Monday came; Dick got the name of the guy who owned the amp, didn't find him, Mike let me go to work like he had promised. It was an empty un fulfilling day. A wasted 30 hours. Tuesday didn't hold any promise of anything better. Dick and I held back on visiting Sid just in case something important happened then we might need to get to see him.
Wednesday Dick heard that the guy who had owned the amp had been killed in a fight. That did it, or did it? One could say that since the complainant was dead and would not be able to press charges then the matter should be dropped. On the other hand the state could say it had been a crime against the state and was still punishable. Dick and I went to see Sid's legal advisor. She told us the charges would still be pursued but she might be able to cop a plea (get the charge reduced).
Dick and I were on pins and needles waiting for the word from the legal advisor. Thursday I went and saw Sid. He already knew what was going on. He told me the prosecutor wanted to go ahead with the charge of possession of stolen property and had added flight to avoid prosecution as well as resisting arrest! I was flabbergasted.
I hid my feelings until I had left Sid. I didn't want him to see how disappointed I was. It was hopeless! The system was determined to lock him up. Dick reacted about like me. We were upset, frustrated, confused.
I gave up. I went to work, waited for the one day a week I could see Sid, carried him everything the law would allow, tried to cheer him up and leave him smiling. Soon it would be time for his trial. Then he would be moved to the prison camp and if he wasn't killed I'd see him in a few years.
I'm being morbid, the statistics said 5% of the male prison population died per year. Conversely the figure was one half of one per cent of the female population died per year. Say one hundred men went to prison for three years. That would mean one could expect five to die each year. 100 would leave. 85 could expect to return.
I wished they would take me instead of Sid, failing that, they could take me with him. I knew they wouldn't. I could have just stayed in bed all day and waited for Sid to come back, if he did. A part of me wanted to do just that. The rest of me knew that I had to get up, go to work, save money, write Sid, go on. Not one single cell of me wanted to forget Sid. I was in love with him--forever, well for as long as I lived.
***
Finally the day of the trial came. Sid pleaded guilty to the charges and was given two years. It was a shock and it wasn't. It was a relief, in a way. 361 days to a year for two years, that's 722 days taken one day at a time--carefully. I didn't cry. Sid knew why. I wouldn't allow the judge to see how he had hurt us. I was defiant.
That was in the courtroom. At home I was all tears. I cried until there were no more tears. The next day I was at work. I began my sentence. I had served one day. I had 721 to go. That night I wrote my first letter to Sid. The next day I wrote again. I wrote him every day for three months before I got the first letter from him. It had taken three weeks for it to get to me from the date it had been written. Here's what it said:
Dear Cookie;
Hy. Mine name is Fred. I'am writing this
fer Sid. Sid can no right. I right fer
him. He is good. He get yur #1 letter
yestday. He no I read and right. He say
to right he luv you. He mis you. He good
man.
I protect.
Fred fer Sid
I wrote a note to Fred in my daily letter to Sid thanking him and I promised to cook him the biggest meal he ever ate if he would just keep helping my man--and protecting him.
How terrible it was that so many CBs were illiterate. It is such a simple thing to be able to read and write. It occurred to me that I was being selfish. I could help these people. What was the good laying around getting kicked when I could get busy and help my people. It was perfect. I decided to make Dick my first victim.
It surprised me that it took so much convincing to make him agree to learn to read and write. He considered himself to be whole and not missing out on anything. I was almost ready to give up when I remembered his love of cars. I went to the store and got him a magazine about cars. One that didn't have too many pictures although the one I got had some. I was surprised to find a number of the pictures of cars had a scantily dressed girl in front of the car. Guy stuff. I let him have the magazine and he thanked me and looked at it.
I let him be until the next day then I asked if he would mind if I could see it. He had wadded it up and hid it in the closet. He obviously didn't know the proper care of printed material. That was alright. I looked through it trying to find something Dick would be interested in. I got lucky. I found an article on a Furg Sonteese. That was the kind of car Dick had. The one in the magazine looked good.
"Dick?"
"Yea Cookie."
"Did you see this picture of a Furg Sonteese?"
"Yea, they're a nice looking car, aren't they?"
"Yea. Did you see where they had a three liter engine in this one? What size is yours?"
"It's a 2.2. Does it say anything about that?"
"A little. What kind of injector system does yours have?"
"I didn't know you knew about injectors, Cookie."
"I don't, but I do know how to read. It says here there were three different systems used. One was made by Parker injectors, one by Thompson's Metal Works, and the one that came on the car. Which kind do you have?"
"I don't know."
"It says here the ones that came from Thompson's was the high performance type. They have the letters 'TMW' stamped on the front. It seems there was some kind of a problem with them that would cause hard starting, something about changing an orifice to make them work better."
"I've heard that. I know what you're trying to do, Cookie. You want me to learn to read so I can fix my car."
