PROlOGUE - Jonathan Rowe`s Books

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First Page Publications
First Page Publications
12103 Merriman Road
Livonia, ]va 48150
Phone: 1-800-343-3043
Fax: 734-525-4-4-20
wwrw.firstpagepublications.com
Copyright © 2005
Published 2005. All
Printed in the United States of America
195Ll-A droll comedy about David Fisher, tabloid reporter, who
l111covers the true identity of a fugitive radical from the 'Weather
Underg.round activist group, and <1h'11O",1-jPQ "'vvlth his o\vn crisis of
!Ofllitn3JJ,
::'UJl'lli'rk'liY:
All rights reserved. No part of this (Oubllcaj1o:n may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or
any nleans, electronic or mechanical,
or any information storage and
indudh'1g photocopy,
retrieval system, 'Without penr,ission in writing flom the publisher.
ISBN # 1-928623-74-3
I. Rowe, Jonathan. II. Title
Library of Congress Control Number: 2005907279
Cover design
Kimberly Franzen
Cover photo courtesy of Alissa Kendall
READER ADVISORY
Some people go far in life. Others do not. I live a quarter mile from the
house in Ann Arbor where I grew up. That tells you which kind of person I am.
Some people lead dangerous lives. Full of excitement and risk. Others just
write about people like that. You can guess which kind I am.
Half the characters in A Question of Identity are criminals. Half are adulterers. They all lead dangerous lives. Full of excitement and risk. But it's just fiction.
Hence the usual disclaimer applies: Any resemblance between the characters and
events in this book, and people or events in real life, is purely coincidental
and unintentional.
This disclaimer bears special emphasis here. Since the story is set in my
hometown. Since the narrator talks a lot like me. And since his personal history
resembles my own. So let me say it again. In plain English. This is not a self-portrait. So please. When you finish reading A Question of Identity, don't call my
wife with condolences. Don't ask her how she can stand living with me. We get
enough of those calls already.
The same applies to the other characters in A Question of Identity. If you
think any character represents someone you know, you're wrong. All the characters here are fictional. To be sure, the characters in any novel are always composites of people the author has encountered. In life. And in reading. So if you see
a resemblance between a character in this book and some real person you know,
chalk it up to the normal artistic process. And understand. It'sjust a coincidence.
One last advisory. The narrator, a tabloid hack, often engages in illegal surveillance. Criminal trespass. Theft. And various other unsavory news-gathering
practices. Far below normal journalistic standards. Again, this is just fiction. I'm
not accusing the tabloids of such tactics. I'm sure they would never stoop so low.
the dreaIIls
never
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Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay.
I'm martyr to a motion not my own.
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
1 swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways.
(I measure time by how a body sways.)
-Theodore Roethke,
from "I Knew A Woman"
PROlOGUE
DAYS OF RAGE
Monday 27 October 1969
A warm, dry autumn evening in Ann Arbor, Michigan. 5:45 p.m. No more
daylight savings this late in October. So dusk is gathering fast.
A beat-up blue van eases into a parking place on Monroe Street. The perfect parking place. Just thirty yards from the loading dock at the back of the
University of Michigan Law School. With a tow-away zone in front. So no one
can block the van from making a fast getaway.
Twenty witnesses see the vanpark. To the west are two law professors, gazing out their office windows. To the north are two law students, walking out the
back door of the Law Library. To the east are four undergrads, smoking cigarettes on the Law Quad's lawn. And to the south, across the street, are twelve
more witnesses: three in student houses, and another nine drinking beers on the
front porch of an open-air campus cafe called Casa Dominick's.
All twenty witnesses see the van park. But none gives it a second look. The
van seems as unremarkable as all the other details of the day. The fiery red ivy
climbing the great gothic stones of the eight-story Law School. The background
chatter of the crows high up in the eaves. The fall smell of dead leaves littering
the Law Quad, mixing with the smell of pizza from Dominick's. The brilliant colors of the leaves on the trees-blazing ambers, burnt oranges, and flaming reds.
The honking of horns from rush hour traffic on State Street. And the amplified
voice at Dominick's, periodically announcing when a patron's pizza is ready.
