as passionate about saving him as she was about burying him. Why didn't she try to bring Eteocles and Polynices together to settle their differences? No, she wanted the whole family dead. She wanted them to be the first family of Hades with herself as queen. I'm sure that if she had survived the others, a jury would have acquitted her of the deed. She would have talked her way out of it. She was extremely good with words and could argue a man to a standstill.

Ursinely, Street lies on a sofa, picking his teeth, in a home the Moochers have rented for him and his Argivians on Berkeley's Grizzly Peak. Not far from the house lies Tilden Park, named after the blind sculptor, where there once was located a detention camp for the Japanese-Americans. On Sundays, for recreation, the citizens of the Berkeley 1940s used to go and leer at the Japanese-American captives.

Through Street's window can be seen a sweeping view of the Gateway to the Pacific. Somebody rings the doorbell. Street's aide enters the room, followed by the Seven.

“Hey man, it's your sister, Minnie, with some rough-looking broads who look like they want to rumble. What should we do?”

“What does she want?”

“She didn't say. She said she wanted to talk to you. The Argivians and that Dahomeyan Softball Team are eyeballing each other. It's real tense.”

“Show the bitch in,” Street says.

Minnie enters as the Argivians exit, giving her the once-over. She is wearing boots, tight pants, a jacket made of rabbit with natural fox trim.

Street, not looking up: “What do you want?”

“I'd rather not talk with people present, Street.” A girl rises and leaves the room. All she had on was a mink jacket and earphones with which she was listening to a record.

“Sit down.”

“No, Street, I'd rather stand.”

“I'd rather stand (mimics). Knowing you, you'd probably want to sit down but only stand because I asked you to sit down—a man asked you to sit down. You want to defy me like you did Dad. Why did you hassle him all the time? What was bugging you?”

“Let's forget about our differences, dear Brother. We come from the same womb, have shared the same experiences. I have come in peace.”

“Aw, Minnie, this is not one of those Moochers who carries a handbag after the Italian style. You don't see me wearing grannie glasses like those punks who follow you around. You could never come to a man in peace.”

“I've changed, Street. The Moochers have opened my eyes. I don't regret that you've taken over the leadership. I plan to follow you.”

“Then why don't you get rid of those scurry skuzzy skanks who follow you around? Our Argivians are enough muscle for the Moochers. Let them make themselves useful. Mimeographing my speeches, licking stamps, fixing drinks, giving massages, cooking our dinner, giving up some drawers.”

“Street!”

“That's right, giving up some PUSSY. Lying down like a woman and letting the cream flow down her legs.”

“Street.” She holds a hand to her lips as if to keep sickness from slipping through her fingers.

“Ha. Ha …” Street doubles over with glee. “You're my sister, all right. Scared to get fucked. Scared to do anything. Trembling. Whatever gave you the right to think you could lead a man!”

“I'm qualified …”

“Qualified. Qualified for what? To talk theory. Talking a lot of shit. You sound stupid. You know what people call you behind your back? THE YELLOW STELLA DALLAS. You better try and get you some dick and take your mind off of this bullshit.”

“O Street, don't be so melodramatic. All you know is brute force.”

“Those guns your women carry around don't look like no water pistols.”

“I have to defend myself. I've been threatened during my campus appearances.”

“I want you to cut that out.”

“Cut out what, Street?”

“Them campus appearances. We don't need you to talk for the Moochers any more. I'll do the talkin. The people like me to do the talkin. I reaches them. They're always clapping. Lots of clapping. Lots of stomping cheering and whistling. Do you know what the people want? They want lots of blood; monkeys roller-skating; 200 dwarfs emerging from a Fiat, and lots of popcorn—that's what they want. Scorn you when you alive, but if you die—a hero's funeral. The people gobble up anything in the limelight and then ask for seconds. That's the people. Do you think the people like to hear about all those issues you bring up? You load them down with issues—free this, free that, Algeria, Bulgaria, the principality of Diptheria, buttons, slogans and posters. The people hate that shit.”

“Whatever you wish, Street. The whole reason for my visit was to vow to you my cooperation and to advise you of an opportunity.”

“What opportunity?”

“The Solid Gumbo Works.”

“You mean some kind of restaurant Dad opened and was so mysterious about? What such an opportunity is that? I don't know nothin about no cookin.”

“They're breaking all records in profits. They have to turn the gullible clients away. They even have a auto service.”