"Why not?"
"Do realize how long it would take me to learn now?"
"Dick, do realize how long you could use it, if you learned now?"
He looked at me thoughtfully. "How long would it really take to be able to read?"
This would depend on my ability to teach. "I don't know. I've never taught anyone to read before. I used to tutor when I was in school but that was just helping someone with something I had had a year or so ahead of them. Let's get started--you can learn to read and I can learn to teach. How's that sound?"
"We can try. If I want to quit then I can just quit."
"Anyone can quit. It takes someone special to succeed."
"You may not look it, but you sound like a teacher already, Cookie."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're cuter than any teacher I ever saw."
"You'll probably get a good grade, you already know how to butter up the instructor."
We laughed about that for a bit then got down to the job at hand. Dick thought I was playing with him but my experience as a tutor paid off and I soon made it clear to him that we were going to do some work. Work means not playing--it also means getting something done.
Dick could recognize most of the letters of the alphabet and tell me their names. He hadn't learned that in school. They had just been repeated to him so much in everyday life that some had sunk in on ther own. It was weird teaching a grown man something that I considered so simple. Dick kept reminding me that he wasn't a child or retarded or anything. He had gone to school and the teacher had showed the class how to read. Evidently Dick had never been tested very well. He kept trying to get ahead of me and try to figure out ways to make me think he understood better than he did. I spent a lot of time trying to make him understand that he was doing this for himself, that what he learned would be what he had to draw on to help himself.
It took a few hours every morning for about three weeks before Dick started bringing me magazines from the store. He had made me teach him what the words 'Furg Sonteese' looked like and was quite proud of himself when he was able to go to the store and find something written about his car.
It was a big project. Bigger than I had thought it would be. It would take maybe half a year before Dick would be able to continue the process on his own.
Mike heard what I was doing with Dick and wanted me to help him too. I knew Mike could read and write but I was amazed when he showed me what level he was at. Basically Mike could read and write numbers. I had seen him use a computer before so I was surprised to find that half the stuff on the screen he couldn't read. He knew what to put on which line and had memorized every screen the computer would display. I couldn't believe how much he could do with how little he knew about reading. Mike was a smart guy and so was Dick.
Mike would have Dick and I go to the bar in the morning when we got up. He'd have breakfast ready and waiting and I would help the two men for one to three hours. It was great therapy for me. Thoughts of Sid still crossed my mind frequently but I didn't just sit around and pine for him.
I had taught Mike how to use the dictionary. Both of my students had made a field trip to the sole library on our side of town and were sporting library cards. Mike had bought a hand held computer and I let Dick use mine to download books from the library.
Mike found this school where they were teaching remedial reading and told me about it. Heck, he made me go down there and talk to the woman that ran the place. I thought she could help me with Dick. I ended up getting a part time job helping her. Dick was able to come and I kept helping him too.
It was a great feeling helping others. To give is probably the most selfish thing you can do. It is for me. When I can give it means I have enough. I have so much that I can share. It makes me feel good to give because I know I have more than the person I am giving to. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to lord it over the person that I am giving to--if I held back and didn't give to that person THEN I would be lording over them what I had and they did not have. When I give it is to make me feel good, if they feel good about it then that's just icing on the cake. I'm not saying that every time I give I have more. Sometimes you give because the other person's need is more than yours--that's not being selfish.
Dick and I would get up every morning grab a bite to eat and carry it with us and eat it while we waited for the bus. We'd get to the school and I would help as many people as I could on a one to one basis then leave after four hours. I would clean up around the apartment and write a letter to Sid and maybe read or reread one of his letters to me (through Fred). I would do that until time to get ready to go to the bar. I'd work my shift, come home late, and the next day do it again.
I was fairly happy. It would have been heaven if Sid had only been a part of it all. Y'know, in the flesh...
Life developed a pattern. It was better than it had been before I moved when I had worked for Ed. Every once in awhile something would happen to make things interesting but, thankfully, nothing too bad ever occurred. I was saving money like crazy. I had very little that I went out and bought. The money from the bar was ok.
The money from tips was great. I learned to dress pretty hot. The less you wear the more they tip. I was careful to maintain certain standards. I had all sorts of men hit on me, especially when I first started. Then they all learned I was taken. I was Sid's girl. He had a lot of friends in the bar.
I remember telling Dick about my wearing less equals more tips theory. He pulled out an old bag of clothing. I had never paid much attention to it or any of the others. The guys had dozens of bags of clothing that I had stuffed into the closet Dick had made for me. It was a bag of Toni's stuff. It made my stomach turn to think that she was still locked up. I hadn't even written her. I looked through her belongings and remembered the time we had spent together. Dick told me that what he wanted me to see were her chains. I looked at him puzzled. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a chain. I saw the way the chain was hooked up to the handcuffs and remembered Toni wearing them in the bar that time. She had told me CBs wear black to remind them of ther own deaths and the chains to remind them of ther lives (the police harassment).