The witnesses scarcely register any of these details. So of course they miss
the one important detail, too. The mud. Thick mud, smeared across both the
front and back license plates of the old van, rendering the letters and numbers
on the license plates indecipherable. Mud which, on this dry October evening,
cannot be an accident. Mud which an attentive observer-say, a policemanwould have seen as a sure sign that here, at the University of Michigan Law
School, some kind of shit is about to go down.
'2
PROLOGUE
The van with the
plates has solid blue side panels. Solid back doors,
too. No
except the front windshield and the front side wil1do'VITs.
Behind the front seat
cloth,
anyone from. looking
into the back of the van.
vIsible
of the van is its driver. A young woman. '\Nearing
helmet, painted with a
rainbow and a jagged red lightboll. The helmet's 'lv-ide chin strap obscures most of her face. She exits the
blue
van. E:rnpty-handed. 'vValks to'\lvard the Lavv School.
a denim jacket-and that Y"'{Yf"",r"Jf"1 helmet.
The two law Sil.laents leaving the Law Library stop to gavvlc For even ha1fconcealed in her wide-strapped
helmet, the young '01oman iis
very
With long red hair flowing out from under that helmet. And an hourglass figure that even her jacket callilot conceal.
But she ignores her ogling fans. Does not break stride. Glances up at the
Law School's leaded giasswindov/s. Most are dark But some spin
light
out into the dusk Induding the third-Hoor office windows vvhere Professor
Pembroke 'Natkil1S can be seen, seated at his desk.
to the loading dock. Climbs seven
The red-haired v</Oman v/alks
a gray met:il door. And disapCrosses the loading dock.
concrete
pears into the Lavv SchooL
sits there.
The beat-up blue van vvith the
license pliates
Motionless. Silent.
Five minutes
the gray metal door opens again. The red-haired woman
emerges from the Law SchooL Still empty-handed. Still wearing her
de helmet, with the rainbow and the lightning boh. She crosses the Lva.u"'",
dock. Descends the seven
Walks the thirty yards back to the van. Climbs
in behind the steering wheeL And stares straight ahead. Hdmet stilI on.
the back doors of the van open. Two men step out into
Thirty seconds
the gathering dusk. One tan and thino The other short and stocky. Each wears a
rainbow and a jagged red llgl1tnmg
black motorcycle helmet, painted with a
bolt. Each '0/ears a dark sweatshirt. And black gloveso Each carries a satchel,
The two men do not head for the loading dock Instead they walk north up
they stop-twenty
shorl: of
the sidewalk. But forty yards up the
beneath the thifr,1~noor windows where
back door.
the Law
Professor Pembroke 1Natkins can be seen, seated at his desk.
The tNO men set their satchels down 011 the ground beside the sidewalk Only
the red-haired vV01Tiaill in the van sees what they are doing, The two law professors,
UHJ"'"Un.",
DAYS OF RAGE
who five minutes ago noticed the van, have since gone back to reading. The two
law students, briefly besotted with the pretty redhead, have left the scene. The four
undergrads, still smoking to the east, cannot see the satchels because of a threefoot-high stone retaining wall that runs along the east side of the library sidewalk.
The twelve witnesses to the south-the nine beer drinkers on Dominick's front
porch, and the three students in the adjacent houses-also cannot see the satchels
because the parked cars and trees along Monroe Street block their view.
The two men move fast. Each pulls a brick from his satchel. Sets his brick
down on the ground beside the stone wall. Each pulls four mason jars from his
satchel. Sets the jars down on the ground beside the bricks. The jars, filled with
gasoline, have rags stuffed in the top for wicks. Eight pre-prepared Molotov cocktails. Each man pulls a butane lighter from his satchel. Ready for radical action.
Busy with their tasks, the two radicals do not see Ann Arbor Police
Patrolman Dale Hunter, age twenty-four. Alone. In uniform. In a squad car.
Cruising slowly down Tappan Street. Less than. eighty yards to the east. With no
idea what kind of shit is about to go down.
The two radicals grab their bricks. And heave them up at the third-floor
office windows where Professor Pembroke Watkins sits at his desk.
The bricks find their targets. Glass shatters. Professor Watkins yells.
Patrolman Hunter, less than half a block away, hits his siren. It emits a huge
whoop.
The crows perched up in the Law School eaves shriek and take to the air
with a hurried beating of wings. One second the dark, gray sky is black with
crows. The next they are gone.