“Dad's Gumbo is back in business? I thought that when he was killed the thing fell to pieces.”

“No, it didn't. They got a man from New York. Papa LaBas, he calls himself. He's some kind of hustler.”

“Max told me about him and my brother Wolf.”

“Wolf has changed, Street. Dad took him off into the Business but he won't listen to me, his own family. He and that LaBas are as thick as thieves and don't talk to anybody, and their Workers are real snooty. People in Berkeley don't even know where they are.”

“Well, Wolf and I never got along. He was always taking them other people's side when they framed me for those crimes. Framed me. Ever since I was a kid, Minnie, you know they framed me. Set me up. You know they did.”

“They never understood you, Street; Wolf, Sister, Dad. You and I understood each other, didn't we?”

“We sure did,” he says, frowning. “I'm going to pay my brother a visit. Look into these profits.”

“That's what I would do, Street, and then maybe you can make them go public.”

“Why should I do that? What about me?”

“But Moochers are all about that, Street. Go public. We break up industry and make them go public. Make them share things with us.”

“Shit. Moochers ain't got nothing to share. That's what so chickenshit about Moochers. They want the other fellow to share.”

“But, Street, if you don't believe in what we stand for, then why did you come back to lead?”

“I'm going to work with this Max. That's what I'm going to do.”

“But when I tell him you are cynically using the organization to further your own ends—”

“Max is with me. He ain't up here in Berkeley for no Moochers. He's up here for another reason. That's the way it look to me. That man is from New York. New Yorkers don't believe in anything. They like crows, the shrewdest bird on the telegraph wire. They size up a situation and see what they can get out of it. I met some New Yorkers and I know. It's people in the sticks like you believe in things. Max ain't up here for no Mooching. I bet he's up to something else.”

“You don't know what you're talking about. Why … why Max is a respected English teacher who is writing a book. He's one of the most respected men to walk through the Sather Gate. It's you who's deranged even if you're my own brother. I'm going to tell—I'm …” Street grabs her by the wrist.

“You won't tell nothin. If I hear you saying something, I'll break your hand. They ain't going to believe you anyway. They say you crazy.”

“Crazy!”

“That's how come they put you out.”

“But Max said it was because they wanted a darker brother to lead.”

“That ain't what they told me.”

“Street, I didn't come here to be humiliated by you, I came to offer my cooperation. Now, if you want to get crazy, I will call in one of my girls to deal with you; she knows Karate Kung Fu Thai Boxing Tai Chi Chaun Akido Tae Kwon Do Judo Jiu Jitsu Samurai Sword and Kick Boxing.”

“Well, I don't know nothin about none of that, but I do know I will put a dick horse-whipping on that bitch so hard she'll leave your service.” Street tightened his grip on her wrist.

“Street, you're hurting me. Help, Reichsführer! Help!”

Hearing Minnie's plea for help, Reichsführer rushes past Street's 7 and into the room. She is dressed in a Wonder Woman's outfit, white boots, spangled chest, short shorts. She and Street start circling each other, Minnie against the wall sobbing and trembling. Reichsführer jumps all up in Street's chest, making some kind of celestial cry. Street moves aside and she lands on the floor. Street laughs. She then gets up and runs into Street and starts tangling with him. Street rips her bra off, and her two curvaceous breasts start to flop about. She picks Street up and slams him to the floor and then jumps on Street so that her crotch is all up in his chin. She tries to get Street to yield, and Street bites hard into her thigh, leaving teethmarks on the flesh. She lets go with a piercing scream.

Minnie rushes out of the room. All this body contact she has witnessed is too much for her.

Street leaps to his feet and picks up the moaning Reichsführer, grabs her by the waist and gives her a bear hug. She grabs some of Street's hair, still struggling. Her arms go limp slowly. He gently eases her down. She grabs his neck and kisses him warmly, slobbers of passion rolling down their lips. They begin a pumping motion. He puts her in a position so that her knees are on the floor while his chest is to her naked back. He grabs one of them big old juicy titties and starts to rock with her. He bites her left ear hard and holds her tightly, rocking some more, and then she starts to moan. And then a little louder as he keeps rocking, their sweat making them glisten and slide on each other. But they don't call her Reichsführer for nothing. While his left hand is busy pulling her short shorts down her legs showing that big old beautiful luscious behind, she suddenly bites him on the ear and clings there with the teeth. Street screams. He then slaps her against the cheek and with his hands lifts her up and then gently rests her on him in a fashion that his Dong shoots up all in her hot wet orifice and like a sneaky SAM missile starts probing for them secret dark places. She starts convulsing and trembling like a 3-point Richter-scale earthquake, her passion stemming from a deep fault in her soul. She says something like “aw shit awwwww shit” as Street is driving on home. And then there is nothing left but squishy, slurping, squeeky, smacking, slippery and popping snapping sounds coming from behind the door outside of which Minnie red-faced has gone into a huddle with her Dahomeyan teammates; they leave the building in a huff, the Argivians behind, laughing.

