by Mary Leo
He stands up and walks over to me. Gets in too close. Almost whispers, “I know you’re connected. Give it to whoever you want as long as it gets on the six o’clock news.”
I take a step back. “Got it all figured out. Me, alone in a room with Speck. Asking him questions, listening to his answers, putting it all on tape. How do I know he won’t kill me? He likes to do that to women, or have you forgotten?”
“I won’t be far away.”
“And who are you? Just because you wear that badge doesn’t mean shit.”
“You can bring in Mike if you want.”
“Now there’s somebody who’s threatening. Why don’t I just hand you the camera and let you figure it out? How’s that?”
“I did figure it out, that’s why I’m asking you.” He casually sits on the end of the table and continues. “You can either go along with my plan or not, but whatever you choose, remember you got the chance to make Speck’s life shit, but you joined those other bleeding hearts and turned it down.”
My thinking is all jumbled up. I turn my back towards him and pace. The Captain continues with his barrage of distressing information. “You know he has pictures of them nurses taped up on the walls in his cell. Articles and pictures. His victims on stretchers. The survivor. And he keeps all the articles from his parole hearings. You ever hear about his other victims? The cocktail waitress he kicked and stabbed to death and left naked in an old hog’s pen? Or the older woman he burglarized and raped? What about them three teenage girls who disappeared from Calumet Beach the same time Speck was in the area? Never heard too much about them ‘cause nobody never did find those girls, only their bathing suits about five miles away. Authorities said they ran away, but you and me know better. Did you know Speck gets love letters from women who think he’s innocent and want to have his baby?”
I yell out, “Okay,” and cover my ears so I don’t have to listen anymore.
He waits for me to calm down. I do. He starts in again. “One other thing, that gang the Gangster Disciples? We can’t do nothing in here without ‘em. One of their guys will be in the room with you. Speck won’t do it without him. They’re a dangerous gang, so we gotta be careful. They want money off this tape.”
“How much money?”
“Few thousand.”
“And who’s going to give them this money?”
The Captain folds his arms on his chest, his badge glistens in the light. “Let me worry about that.”
“When do you want to do this and where?” I ask, still not sure about the whole thing.
“I’ll let you know where. You let me know when they’ll be filming the scene in F-house with Arnold. Everybody will want to watch. That’s when we’ll do it.”
“Why would Speck agree to this? It’ll change his life.”
“He’s too stupid to know that. He loves this kind of stuff, the media coverage he gets every time his parole hearing comes up. Thinks it makes him immortal. Makes him feel like he’s still a celebrity even after all these years. Reads everything he can about it. Would love it if Morley Safer came in and did a story for 60 Minutes. I’ll convince him that this is the next best thing. He’ll think he’s going to be a star of some kind.”
I’m almost numb now, finally understanding what I have to do. What I need to do. This tape might be the one thing that will make it all stop. Send Speck back into his cage. Give those families some peace of mind knowing the prick is actually behind bars and not out there in the courtyard breathing in fresh air and sunshine, free to screw his lover whenever he feels the urge. Stop the voices in my head. Allow me a little peace. Maybe this man, this Captain is right. Maybe we can change the status quo.
There’s a noise behind me. I spin around. Speck walks in like he’s supposed to be there, all confident and reeking from cheap soap. I want to run, but instead I stand firm, looking straight at the bastard. There’s a pregnant pause while we adjust to being in the same room together.
Speck directs his question to the Captain, “You wanted to see me?” His voice rough from years of smoking. He looks old, haggard, his acne-scarred face puffed with the effects of alcohol. Still has that dark blond hair. Still has that look. That look of innocence.
Disgust spreads throughout my body.
“Sit down,” the Captain orders.
Speck pulls a chair over and obeys. He puts his hands between his legs, like a scared cat.
Never looks at me, just at the Captain, as if looking at me might get him into trouble. He asks the Captain, “She’s one of them movie people, ain’t she?” Then, with that false sincerity he looks over at me and says, “You got me a part in that movie?” He chuckles at the thought.