Patrolman Hunter hurtles west down Monroe Street, past the van with the
muddy plates, where the red-haired woman still sits in her motorcycle helmet.
Then Hunter swerves hard right, and drives halfway up onto the sidewalk, until
a metal pylon at the base of the sidewalk forces him to slam on his brakes. He
bounces to a stop directly in front of the van, pointing up the sidewalk-forty
yards from the two radicals, still standing beneath Professor Watkins's windows.
Patrolman Hunter leaps out. "Freeze!" he yells at the two radicals in their
helmets.
In one fluid motion, the short stocky radical pulls a revolver from beneath
his sweatshirt and fires. Patrolman Hunter goes down in the street. From the
pavement, Hunter returns the fire. With Hunter's first shot, the radical with the
gun falls face down on the sidewalk. Hunter fires five more rounds. Somewhere
in the hail of bullets, the tall thin radical goes down, too.
3
"iJ.
PROLOGUE
Then everything goes
For what seems an eternity of seconds,
A piercing screan1 breaks the silence. from the van the red-haired woman
in the mOl:Jrcycle helmet bolts. Screaming. She n.ms up the sidev/31Hc to the
ormnQt,."j·p bodies of her fallen comrades, Hurls herself on top of the taU thin one,
v/ho
o1111i.s
twisted and contorted. She lifts his
neck It Ions 1ifelessly, Against his
she presses her lips. No
of lik
She cravv!s three yards to the short
radical. Sees he's also dead.
Looks foriy
down the
at the young AmI Arbor cop
in the
street. He's not
either.
voice yells !irom above, Professor Pembroke Vvatkins.
;:J110uung into the i:SHY<CL1Hl16. "What the
S'am lltll is going on tiown there?~')
The red-haired woman in the helmet ",n""""''' Professor ~Natkins.
011 Monroe
people
to materialize. From Dominick's. From the
more people can be
student houses, Inside~he Law
heading out
tovmrd the scene.
The red-haired woman springs to her feet. Runs two steps back toward the
van, then freezes in her tracks. The van is
by Patrolman Hunter's squad
now v{ould ,.",..,,,,,'"'" several tirnethe van from its
IYWU:"lHF\
back-and-forths.
Nearby sirens can be heard. More police cars, on State
m.
She changes course. W:hirls back to the tall thin radical and reaches beneath
stm stuffed in his
Holding the gun in
his sweatshirt. Grabs his
her hand, high above her head, she scran1bles through the thick ivy at the base
of the La'll! School. Clambers up onto a stone walL And leaps off the wall onto
cars arrive.
the loading dock Just 11S the
"Officer down!" a male voice cries.
"I-Ialtl" another male voice commands.
The red-haired woman ignores the command. She skitters across the metal
holding the gun high. And
with her free hand
floor of the loading
for the gray metal door at the back of the Law School.
a cracking sound, as the bullet
glances off the red-haired 'Noman's
helmet. Her head
back,
and to the left But she does not falL The helmet saves her. Before another shot
is fired, the woman
into the Law SchooL
Six
officers follo'7i! her into the building. Less than fifteen seconds
behind her. They fan out. Cover
the exits. Quiz the students, the
the
VU'.WUUHHF\
an
DAYS OF RAGE
staff. All deny seeing anyone in a bullet-cracked motorcycle helmet. All deny
seeing any red-haired woman at all.
The police seal the exits. Search the hallways, high and low. Search the
Law School, room by room. The search takes hours. Yields nothing. The redhaired woman, in the bullet-cracked motorcycle helmet, vanishes into thin air.
A legend in the making. The Fugitive Radical.
***
6:00 p.m. Ann Arbor Police Officer Greg Hunter, younger brother of
Patrolman Dale Hunter, rides in the ambulance that rushes Dale toward the hospital. At the direction of the EMT beside him, Greg Hunter presses a gauze wrap
against his older brother's blood-soaked stomach.
"Did we get her?" Dale Hunter murmurs.
"Shhh," Greg Hunter says. "Stay calm, buddy. You're losing a lot of blood."
"I'm okay, little bro'," Dale wheezes. "Tell me what happened out there."
"Bitch lucked out," Greg mutters. "Only time for one shot. But I was dead
on. Without that damn helmet, she'd be dead."