(Ms. Better Weather has prepared for lunch. Her white battle jacket matches her ivory pants and white high heels. She has made her mouth up into a cupid's bow; lots of rouge. She is about to put on her white beret. She is a faithful Worker and does all this because she knows that LaBas has a “twenties” jones. Suddenly, Street and his seven appear: Hog Maw, Player, Time Bomb, Bigger II, Tude, Shoot & Cut and Skag follow their leader. Ms. Better Weather looks up, startled.)

“I want to see the head man!!” Street says.

“I'm sorry, but you have to have an appointment; Papa is a busy man.”

“Be quiet, you bushwa bitch! I can see him any time I want. Do you know who I am? Don't you recognize my picture? Haven't you seen my picture all over?”

“I know that you're Ed Yellings' son, but this is a new operation.”

Ms. Better Weather tries to stand between them and LaBas' office door. Player slaps her to the floor, threatening, “Out of my way, yo filthy ho.”

LaBas rushes into the room. “What's going on here?”

He goes over and helps a sobbing Ms. Better Weather up, smoothing the forehead above her arched eyebrows.

“I told them you were out, Pop.”

“That's all right. These vermin know nothing about protocol. They're used to just popping up like burnt toast.”

“Why, you …” Almost as a reflex Shoot & Cut goes for his knife.

“Put that back, Shoot,” Street exhorts his follower, who has a real vicious look on his face.

“I thought I'd come in and look over my father's business, LaBas, if you don't mind. Let me introduce my Seven: Hog Maw, so-named because he carries around a greasy hog maw for good luck; Player, who at the height of his career had twenty-five hos on the block; Skag, the man who introduced uppers to Kiddie land …”

“You needn't hand me any vile biographies. State your business and leave. I have no time to discourse with idlers. Ms. Better Weather, why don't you go to lunch at Berkeley House? I'll join you there momentarily. Order me a lobster.”

(Ms. Better Weather exits)

“I'll talk to you, Street, but first dismiss your men.”

(Street pauses) “O.K., fellows, you wait outside.”

(They exit, grumbling)

Street swaggers over, all rude, punkish, smelling himself, and slumps into a black lounge placed in the outer office for the comfort of visitors.

LaBas sits on the edge of the desk, legs crossed, arms folded.

Street gazes about the room. “Nice layout you got here. Swell pictures on the wall. A sweeping view of the bay and San Francisco, outside a Japanese garden. Not bad at all. Built on the sweat and blood of the people.”

“How would you know? The heaviest thing you ever lifted was your prick. Everything you do is thought out by your prick.”

(Street glares) “You got one of them New York silver tongues. Somebody's going to mind it one of these days.” (Lights up a joint)

“Don't smoke that thing in here. We don't smoke on the job.”

Street continues to smoke. LaBas walks over and knocks it from his lips. Street starts to rise, but thinks better of it.

“We're going to have to do something about your ill-humoredness, LaBas. In fact it may not be too long before you're out of a job. The way I see it, this Gumbo thing you got here belongs to me. My father started it. The way I figure it, you and Wolf were merely holding it for me while I was away in Africa learning theory.”

“Your father left this place to Wolf. Since he hadn't achieved Mastery, our Board asked me to take it on. Balking, pestering creditors were lined up outside. I was the only one who could stave off the subpoenas, and get the vats boiling Gumbo again, so to speak.”

“I won't hear any of this. Signed papers. Contracts. Lawyers. Those things mean nothing to me. Nothing. This belongs to me.” (Rises, walks over and knocks over a lamp) “Everything in here belongs to me.”

(Wolf enters)

“Pop, what's going on?”

Street, sarcastically: “Well, if it isn't my dear brother, Wolf.”

“How are you, Street?”

“I'm doing fine. I guess you saw my pictures in the papers, you saw all of that, didn't you. The clapping. Everywhere I go there's lots of clapping.”