"When you go to the bar wear these." Dick told me.
"Why?" I asked fairly repulsed.
"One, as a tribute to Toni, two, to remember her by, three, you'll get more tips."
"What do you mean? I'd be like collecting money for Toni or something? I won't do that!"
"No. No, you've got it all wrong! To a CB these are like jewelry on a woman."
I looked at him in disbelief. I had seen the other waitresses wearing chains as decoration. It looked good I had to admit. I thought about it. ALL the other waitresses wore some kind of light shinny chains for adornment. It was fresh.
That night after I had dressed for work I got Dick to show me how the locks all worked and tried everything on. It was a pair of handcuffs with a short chain. I mean there was a short chain between the two hafts of the handcuffs and there was another short chain that was attached to the handcuffs with some little padlocks. It was all real and took several keys to release. My heart was doing flip flops. I had been handcuffed enough times in my life by the police. This was different. It felt...I don't know, it was scary and something else too. When I locked them around my waist I thought they would be too loose, but when I let go the handcuffs kind of dropped down a little in front and made the chain seem to tighten. It felt good. It surprised me. Something about the weight and maybe the stiffness of the steel on my lower tummy. I felt aroused, almost. It was weird. I wore them and my tips did improve.
I let them earn me enough money to buy my own set of chains and returned them to Toni's bag. It never occurred to me to ask about all those other bags of clothes.
***
One morning while Dick and I were waiting for the bus and eating Ralph walked by and I got into a conversation with him. It was funny. Dick looked like he was going to turn inside out trying to get me to let Ralph continue on his rounds. Thankfully, for Dick, our bus came.
"What'cha doin' talkin' to a blinkin' cop?" Dick demanded to know once we were on the bus and it had pulled away from the curb.
"That's Ralph. Don't you know him?"
"He's a cop! I don't need to know any more than that!"
"Ralph's ok. Talk to him. He's not out to get you like all the rest of them. He lives down here with us. He's cool."
"Don't ever trust a cop, Cookie. You never know when they might decide they have to turn you in."
"If you don't do anything wrong then they don't need to turn you in, Dick."
"The trouble is you never know when you have done something wrong. They've got laws for everything. Do you know it's illegal to cross the street in the middle of the block? I figure if you make it across the street then there's nothing wrong with it. Am I wrong?"
"Yes you are, Dick. Don't let it worry you, ok?"
Dick was nervous the rest of the morning. I had learned to trust Ralph. He'd let you know in a minute that he was ready, willing, and able to take you downtown if the need should arise. I can deal with someone who is honest with me. Give me an honest enemy over a dishonest friend anytime.
The very next day Ralph was waiting at the bus stop.
"Good morning, Cookie."
"G'mornin' Ralph."
"Is this the boyfriend you moved down here to be with?"
"No, this is Dick. Dick, this is Ralph."
Dick nodded his head in acknowledgment.
"Dick." Ralph acknowledged him in a firm voice. He extended his hand. "I'd like to be your friend if you'll let me."
Dick looked at Ralph wide-eyed unsure what to do.
"Shake his hand Dick!" I told him with a smile. "He'll lock you up if you don't."
"Don't joke like that, Cookie." Ralph chastised me.
"Sorry." I answered prettily.
"No, I'm serious. Dick has every right to fear me. We've had run ins before and I've had to take him in."
"Oh." I answered lamely. "Sorry, I didn't realize."
"That's what I want to eliminate, the distrust and fear. People have got to realize that if they break the law they will have to pay. That doesn't mean that the law should try to crush the offender. We all live here together. We need to get along."
"Just because we live in the same neighborhood doesn't mean we have to like each other." Dick responded. "Man, I couldn't have your job. How can you take money for what you do?"
"Watch it. I earn every credit I get. What kind of job do you do?" Ralph asked.
"I don't work." Dick told him. "You know that."
"I know. You won't work."
"Hold it Ralph," I interrupted him, "Dick is a friend of mine. If he doesn't work then that's his business. Now, he was wrong to say he wouldn't have a job like yours, that's your business. Both of you are getting off on the wrong foot. Instead of talking about where you are different maybe you should talk about how you are alike."
Both men were quiet. I kind of wondered if they were both jealous of the other, y'know, they each considered me to be ther friend--exclusively. I think they were being territorial. Men!
Ralph was the first to recover. "Sorry Cookie. I was trying to make friends. I guess I did get started wrong. Dick, I'm sorry. I not really trying to put you down. What I want to do is to get you to trust me. I really do want to help." Ralph held out his hand a second time, offering to shake Dick's hand.