Dale grunts.
"Why didn't you shoot her?" Greg asks. "Black out before you could reload?"
"Wasn't her who shot me," Dale mutters. "Short guy shot me. She was just
sitting in the van."
"But she had a gun, too," Greg insists. "I saw it."
"She took it from the tall one. Afterwards. Lifted his sweatshirt and pulled
it out from his pants." Dale pauses while the EMT checks the pulse in his throat.
"Hey, you think these might be the same radicals that bombed them other campus buildings this year?"
"Doubt it," Greg says. "The CIA, the ROTC, the military research buildingthose were all bombed with dynamite. On timers. Here we got Molotov cocktails. No
timers. Plus, those were all military targets. This is-fuck, it's just law professors."
"Why the hell would you want to bomb a law school anyway?" Dale mumbles.
"Symbolic, I bet. Tell you what, though. They mighta burnt it right down to
the ground, buddy. If not for you. You're a hero. You know that? So you hang
on now, you hear?"
Dale nods. The EMT hands Greg a fresh piece of gauze to swap out for the
blood-soaked one he's been pressing against his brother's stomach.
"Hey, Dale," Greg says, "how'd you happen to be right there anyway-just
the right place, at just the right time? Campus informant tip us off?"
5
6
PROLOGUE
"Luck," Dale wheezes
teeth clenched in
"Sheer . . .
dumb ... luck"
The color 18
Dale's face. With each breath he labors. Harder.
And harder.
"So
Greg leans closer to his brother. Murmurs
didn't you
shoot her?"
The arrnbulance swerves and 'Neaves
C2l11npUS traffic. Dale gives
no
"You said she kIr1ew where to find the gWl," Greg continues.
his
, you
it out
his
, Proving she had to be
part of their
Stm Dale gives no
"She was
" Greg persists.
you coulda shot her."
"I almost
" Dale whispers. "Like I shot the taU guy. But then I thought,
do K
knmv . . .
sure . .. she's with "em? 'VlTb.at if ... she wasn't ...
110thin' ... but a scared kid-"
At the emergency room of the University
PlospitaL Al1n Arbor
Police Patrolman Dale Hunter is pronounced dead on arrival,
sweatshirl~
9:00 p.m. Greg Hunter exits his mother's home. Afh;r three heart-breaking
his mother and trying in vain to console Dale's young
hours
widow Jeannine.
Greg Hunter retlL"11S to the Law
Y\!here a large crowd pushes dose to
the barricades around the crime scene. The mood is electric. And ugly. Buzz-cut
sheriff's deputies aim tear gas canisters, point-blank, at long-haired protestors
chanting anti-police slogans. A bearded man stands on the waH at Dominick's,
shouting, "Police brutality! That pig shot those kids down in cold blood! Don't
let them fuck with the evidence back there! Stom1 the barricades!"
Greg Hunter clenches his fists in anger. But the bearded man's ranting
incites no action. Warily the crowd eyes the police pepper-spray truck, parked
must recall how, four months before, the pepper-spray
in their midst.
truck broke up the South U riots. So no one now heeds the bearded man's caB
to action. Hunter shoves through the crowd. Crosses the barricade. Walks forty
yards up the sidewalk, to the chaLk lines that mark 'lv-here the two radicals died.
Officer Al Srnith sidks up beside Hunter. "Man, I'm so sony ... 'bout
your brother."
DAYS OF RAGE
"Thanks." Hunter chokes back tears. "Did we find the hippie bitch? Or we
still huntin' her in there?"
Smith shakes his head. "Search inside is done. She ain't there. Vanished
into thin air."
"Then why the fuck don't we all just go home? Give these freaks no one to
shout at."
"Sgt. Hensley's worried someone might claim your brother used excessive
force."
"Excessive force?" Hunter spits. "Dale's dead, for Chrissake!"
"Yeah, he is. But the two radicals fired only one shot. Dale answered with six."
"He had a perfect right to shoot 'em. They were fleeing felons."
"He had a right to shoot the guy with the gun, sure. But the witnesses all
say the tall guy never pulled a gun. Never started to run neither."
"This is such total bullshit!"
"It's your family Hensley's protecting. In case someone sues. But we need
daylight. To show why six shots was righteous. 'Til then, gotta keep these
freaks from tramplin' the scene."