“Your brother has called me an intruder, Wolf. He says that the Business belongs to him. He wants to have the Argivians take over.”

“He wouldn't know what to do with it.”

“Wolf, what are you saying? Why, we're brothers. We don't need this… this man from New York running our company. Why, he talks real fast. Real fast.”

“You don't understand, Street. Gumbo is what's up front, but the Business involves much more than mere Gumbo. Much more. Our Business is secret Business.”

(Street rises, walks over to his brother and puts an arm around his shoulders) “Hey, man. This is me, Wolf. This is your brother Street. Remember when we used to go to parties together? All the girls we used to take up to Grizzly Peak. The dances at the Claremont? Hiking. Wolf, you got to go with me, your brother. We have to stick together against … against them!”

“We're grown now, Street. We are grown men, although you don't seem to realize it. Our family has had its share of troubles. But now, for the first time, with LaBas at the helm, I feel that things don't have to be so accursed. It's not fate that's holding us back. We just have to learn to cut it, Street; that's what LaBas has taught me. Look at yourself, Street. You're not getting any younger. Pretty soon you will be antiquated, your slogans and your ways. You can't keep the Street Gang going forever. Already the kids are coming out—engineers and lawyers, scientists, builders, Street. All you knew how to do was to destroy. Maybe destruction was good then, it showed our enemies we meant business. But we can't continue to be kids burning matches while the old folks are away. We have to buckle down.”

“So LaBas has got to you, huh? (pause) Well, brother, I didn't want it this way, but this is the way it's going to have to be. I'm going to take over this factory. Me and my Argivians. It belongs to me, and if you don't yield what's rightfully mine, then you'll have to be prepared to fight.”

“But, Street (Wolf pleading), what good is bloodshed? We have contracts. You were out of the country. You didn't take any interest in the Business, even ridiculed us behind our backs. I heard the reports from travelers how you were putting us down. Now that we are prosperous, you want to horn in on our enterprise. Our sacrifice. Street, we don't need bloodshed.”

“We do! We always need bloodshed! You can see the blood dripping. It's both immediate and symbolic, it moves people, the flowing red. You two have to work year round to get results; all I have to do is cut swiftly, accurately, and people will see what I mean. Pow! Bang!! Va-room!!! Boom!!!!”

(Street, angry, stalks out of the room. Wolf starts after him.)

“Let him go, Wolf.”

“What do you suppose got into him, Pop? He never even expressed interest in the Business before. Never came down here. And now he wants to take it over. Strange.”

“He's not alone, Wolf. He's being used. I know one thing, that's a sorry evil crew he has with him—those seven. It's a tribute to the people's stupidity that they are regarded as heroes. In parts of Africa such men are stoned to death by the outraged mob, stripped and made to march through the village naked; in the Central African Republic they are beaten to death publicly—petty thieves, rapists, mackers, and all the rest of the raw sewage. Savages. True savages. I shudder to think of how they were disposed of in ancient Africa.”

“Why do you suppose it's that way, Pop?”

“Slavery. The experience of slavery. I'm afraid it's going to be a long time before we get over that nightmare which left such scars in our souls—scars that no amount of bandaids or sutures, no amount of stitches will heal. It will take an extraordinary healer to patch up this wound.”

(Pause)

“You know, Pop, maybe I should just tell him that we're dissolving anyway and that there won't be anything here for him to take over.”

“You can't do that, Wolf. You'd be revealing an industrial secret, and besides, our enemies will interpret it as being a sign of weakness.”

“It's easy to give up, go into exile with your Business—that's how it's been these many years, but now we're not alone as the small band of Workers of ancient America—there's a lot of us now. We miss an opportunity if we don't stay and fight—get rid of these rascals who hold sway over the mob once and for all. And you ought to get rid of that gun, Wolf. You have the Chairman of the Board and his Directors backing you up—they can put something on Street that will make Street back up from harming Workers whose only crime is minding their own Business.”

“I don't have faith in the organization as much as you do, LaBas. Besides, look what happened to my dad, Ed.”

“Ed permitted evil to enter his household. He didn't use the right precautions, and so a dangerous person was permitted to get next to him and get into his Business.”

“You know something the police don't know, LaBas?”

“I know a lot of things the police don't know, Wolf, but in this matter my guess is as good as theirs. Only time will tell. My intuition has gotten me this far. My intuition tells me you should get rid of that heat before you get the kind of Louisiana Red your dad got. But you're a grown man, suit yourself.”