Dick waited but finally grabbed Ralph's hand just when I was sure Ralph would withdraw it. "I wish we could be friends too. I don't want to fear you every time I see you." Dick told Ralph in a shaky voice.
"You don't have to. I just want to help. You're not a bad person, Dick. I know times have been rough for you. Things will get better."
"I hope." Dick responded simply.
Our bus was pulling up. I patted Ralph on the shoulder. "Thanks for talking with us, Ralph. Gotta go. Take care."
"Thanks Cookie, I will. Have a good day, you too, Dick."
"You too, officer."
I got on the bus followed by Dick. I felt good. The more we all came together the less we might want to hurt each other. In the months that followed I was pleased to see that both men began to trust each other more.
I wanted life to get back to normal. Normal is not having the police looking for you. Normal is being able to walk the street without fear. Without fear of the gangs or fear of the cops. Well, it's normal to fear the gangs but not normal to fear the police, I think.
***
I had started writing to Toni but I hadn't heard anything back from her. I figured either she wasn't getting my letters, couldn't read them or find someone to read them to her, or couldn't respond due to either she couldn't write or the prison officials weren't sending her letters to me.
Fred was still reading/writting for Sid. I would get a letter from him about every other month. I believe he wrote more than that because he would sometimes refer to another letter he had sent and I knew I hadn't received it.
I kept writing Sid about every day. Toni I wrote about once a month. It was a lot harder to find something to say that I thought Toni might be interested in. The letters I wrote to Sid just came natural. Sometimes I would pretend to myself that he was there with me and we were talking instead of me just writing. I missed him very much.
Christmas came and went. It was a hard time for me. If it hadn't been for my teaching I don't know what I would have done. We had a nice little party at the school. There was a party at the bar too but it was put on--all shadow and no form.
I had made friends like nobody's business. Friends of Sid's and Dick's kept showing up at the apartment from time to time. I don't know how many people came by, hundreds at least. A lot of them were from the bar but there were quite a few that were in some band or another and then there were Dick's friends who were into cars.
Oh before I forget, Dick had gotten himself a job. Ralph had helped there. It was at a refueling station for cars. Dick was ecstatic to be around so many cars all the time. He was trying to learn whatever he could about fixing cars.
With both of us working we were pulling down lots of money (for CBs). As soon as we began buying stuff to fix up the apartment we began getting robbed. That's a weird feeling to come home and find someone has gone through your things and taken what they wanted. There's a strong sense of being violated which turns to anger.
The first time it happened Dick almost quit his job. He asked, 'What's the sense of working all day if people are going to steal everything you make?' and I told him that he wasn't just working for the money--he enjoyed being around all those cars everyday and learning what made them tick. He almost lost it there for awhile.
The second time we were robbed we had a pretty good idea that it had been the man downstairs. We made up our minds to find another place to live, what the hey--we could afford it! We looked for six months before we found something and moved in. I suppose I should have found my own place but I had come to rely on having a man around to protect me.
It was frightening how the gangs had moved into the neighborhood. There had always been gangs in that part of town. The crime rate sprang up as the gangs flourished. There was robbery and rape and shootings every week. I was scared to death to walk home after I got off work at the bar. I was lucky to have Dick walk me home most nights. When Dick couldn't make it Ralph would see me home.
For a dweeb Ralph was a pretty good guy. He had gotten Dick his job and he walked me home at least once a week. Sometimes he would walk home with me even when Dick had come after me. I remember I had even treated Ralph to a meal at the new apartment. Dick had come to respect Ralph and accept the fact that Ralph sometimes had to do things that neither Dick nor I cared to think about. If it hadn't been for Ralph things would have been a bunch worse where we lived.
Ralph wasn't one of those cops by day and then gone at night. He lived just a block and a half from the new place where Dick and I lived. He was on some kind of a plan the city had started. They would pay for his place to stay if he lived in the area where he patrolled. It was a good idea. He was more interested in keeping things right because he lived there and the rest of us liked it because he didn't run and hide when he was off duty like those other cops did. They were half of the problem. They'd show up at night and cause more trouble than the gangs caused. Usually the gangs just shot each other up where the cops were ready to shoot anything that moved.
They were real cowards.
To them where I lived was like an amusement park. They'd show up and night and roust anyone they wanted to. Like I said I was afraid to go out on the streets at night because of them. If it had been just the gangs I believe I would have felt a lot safer.
The gangs had a justice of ther own. They wanted to 'show out'. That means they had certain places you couldn't go. If you did they would consider it an insult to them and would punish you as they saw fit. There were certain other things you shouldn't do as well. Like you shouldn't wear ther color (orange). If you did they'd beat you up.
Mostly if you just stayed out of ther way they'd leave you alone. The gangs really worried Ralph. He wasn't afraid of them, in fact when the visiting cops needed to communicate with someone in the gangs they'd have Ralph set it up.
The whole book in zipfile format.
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