There was no money.
Frank sat in his little office in the Bering Building
early on a Sunday morning in the middle of October working on his budget.
The way he added up the numbers, they were going to run out of money not six months down the line, but next month - right before the general election.
He wasn't too worried about the primary election this coming Saturday, but to hit the people with a big tax increase right before the general election - it was political suicide.
He got up and stood by his grimy window, gazing across the street at his own apartment.
In a few hours he would have to walk Judy to church for the 10 AM service.
She was thinking of leaving him, leaving him when he most needed help, when his dream was spiraling down to disaster.
A heavy feeling settled over him.
He was alone.
Adak was his crusade, not hers.
What if she suddenly reversed herself about leaving him?
What if she agreed to stay on Adak?
Would he give up his crusade and spend his life with her?
Would he?
He could make a neat deal with Gilmore, carve out his own little niche and the hell with the rest of the world.
He shook himself back to the present. What to do about the budget?
Maybe a cup of
Irma's coffee in the cafeteria would wake him up - or kill him, he thought wryly.
His mind still on the budget, he left his office.
He passed the empty council meeting room and walked down the stairs to the cafeteria, which was in the basement.
As he went by the door to the outside, air streamed through a broken window pane.
The air was fresh, invigorating, so he stepped outside for a big breath of it. For once the morning wasn't bad.
It was overcast, but a wind from the south blew milder air in from the Pacific.
The breeze reminded him of Lake Michigan, except there was more salt smell in this breeze.
The cafeteria door burst open and Carl Larson pushed him aside.
"Get the fuck out of the way."
He was gone before Frank could respond.
Larson in a hurry made Frank nervous. He entered the cafeteria and walked down the serving line.
"Irma, Sam, Jeannie," he called out.
No answer.
Then he noticed the cash drawer open, the bills gone.
"Irma, Sam, Jeannie," he called again.
No answer.
He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Irma's body lay in the middle of the floor, blood draining from the back of her head.
Her slacks were pulled down, her sweater pulled up.
Her bra and panties were ripped off and lay on the floor near her.
Terror filled her still open, but motionless eyes.
Frank bent over her.
She was dead.
The back of her head was crushed.
"Oh, God, where is this going to end?" he cried out loud. Was there some way to get the Feds to call this whole thing off?
Too many people were dying.
He put his thumbs on her eyes and closed them.
A scene from long ago flicked through his mind - at three in the morning he put his thumbs on the cancer-ridden eyes of his mother and closed them.
Life was separation and defeat.
He rearranged Irma's clothes to cover her nakedness.
He heard someone else come into the cafeteria and call out just as he had.
It was Latisha. He got up from the body and turned to the kitchen door and met her just as she came in.
He hugged her and thereby blocked her view.
"You don't want to see.
It's Irma.
She's dead.
Raped.
It was Larson."
She looked over his shoulder.
"Oh God, Frank." She cried.
He did, too.
He hugged her tight. She hugged him back.
Time stood still. Death swirled all around him, except for, except for - Latisha.
She or some part of her, or him when he was with her, stood up to death.
"Oh, Frank what about Jeannie?"
As if in response, a voice from the cafeteria, a young voice, a happy voice.
"Mom, Dad's coming right over.
He says to start the pancakes."
Frank and Latisha went through the door into the cafeteria, still holding each other.
Latisha pulled her into the hug.
"Jeannie, I'm sorry, but your mom - somebody killed her."
"Oh, my Mom, my Mom."
Frank felt Jeannie's cry come into his ears and stab him in the heart. He needed to act. He had to get Larson before he killed again.
*
*
*
Immediately Frank went across the street to the Marine Barracks to Joe and Maggie's apartment to get Joe to help.
He knocked on their door.
After a long wait, Joe came to the door in a bathrobe. Frank told him what had happened and
Joe gripped the open door until it shook. "That poor woman.
That Larson - we got to…"
He couldn't finish.
Maggie appeared behind him, also in a bathrobe.
Frank repeated his news.
She put her hand to her mouth.
"Oh Frank, that's terrible.
Poor Jeannie.
Now she has no mother."
"I'm gonna kill that Larson," Joe said.
Frank put his hand up like a traffic cop.
He couldn't have Joe going ballistic.
"No, you're not, Joe.
You're gonna arrest him so we can bring him to trial.
If your life is threatened, well, then you do what you gotta do."
Maggie grabbed Frank's arm.
"Oh, but Mr. Villa, you need a posse to arrest Larson.
Not just Joe.
He's very upset.
By himself, he …"
Frank pulled his hand free.
He had no time now for Maggie protecting Joe.
"Joe's the police. And, Maggie, there's no one else, no posse.
Listen, Joe, the police van is almost ready.
It's parked behind the Bering Building.
Use it. Here are the keys.
Find Larson.
Stop him."
Frank left their apartment and went out to the middle of the street. Where had Larson gone?
