Left for Alive

by Tom Hogan

  The two men circled and the crowd quickly surrounded them, shielding them from the guards’ view. The tall one, sporting a red scarf headband low across his brow, reached behind him and pulled a short knife from his waistband. At almost the same moment the other man did the same.

  The tall one’s arm swung up suddenly, arcing past the other’s face. The second man struck at the arm as it flew past. A thread of red formed against the blue workshirt, then spread quickly, dominating the sleeve. Josh shifted his gaze to take in the rest of the yard. Two guards roused themselves from their perch at the top of the bleachers and started over, no rush to their step.

  The wounded man shifted his knife to his left hand and resumed his circling, taunting his opponent with his right arm—limp, damp and scarlet. Then he feinted with his knife and lashed a foot at the smaller man’s groin. The man looked down at the foot, realizing too late that the kick was a feint as well. The knife that had been a decoy initially now slashed across his cheek, spinning him with the impact. Josh saw the face open up, half the man’s check now hanging from his face.

  Josh closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the heavy mesh. He kept them shut for over a minute, drawing air in long, deliberate breaths. When he opened them again, the taller man’s arms were now behind his back, restrained by two guards. His opponent was being hustled into the main building, a towel tight against his face. The crowd was dispersing, now with more animation.

  The door opened behind him. Josh composed his face into a welcoming smile and turned. The smile dropped as Paul entered the room. His face sallow, his eyes deeply circled, he walked across the floor as if each step was a decision. He almost collapsed as he settled into the chair.

  “How’re you doing?” he mumbled to Josh.

  “Never mind me. What happened to you?”

  “My luck ran out.” His finger traced idly on the tabletop. “Last Friday they transferred in a new bunch from Vacaville, something about overcrowding at San Tomas. Hard-timers. Their leader has a thing for me. Cruised me on Friday. I thought I did a good job of staring him down. But when no one jumped to my defense, he knew I was fair game. Saturday night he caught me alone in the bathroom. He had a knife.”

  Josh closed his hand over his brother’s as the tracing became more frenetic. “Are you okay? Inside, I mean.”

  “Last night he brought along a friend.” Paul’s voice shivered. “I’m in here for something I didn’t do and I’m winding up a fucking whore. I’m the one who got raped, not the bitch who put me here.” He looked up, his eyes unfocused. “Luckily it’s just another thirty-eight days.”

  Josh lifted his hands, cradling his brother’s face. “I’ll talk to the guards, the warden. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Not after this. Even if I get transferred, they’re going to smell the fear—it’s smeared all over me.” His face stiffened. “Don’t let them transfer me, Josh. At least here I can see you a couple of times a week.”

  “If you’re staying here, Paulie, then you need to fight. With whatever you have. They’re trying to steal you from yourself. You can’t let them do that.”

  The door opened and the guard came towards them. Josh’s voice tightened. “You do whatever you need to survive, you hear me?”

  As the guard’s hand settled on his shoulder, the resolve in Paul’s eyes vanished. His mouth went slack. He started to say something to Josh, then turned back to the guard, his shoulders slumping with each step.

  CHAPTER 32

  Given the pall that Paul’s imprisonment cast on Moetown, William almost canceled the fourth annual Willathon. But, as Lucky and Donna pointed out to him, cancelling would only bring the kind of attention and questions they were trying to avoid. And besides, as The Gimp and Donna argued, the Willathon wasn’t really his party anymore—it belonged to the entire mountain community.

  The Willathon had its roots in William’s animosity towards Jerry Lewis—born, he explained to Carol, of multiple Labor Days behind bars, where the convicts insisted on watching Jerry’s Muscular Dystrophy telethon, hoping for a glimpse of Jerry’s show girls and Charo, the hootchie-gootchie girl.

  “All those cloying, self-congratulatory speeches by Jerry, all this demeaning talk about ‘his kids’, patting these kids who sat helplessly next to him in their wheelchairs. And then him singing You’ll Never Walk Alone at the end. I hated that prick.”

  “And this is how you showed your disdain, by hosting your own event? Talk about integrity.”

  He smiled. “Actually, we were looking for a reason to give a party. The mountain people were curious about us, suspicious even. And we wanted to show them that we didn’t have fangs. So Josh agreed. We just needed a theme. And I remembered Jerry.”

  “Tackitis, the aesthetic crippler”, was the disease that William took up as his cause. He sent out the invitations in August:

  You see them everywhere. Couples who dress alike. Children in miniature sailor suits. Women, all thighs, poured into toreador slacks. Men who try to match greens. They are society’s forgotten: they are The Tacky People.

  How do you show your support for these people? How do you stare down what Hemingway termed ‘that great panther, Tack’? You care. You come to the First Annual Willathon. And you dress in support of the aesthetically handicapped.

  There would be two categories: Amateur—which meant that the entire costume came from one’s own closet—and Professional, for those who spent money outfitting themselves, usually at the local thrift stores. Curious about seeing Moetown and encouraged by The Gimp, the mountain people showed up—one hundred strong—in a remarkable array of argyles, polyester and Nehru jackets. And, as William noted with pride, only twenty-eight came as Professionals.