The Captain says, “She has a better idea.”
The words slip from my mouth as easily as if I’m talking to one of my extras, “How would you like to be in your own movie?”
Speck looks down at the floor, then back up at me, shrugs and says, “Sure,” with no expression on his face. “Why not? I got nothin’ else to do.” He looks at the Captain and laughs.
“I’ll let you know the details,” the Captain tells him.
“You gonna be there?” he says, staring over at me.
I clench my fist, forcing my nails into my hand. Grinding. Back and forth. Back and forth. So that the scratching starts to hurt. Starts to take my mind away from who I’m looking at. Talking to.
“I’ll be there. You have a problem with that?”
He pulls out a cigarette from a pack of Kools and a book of matches from his shirt pocket, lights the cigarette and throws the dead match onto the polished floor. “No. I got no problem with that. Got no problems with nothin’.” Speck rubs his face with his right hand, like he’s tired, “What’s this movie gonna be about?”
“You, mostly. Your daily life.”
He laughs. Coughs. His large breasts jiggle under his white painter’s shirt. “I ain’t nothin’ to make no movie about, but if it will get me somethin’ extra like those other guys, then sure. I’ll make your movie.”
Speck turns his attention on me, only this time, his soul is doing the looking. His pale blue eyes encompass my entire body, rendering me at once cold with fear. My eyes well up and I look down at the floor, attempting some emotional control, but he’s already won. Evil has noticed me.
Speck directs his next question to me. “This gonna be on TV?”
“I don’t know.” It’s hard for me to look at him. Hard to watch his excitement over his upcoming starring role.
“Always wanted to see myself on TV,” he says then coughs, laughs a little, shakes his head and looks down at the floor, then up again at me. “What kinda questions you gonna ask me?”
“Something about what life is like in this place.”
“What’s it like anyplace you can’t get out of?” He chuckles. “It’s all right. When I first got here, I used to cry every night in the shower. The guys were laughin’ at me. Got over that. Had to. Told my mamma to quit comin’. She did. Made some of my best friends in my life in here.”
I’m into this now, remembering something about his mother. “Your mother is very religious, was that why you told her to stop visiting you?”
“Somethin’ like that. She wanted me to go to church all the time. Can’t. Got kicked out. It’s all bullshit, anyway. God’s bullshit. Probably gay,” he makes a limp-wrist gesture. “Hangin’ around with all them other guys. No women. They were all gay. Jesus, all of ‘em.” He laughs again and snuffs out his cigarette on the floor, then he picks it up and sticks it in his pocket, along with the dead match. Neat. Clean.
“Are you gay?”
“Sure I am.”
“Would you be willing to talk about that on film?”
“Do more than talk.” He laughs, pulls out another Kool, sticks it behind his right ear then he stands. “We done? Got more work to do today on that movie set.”
“Yeah, we’re done,” the Captain answers.
Speck shuffles out, coughing as
he goes.
“So is it a go or not?” the Captain asks once Speck is out of earshot.
“Does he want anything in return for this?”
“Not much. Some real liquor, maybe, instead of the stuff he’s used to drinking. A carton of cigarettes. He’s pretty easy.”
I look up at him, “And what do I get out of all of this?”
“Do I really have to answer that?”
I stare at him for a minute. Just what my father would have said. These guys. They’re all the same. Moralists. Always wanting to do the right thing. Dying for a noble cause. Letting the filth in life eat at them. Thinking they can help change it if only the right people knew. If only the average Joe knew what was going on surely he’d help put a stop to it. Like some average Germans didn’t know the Nazis were burning Jews. That the ashes falling on their cars and homes should have made them band together and put a stop to Hitler. That’s the problem with the average Joe, he doesn’t want to know the truth. Not really. All he wants to do is live his life and let somebody else do the dirty work. Let that seventeen-year-old soldier do it. Let the Captain Bobs do it, or Police Officer Rockett, or Speck’s prosecuting attorney, William J. Martin. Or in my case…
“They film in F-house the day after tomorrow. Have the bastard and his friend ready.”