"What a fucked-up world! Guy lays down his life. For eight grand a year.
And this is the thanks he gets? After he's dead, they'll let someone sue him? For
shooting two firebombers? Fact is, six shots wasn't enough. Only reason Dale's
dead is, he didn't fire more. And faster."
Smith nods, silent. Greg Hunter glares at the crowd. Fists clenched. Teeth bared.
At last Hunter turns his back on the crowd. Looks up at the broken third-floor
windows. Looks back down at the firebombs, still lined up beside the low stone wall.
"Why'd they bother with the bricks?" Hunter asks. "If they had the firebombs all ready?"
"To break the glass first. So their jars wouldn't just bounce off the windows. FBI figures they were about to throw these jars through the broken windows, when your brother- "
"-had the bad luck to pass by," Hunter says. "But-was it really that simple?"
"No," Smith says. "Because the FBI can't explain the girl."
"She was the getaway driver."
"Yeah. But she was up to somethin' more, too. Witnesses all say she went
into the Law School five minutes before her boyfriends started throwin' bricks.
Went in empty-handed. Came out empty-handed. With that red hair and that
helmet, she had to stand out like a Negro at a Klan rally. But no one saw her.
And no one can figure what the hell she was do in , in there."
7
~
PROLOGUE
leads or1 1Nho she is?"
"VVe know who she " Smith says. "Rachel
nineteen. Sophomore at
the U She was kind
to leave her fingerprints on the
'Vilheel. And
the van's door."
"She's got a record?"
1967. At a high
"Two priors. Disorderly cunduct. Centreville,
school football game. And rioting. In
TV\1O ",lVeeks ago. At the
of
Rage
!-lanter whistles. "Rachel Clark's v"ith The rVeather Underground?"
"FBI thinks w. Squad 47's here. But not everyone at
of Rage was
"01ith the "'I.i\1eathermen."
"Yeah, but when the Chicago Police shot buUets over their
most of
the little hippies shit their
and rarL 0111y the hard core Weathermen kept
marching and got bustecL" I-hmter snaps hi.s fingers. "And what did those hard
core Vleathermen wear that
helmets," Smith concedes,
bolts. Just like Rachel Clrsk
"With rainbows and
An.d her
':",",'~HO,'a VVeathermen,"
"That stm
at the chalk outlines of the two dead radicals. "We ID her
Hunter
boyfriends
"Cocksucker who shot Dale was Al Brown, tVifenty-eight. TaU one was Paul
Zimmerman, twenty-nine,"
"How'd we ID them so fast?" Hunter asks. "Looked like they had gloves on."
"Not inside the van
didn't. And they both got records. Original members of Students for a Democratic Society."
"Original members? Shit." Hunter snorts. "Then they shoulda Imown better. In the beginning, SDS was supposed to be peaceable
All opposed
to VIolence."
""Vl1eatherman changed aU that. And Zimmennan. He came back last fall all
revved up. From the ,---"""Ve'",,'"' riots. He and Brow"n took over the SDS here. With
their 'Jesse J an.'l.es gang. '"
"How
their rap sheets?"
"Two anests, no convictions. Both got busted at the U of M Admin
Building takeover. And again at Days of Rage, 'lVith Zimmerman's girlfriend,
Rachel Cliark."
DAYS OF RJ;.l.GlE
Greg Hunter looks up at the broken office "windows. "If you want to firebomb a
'why aim for third-floor windows?" He points at the first-floor
vvindowB, ten feet aViay. "'Jthese windo\vs here are a whole lot easier to hit From
here, you could just roll the damn bombs in.
"Up there is Pembroke 'r7atkins's office. Zimmemlan had a major jones
for Watkins."
was elaiRl' inside then: making sure Watkins
"So that must be what the
was in his of:t1ce."
"No," Smith says. "The 'V"itnesses an say you could see fronI the outside
Vl!atldns was up there. So she rnusta been doin' somethin' else. But no one
knows 'what."
Hunter shrugs.
whatever she was lioin', 'INatkil1s makes sense as
their target SDS hates him. For leading the charge to kick the damn radicab:
outta schooL"
"Still, if you 'Nanna kill 11 man, there's lots betterlivays thz:n
his office."