  The next year was even more successful, with the mountain community starting to plan their outfits months in advance. The result was not only half again as many attendees but a hard-fought contest in both categories. William had to invent a new contest: Best individual item, which Sonya won with her glow-in-the-dark plastic Eiffel Tower earrings.

  Preparations for the event revived the camp. Clark and Pete painted the trim on the L and the cabins while everyone helped weed and tamp down the parking area, which would serve as both picnic ground and site of the end-of-day contest promenades.

  The day of the event began ominously, with clouds pregnant with rain settling over the San Tomas range. William paced back and forth between preparations, his eye constantly flicking at the sky. But by noon the skies had cleared, and by three, when the first guests showed, it was a brilliant late-summer day. Drinks, as always, were on The Gimp—three rotating kegs, an assortment of his wines, and tubs filled with soft drinks. Off to the side, laid out on tables that William and Josh had rented for the day, were the side dishes brought by the guests, many of them prepared with the theme of the day in mind. The highlight this year was a Thousand Islands tasting, with over a dozen brands represented.

  At the high end of the parking area, Clark and Pete had dug a large barbecue pit, over which rotated two spits heavy with meat. Clark kept the meat slathered in sauce while Lucky worked the next-door grill, dispensing a steady flow of hots dogs and burgers to the kids.

  William was in his element. Dressed in a lime-green leisure suit, bedecked in gold chains, his hair pomaded into a pompadour, he moved through the crowd, air-kissing the women and soul-shaking with the men.

  Around six, as the area was clearing for the contest, he took a break from his hosting duties and stood next to Donna. The two surveyed the array of activities and costumes and smiled. Donna draped an arm around William’s shoulder and gave him a tug. “Another unforgettable day.”

  He nodded proudly. “It’s got a kind of Fellini-esque charm to it, doesn’t it?”

  “That or Diane Arbus.”

  As they stood there, a black Cadillac glided through the open gate. “Nice touch, whoever it is, hiring
a limo for their arrival.”

  The driver got out of the car and straightened her outfit—an aquamarine suit with a matching Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat. “I don’t know who it is,” William said, “but if she gets up here in time for the promenade, she’s got a shot to win it all.”

  The woman tried to assay the ground in her high heels but wobbled and then took them off. As she walked briskly up the hill, Donna turned to William. “I’ll be damned. It’s Alexis.”

  Three hours later, as the event wound down, releasing William from his duties, he joined Alexis on the porch of the L.

  “Visiting or moving in?”

  “The latter, if the offer is still there.”

  “It is. Not to sound presumptuous, but the day you left, Clark and Pete started work on Number Four. Josh asked us about it and I told him I thought you might be back.”

  “And what did he say to that?”

  “He nodded and said, to visit maybe, but not to live.”

  “Always the optimist, isn’t he?” She looked over at him. “I didn’t come back here because of him, you know. But, now that we’re talking about it, do you think he’ll have problems with my being here?”

  “If he does, they’re his problems, not yours.”

  She nodded down at the dispersing crowd. “Speaking of which, I know he’s not the most social of animals, but how did he get away with missing the social event of the year?”

  William frowned. “Donna didn’t tell you where Josh is?”

  “I asked, but she just said he was gone for a couple of weeks. I figured he was somewhere with Paul.”

  William shook his head. “Josh is in jail.”

  Alexis took William’s place the next afternoon in the visit schedule. As she sat at the table, she drummed her fingers on the metal top, her nails clicking a staccato beat. The door at the far end opened and Josh entered, nodding to the guard who closed the door behind him. His hair was burr-short and he was clean-shaven, his cheeks sharper than when she had last seen him.

  As he approached, he raised his eyebrows. “William. You’ve done something with your hair, haven’t you?”

  Alexis held her hand out. Josh took it in both of his and held it for a moment. “I guess I owe Lucky twenty bucks.” He motioned for her to sit down.

  “What for?”

  “You’ve moved out here, haven’t you?”

  She nodded. “If it’s okay. That’s why I switched places with William, to check it out with you.”

  He looked around the room. “Lucky gave two to one you’d be back within three months. I was the only one stupid enough to take the action.” He smiled slightly. “You’d think I’d learn.”

  “I’m not unpacked, Josh. I wanted to talk to you first. After all, it’s your camp.”

  “It quit being my camp the day Clark moved in. You don’t need my permission.”

  “What if I wanted it anyway?”

  “Then it would depend on why you’re moving in.”

  Her eyes left his face and wandered off. “I’ve been marking time in Chicago. When I came back from my visit, I took stock. And I kept coming back to the thought that I’d felt more alive—and had more fun—in the five days I was here than in the last year in Chicago.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re here. Seriously.”

  Alexis leaned forward, her eyes now tight on his face. “Let’s get the uncomfortable crap out of the way up front, okay? I’m attracted to you. Though seeing you with that haircut and without the beard may change that.”