In the north there was Mt. Moffett and Mt. Adagdak. On their stark slopes he'd be easily spotted. To the south near Finger Bay, lay Razorback Ridge, but it, too, jutted up with exposed slopes.
No, Larson hid someplace in the buildings at the bottom of the hill, Downtown Adak, and most likely in Gilmore's Sea Otter at the bottom of the big 'U.'
Frank headed down the hill to the Sea Otter.
A half hour later he stomped in the front door. Even though it was only 9:30 AM the smells of spilled beer, hard liquor and marijuana smoke assailed him.
Without knocking, he marched into Gilmore's office.
Gilmore sat at his desk using an old calculator.
Frank stepped right in front of the desk.
"I want Larson."
Gilmore looked up from his calculations.
"I heard about Irma.
I feel terrible. The man is uncontrollable.
I tried to make him understand that Irma worked for me."
Frank stared at Gilmore.
"I want Larson."
Gilmore punched another number on his calculator and stared at the result. "Have a seat, Villa.
He's not here."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit."
Gilmore shrugged.
"Search the place."
Frank paused.
Gilmore always distanced himself from tragedy and crime.
"Death follows you around, Gilmore.
Three of your men die on Thursday, then Amy O'Donnell, now Irma."
"Hold on, Villa."
Gilmore stood up. "The death rate on this island would be a lot higher without me.
I didn't tell Larson to rape and kill.
I'm not responsible for his criminal behavior."
Again, not responsible.
Frank stood and put his fist on Gilmore's desk.
"If you're hiding Larson, I want him."
"Use your head, Villa.
I'm running for your job.
I don't want a sex maniac in my camp.
I fired him a half hour ago."
"So he was here.
Where did he go?"
"I don't know.
I told you, I fired him."
"
After
he killed Irma Wong.
I've ordered Joe Britt to hunt him down."
"And if Britt finds him?"
"The council will decide what to do with him."
"That should be interesting."
Frank saw in his mind a quick picture of Fitznagel and Big Jim making jokes about Larson's fate.
Frank had come in here demanding Larson's surrender and now Gilmore was making fun of him, humiliating him. Gilmore sat down and punched in another number on his calculator.
Frank rapped his knuckles on Gilmore's desk and turned to leave.
Someone kicked the door open.
Sam Wong stood in the doorway, carrying a rifle.
He raised the rifle and pointed it at Gilmore.
"Say your prayers, motherfucker.
I'm gonna kill you first, then your dog, Larson.
My wife, Gilmore!
My wife!"
Frank put his hand up.
"No, Sam."
More death coming.
Gilmore stood and held out his hands as if to show he carried no weapon … and no guilt.
"Sam, Sam, it's not me.
Why would I have one part of my organization attack another part?"
"Fuck your organization."
Sam raised the rifle.
Frank reached his hand out.
"No, Sam, give it to me."
Sam ignored him. "Where is he, Gilmore?"
"I tell you, Sam, I got rid of him."
"You're lying, Gilmore."
Sam fired the rifle into the wall beside Gilmore's head.
The loud sound cracked in Frank's ear and shook his head.
At the same instant he heard the dull twuck of the bullet striking the wall. This gun play had to stop.
Gilmore sat down, then slowly lowered his hands.
Frank noticed him surreptitiously reaching under his chair.
A hidden gun.
Frank stepped between Gilmore and Sam. "Come on, Sam."
Sam stepped aside, his aim still on Gilmore.
"Out of my way, Villa.
I'm going to rid the world of Boss Gilmore, then I'm gonna find the animal that killed Irma."
He had to stop this.
Rudy, Rudy, come on, Rudy. Help me get control.
The quiet, deadly voice.
Use it.
"Don't Sam.
Killing Gilmore isn't going to get Irma back.
Give me the gun."
"Fuck off, Villa.
You may be afraid to kill this son of a bitch, but I'm not."
Frank put his hand on the rifle barrel.
Behind him, Gilmore said, "Tell him I'm cooperating."
"Are you?"
Frank said without turning around.
He tugged on the rifle barrel.
"Come on, Sam."
"What about him?" Sam asked pointing beyond him to Gilmore.
Frank took the rifle from Sam and turned to look at Gilmore.
"Leave Gilmore to himself."
*
*
*
A few minutes later Gilmore drove the short distance to the little house he had presented to Latisha.
No doubt she had heard of Irma's death and she would be full of questions.
He
would have to do some fancy footwork. When he opened the door, he found her packing.
"I've had it, Gilmore.
I'm out of here."
"What?
Why?"
"Why?
Jeannie Dickinson doesn't have a mother anymore, thanks to you."
"I fired Larson."
"I asked you to fire him a month and a half ago."
She slammed her suitcase shut.
"I'll have somebody pick up my plates and my mother's frying pan."
"Is it - Villa?
Are you leaving me because of him?"
"You have to be the stupidest man in the world.
I'm leaving you because of you."