My name is Suzanne Farris.
Dad could never talk about my murder. He died in 1969 from a broken heart. Mom died ten years later from desperation. My dear tormented sister had a family of her own to raise and my brother carries me around in his memory. Speck took more than my life that night in July. He took a piece of my family’s as well.
We were a happy lot who enjoyed a good hearty laugh. I loved to tease my quiet little brother and surprise my sister with some silly prank. She was always such a good sport about my quirky humor. I could make her laugh even when she was down.
And Phil, my sweet, handsome Phil. We were to be married that next spring. A big Irish church wedding with relatives from all over the country, tons of flowers and maybe even a bagpipe or two. It might have been fun to zip down the aisle on roller skates while holding onto my dad’s arm, both of us giggling over the stunned faces. He loved a good joke as much as I did.
By now Phil and I would have raised a houseful of kids. Talk about fun. All those nights of wrestling on the floor, laughing over who’s cheating on Shoots and Ladders, dressing up like E.T. and R2D2 for Halloween. Waking up on countless Christmas mornings to see the magic on the faces of my children would have kept me smiling through each day of my life.
I would have named one of our sons John, after my dad. He’d have gotten a kick out of that. Someone to follow him around, someone to spoil. And I would have named one of our girls Mary Ann, after the bestest friend anyone could ever have.
Speaking of children, I would have made a great pediatric nurse. I always knew how to make kids laugh, how to tease and play and tickle. There’s no better medicine than a good belly laugh. I would have given them bushels full of love and care and in return gotten that special smile that only parents can seem to get out of children. It’s all in the way you look at a child, and hold them when they’re sick or scared. If they can trust you when they’re scared, they can laugh with you when they’re happy. There’s no better feeling on earth than to know that you’ve made a frightened, sick child laugh….
Richard Speck met us on the stairs that night as we went running up them all full of giggles and dreams. We tried to turn away from him, but he came after us, waving his gun and shouting, “You two come here. Come here.” Mary Ann put up a fight until he crushed her left eye with his knife and stabbed her three times. I fought back and tried to get him off of her, but he turned and thrust his knife into my chest, then my stomach, my shoulders, and my hands as I tried to stop him. Somehow, after eighteen incursions I was still alive, so Richard Franklin Speck calmly strangled me with a white silk stocking then left me there, on the stairs, lying next to my very best friend, Mary Ann.
Chapter Fifteen
September 10, 1987
When I finally get back to F-house everyone is standing around. Like they’re on break, but can’t leave the building. I spot Mike and walk over to him. Strange, but it’s almost as if I’m in a fog. Need to sit down. To think. To understand what just happened.
“Where’ve you been? It’s been a rotten day, and it’s not even over yet,” Mike says once I’m standing in front of him.
“Been busy, why?”
“Which version do you want?”
“As short as possible.”
Mike and I stand in the midst of about twenty-five of our extras. They’re staring at us.
Mike motions for us to walk to a more private place a few feet away.
“I almost lost it today,” he says.
“You?”
“Even Richie Cunningham had his breaking point. The inmates suddenly came up with a bad case of who-gives-a-shit and Vivian’s been running on some new intense RPM. She’s really getting to me. I’m in need of some of your sarcasm to give me balance.”
“Sorry, fresh out.” I want to tell him what’s going on with the Captain. “We need to talk. Something happened and I—”
His face suddenly goes pale. “So it was you. Damn it, Carly. There was a rumor buzzing around here that it was you, but I dismissed it.” He gives me a sarcastic chuckle. “I should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Once again I’m the pathetic chump.”
My mind whirls with scenarios. “What? How could you possibly know? I just—”
“The whole prison knows what happened. You can’t hide something like that in this place. Why would you want to screw around with one of these guys?” He walks away from me. I’m confused. How could everybody know? That’s impossible. The Captain would never take the risk.