  Her voice took on a slight rasp. “On your side, you’re either not attracted to me or there’s something else at work here. Either way, you’re only one of the reasons I’m moving out here. If that becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it. Okay?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Great. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’m getting myself a coke.” She jingled her pockets. “What can I get you?”

  They sat at the table, the empty cans between them. Josh was leaning back in his chair, his ankles crossed beneath the table.

  “I know about the switch down in Phoenix,” Alexis said. “William explained it to me last night. So what’s the schedule this time?”

  Josh’s body lost its relaxed tone. “You know what he’s in for?” A nod. “And that he didn’t do it?” Another nod. “Something like that—especially a second time—it’s enough to crack you. I’ve seen it happen. It wasn’t going to happen to my brother.”

  He waved his hand towards the window. “Also, he needed to be out there, back to work. If he didn’t do that Barbados shoot, the questions might start. Some paper or magazine might get curious. Which might lead them here—or up to the camp.” He looked around the room. “It just seemed easier this way.”

  Alexis hesitated. “William told me why you took Paul’s place in Phoenix.”

  “William’s turning into a bit of a magpie.”

  “He told me because I was making an ass of myself, as I’m prone to do. When I heard that Paul was soaking up the rays in Barbados and you were in here, I made some stupid statements about how slick Paul was, that it seemed like he was playing you. So William took me aside and straightened me out.”

  “Well, at least you can see why the switch was necessary.”

  “But doesn’t that put you in the same position?”

  “I’m better at this kind of thing than Paul is. I just needed to do a few things, so that Paul can come back here safely.”

  “And have you done them already?” Josh nodded. “So when are you coming back to Moetown?”

  “Next Tuesday. His shoot wraps on Sunday and Monday’s a travel day. We’ll switch during Tuesday’s visit.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The metal cord of the pay phone dangled, straight and silver, next to the wall. Still moving from where the guard had let it drop, it moved in and out of contact with the wall.

  Josh picked it up. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “What’s up? Shoot go okay?”

  There was a long pause at the other end. “Josh, I’m not coming back there. I can’t.”

  Josh put his hand against the wall and leaned back, surveying the ceiling. He took a long breath and held it.

  “What’s going on, Paulie?” he asked finally.

  “I wake up every morning and I’m in a sweat. I’ve been dreaming about those guys, how the door opens after lights out and I know what I’m in for. I try to give myself the Josh Clements pep talk, but I know I’m kidding myself. I get through the day okay, but as the night comes I know I’m another day closer to going back inside.” He paused. “How are things there?”

  “Under control. You’d be okay if you came back.”

  “What happened with Stennett?”

  “He the one with the beard? The leader?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s backed off.”

  “Jesus. How’d you pull that one off?”

  “I broke his nose the first night, made sure it was a bloody break. Blood is a great dissuader for some folks.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, Stennett wasn’t one of them. He came back the next night with friends. I backed up and pleaded with them, giving him a bit of courage so that he’d take the lead. As he closed in, I spun him and put him in that wrist lock I showed you—where if he moves he breaks his arm. Then I put that shiv in his leg and told him to get rid of his friends. Which he did.”

  “Jesus, Josh—you don’t fuck around, do you?”

  “Not with people like that. I gave him three options. The first was he never came near me or this cell again. In which case I’d pull the knife straight out—he’d bleed a bit but he’d survive. Option two was he could tell me to fuck off and I’d pull hard right and he’d bleed out within five minutes. Option three was he could tell me to fuck off and he’d lose his sack. He
chose Option One.”

  If Josh was surprised or disappointed by Paul’s decision, he never said a word to anyone. He was taking things day-to-day, he said, don’t worry about him. His shift in the kitchen was breakfast-only, which left him a lot of time to catch up on his reading. And the visits helped.

  The jail officials had been surprised by Donna’s visit, at which time she asked them to change their visiting schedule for Paul Clements. When they refused, she pulled out a number of violations that Josh had discovered. The result was that Paul Clements could have solo visitors Monday, Wednesday and Friday, with no restriction on number of guests on Sunday.

  Alexis’ next turn came two weeks after her first. She had two Cokes waiting at the table when Josh walked in. He nodded his thanks as he sat down.

  “How are you settling in?” he asked.

  “Good. The cabin’s great—very homey. And I’m working already—subbing out to one of the firms down there. He gives me most of his airport runs, charging a limo rate. And I get most of his high-end stuff—promos, business pick-ups. I also drive two days a week, regular shifts, just to get to know the area.”

  “How’re you liking it?”

  “The driving or the camp?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “The driving’s a piece of cake. Daytime is mostly older folks who need help with their groceries. Also a few day drunks.” She nodded over her shoulder. “As for the camp, you know the drill. I get up, have coffee with William, play a little with Harry, lose some money to Lucky, then face the tough decision of whether to go for a walk with Clark and Zeke or wait until Clark comes back and I can take Zeke out on my own. It’s a tough life, but I’m adapting.” She looked around the room. “You’re going to miss this place, aren’t you?”