"Not if you lack the guts to look him in the
" Hunter C01.mterso
"\Vatkins scares-"
Sounds of a scuffle at the barricade interftlpt Hunter's conversation. with
Snlith. A deputy drags a protestor by his long hair. Hauls him under the barriinto the cordoned-off area. And handcuffs him-while several other
n.",,,,,,n~'Q aim tear gas canisters at the
crovvd.
The people's fury rises. But still
do not rioL Instead, those closest to
the barricade link arms. Sway slovvly back and forth. And sing, loud and off·
key, "We Shall Overcome."
"Man, this crazy tmVll is fifteen square miles smrounded by reality," Hunter
sneers. "Look at that crowd. That's not just students. Chances are, you
half
the damn/acuity out there, too."
"C'mon, Greg." Smith shakes his head. "It ain't that bad."
"Yeah? See that old guy with the Father Christmas beard? That's the history prof, Bob },Telson. The one on City COlmcil. From the Human Rights Party."
"So it is. But he's just one guy. Most people in this town are still sane. You
know a local banker already
up a reward?
'For infom1ation
leading to Rachel Clark's arrest.'"
"No shit." The news calms Hunter.
So maybe one person here cares
about protecting
officers. But this town is still basically a freak show."
91
:W
PROLOGUE
"'NeB tnat much green
loosen some little
tongue real
I gotta say, I doubt Vife even need a reward to catch Rachel Clark."
not?"
"She's only ninde:en. Her 'Nhole "",/Odd is her
her friends, her
family. She has no experience as a fugitive. No cash. No idea where to hide.
Hovv' hard can she be to tTack down?"
"I don't ImovI." Hunter shakes his head. "Three hours ago, Hensley swore
she \¥as
inside this
here. But she
away from Hensley,
didn't she?"
"Squad 4TH find her.
staked out all her hangouts. Put out an Af'B
on her, tor;}."
"But if she's v\lith the
a fake m. Pre-prepared.
someday the shit 'VlIDuld hit the fan. And the 1i'leathermen-those people lmow how to hide at fhgitive," Hunter jabs Smith's arm. '"Hpo'SI'--H'
47 putting up 'Wanted'
too?"
"All over campus," Smith says. '''With Rachel Clark's nmg shot from
ell?
Hunter's eyes narrow. "Do the
say she's 'Ji/ailted for murder?"
"Naw.
can her a 'fugitive radical.' VI/anted for questioning. In
connection with an attenTpted campus-bombill1g." Smith shoots a
sideyou Imow."
ways glance at Hunter. "She wasn't the one that shot your
Hunter smacks his
fist hard into his left
"She's stiH guilty of
murder, dammit!"
"How you
"She was the getaway driver. For an attempted bombing. That makes her
N·,,;"~wm~<"·" To commit a felony. During the
commission of the
felony, an officer was killed. That makes everybody in the conspiracy equally
guilty. Of
murder!"
Smith winces. "I guess-you're right. Good. So if we find her, she
the chair,"
"When we find her," Hunter insists. In a
hard voice. "If the reward
money don't flush her out, I'll hunt the bitch down myself. Mark my
AI-Rachel Clark is gonua pay. With her
For what she [md her piece-a-shit
pals done to my brother Dale."
Tabloid work is f02' the young. The critical
with age. In my
(Talk about
raysdf with faint
old to'vvear disguiseEL Too old to hide in trees.
SKlm,--SrlVIl1Q"
,"UHUBUiS
So
on a gorgeous mxhmm
am I
rrn too
on my stmnach on
the hot gravel roof of an office
r;.lIiehigan,
peering down ;,nto a sJ(llaU Iav!! office
feet below? Vvith a long-lens camera
at my
And a
device in 111Y ear?
Cuz I'm a hothead.
donna . .And a damn fool.
At least, that's 'what my boss at the
caned me last fall. Vihen I
refused to skip my daugl1t(:r state tennis finals. He wanted rne to go cover a
hearing in the K.obe
case. iI,fter all, he
I'd missed dozens of
family events over the years.
now?
I told him to go to hen. So he fired me. Like he'd fired dozens of hacks
before me. About once a month the
fires a
I
lasted longer
than most. Twelve years.