I follow right behind him. Obviously there’s some kind of miscommunication going on here. “Everybody knows what?”
Mike spins around, irritation staining his face.
“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you too well. Know what all that booze has done to you. Are you drunk now and I just can’t tell anymore?”
“No, I’m not drunk. What the hell are you talking about?”
His eyes narrow and his voice gets as sharp as a blade. “Because of your little episode this morning with Crew Cut down in the showers the whole shoot may be canceled. Did you take our reputation, my reputation into consideration while you were getting it on this morning? Or was it too exciting to think about anybody else?”
I stand there in silence while Mike continues to stare at me. He’s still shaking from his outburst. A mixture of anger and contempt on his face, waiting for my response. His eyes are moist from his own fury, from his own thoughts, his own misconceptions.
I stare back at him in disbelief. My knees go weak. I want to lash out at him, but I don’t have the strength to argue. Instead, I tilt my head and smile. “Yep. Best lay I ever had. Better than you in your finest hour. Too bad the shoot’s in jeopardy. I was looking forward to my daily fuck.”
Mike doesn’t respond and I can’t tell if he’s pissed or confused. At this point I don’t care. All I can think of is getting out of the place as fast as I can. Breathe in some clean air, away from the noise, from the accusations. “I’m taking the car,” I tell him. “You’ll have to catch a ride from somebody else.” I hold out my hand for the key.
He hands me the key, clears his throat and tries to regain his self-composure. I can tell he knows he’s made a huge mistake. “Carly, I—”
“Let’s just drop it.”
As I turn to leave, he says, “The crew is going over to Bud’s Place to wait for word from the warden. One of the producers is supposed to stop by and let us know what to do next.”
I nod and walk away.
When I’m finally on the other side of the wall, I somehow feel as if I’ve been released after years of incarceration. The feeling is overwhelming causing my eyes to water. The pressure inside me b
ursts through my veins causing my head to pound and my hands to shake.
I stop just outside the Visitor’s Center to light a cigarette hoping for some relief. It just gets worse.
There’s no way out. It’s too late for you, Carly.
So now I’m the prison whore. And Mike believed it, or at least has some doubt, that’s the kicker. He’s just like every other man. They get you to trust them and then they turn on you, or kill you, whichever they’re into. Maybe killing’s better. It’s over in an instant. No questions. No wondering what you did wrong when they become distant or move onto somebody else. No broken hearts. Why should the Captain be any different? What he says: to show the world, to change things. No man ever does anything for a noble cause. Not anymore. Not now.
Trust him, Carly. You have to trust him.
I slide into my car and take a drink from the flask of JD I keep in the glove compartment. Can’t believe all that has happened today. The talk with the Captain, with Speck and then Mike’s accusation. In some twisted way Mike was right. I did put the entire shoot in jeopardy and on some level, I was also fucked—the way Speck looked at me—what was that all about?
I can’t believe I was civil to him. As if he were human. That close. That look. Makes my skin crawl. How can I meet him again? He knows now. Knows I’m weak. Just a woman. A scared woman. Does he remember me? Remember that he once wanted a kiss? Or was that just a kid’s game?
Captain Bob walks past my car and never notices that I’m inside. He continues on to a ‘76 or ‘77 blue Camaro two rows in front of me, gets in and starts to drive away. Without even thinking about it, I follow.
We drive into Joliet, a river town with mostly blue-collar workers. Many of them work at the prison. A clean, neat town where bungalows line the streets and lawns are mowed each weekend.
I remember the last time I was in this city, a tenth-grade field trip with Sister Latitia and Sister Martha. Dad convinced me to go. Said it would be good for me, that I might learn something about a great man, Abraham Lincoln. So I went. Seventy-two teenage Catholic girls packed into a bus with two nuns, one guitar, and a bus driver named Pedro who burst into song whenever we got too loud. A true tenor.