My name's David Fisher. If
picked up the
anytime in the
last twelve years-aD.d don't bother pretending you haven't, because everyone
at least leafs through it in the
seen my work. You just
didn't know it was by David Fisher. Because I 'vvrite my tabloid artides under a
pen name.
Hill. First name: childhood pet. Last name: the street I grevv
up 011. That's hovi! porn stars
their names. What's good enough for porn
stars is
enough for me.
as
Hill" aHows me to IT:lvei
nita as David Fisher. Vlhile I hunt celebrities. AU across the globe.
It's a
job. But someone's
do it
fired by the
was no big deal. I
'.vent down the street.
Conveniently all the major Alnerican tabloids are located in one
tovm.
The Imock~offs all set up
Florida, Ancestral hOH'le of the
too, Years ago. To hire the
s monthly
Turned
Lantana into the world's leading
of
unadulterated crap,
I chose a
tabloid, The National 0,py. The
couldn't match my
Enquirer
But the
made me an editor. So I borrmllled a page from the
spin doctors, Instead of getting fired I said I Vias
the
I'd
deserved Not that my wife Elaine cared. Or my mother. Or Elaine's moth~
er. They're
mmiified that I work for a tabloid at aU.
an editor at the
IS
Much less time on the
Most of the time
running the crazy risks a tabloid reporter IIlLust mrL Much more easy time
Ell rnyde:sk Editing
about celebrities' illiicit love affairs.
on new drugs that "scientists" daim wiJi
you forever young,
those
chwslcs your enquiring minds just can't resist
About aliens
HiHary Clinton, For sex. Or Elvis dancing on Grace
to "docu~
Kelly's grave. In
this digital age, we can
rnent"
vie make up,)
is the tight
The
at the
of reporters, To cover every star's every move, Just to be
vlherever scandal breaks. You have no idea. With t'NO million
buyers, at
three bucks a pop, fhe
can afford it
But The National
is still a start-up. The
is very tight So everyone has to be a jack-of~an-trades, \Vhic11 is
an otherwise dignified editor
like me sometimes ends up
like the lowest of paparazzi. Lying sprawled
across a rooftop. Sweat
down my back And gravel sticking to my
chin, In the very tovVll where ][ grew up, as it happens, Ann Arbor.
Rule #1 in the tabloid biz: Get there
I did,
we got a reliable and exclusive
that Norma Lee was coming
here todayo To this
little Arm Arbor law fiml, Davis & Nyman, For some
extra-mar:ital canoodling, With an old flame named Lane Davis. A IPi"t_""UI,(]l
a married man, A
too,
In case you watch no TV, Nom'la Lee's a megastar. Looks like Dolly Parton,
On steroids. Norma's a big
Anyv;!here she goes.
chests a big
story, An)T',i\Tnere
go,) But :if Norma's truly coming here with
on
her minor? Tabloid heaven! Because these
Nonna is so sickeningly moral,
Unlike her wild youth, 'VI/hen she was
getting
Preaching marital
unested at ]"Jo N1.;1}ces rallies. And bedding various mangy-looking lefties-like
Lane Davis, I
So if this 'works
what an exclusive it will be! The big
'--'LUHL'H~',
an
IIJH/U','V''-'
lENQUIJI!u[NG MINDS
I
cheatingo With a left-vving politician, no less. And with any luck,
the pix to prove it.
gUll to break into Davis
Rule # 1, I fievi up last night Used my
ch,:iLlTJamg old house. With easy old locks. jl,nd no alam1so)
'--''"''''i';u.
rn
&
bugs. Tapped the
But laid no video cameras. Sure,
But law :frllms have lots of foot traftlc. Too often video cameras
fYLC'U''''"'
get spottecL P\na in mid-October, 'Nith
you can get
even in the evening with a telephoto lens from a
roof. The upper
halves of the windmvs at Davis & Nyman have no blinds. So who needs video?
Today I
here early, too. Climbed out on this
fiat :"oof at 4:00 this
aftemoon-even
Nanna Lee's flot
'tH 5:30. Found to my chathat the sighdines up here aren't as
see
halfway into the first-floor conference room. Though I can see aU of Davis's
second-floor office-the likeliest location for after-homs love.
Even ~Norse, I found tons of
at Davis & Nyman. Some kind of
fm:ldraiser for Lane Davis's :mayoral campaign. Parking lot was
But
luckily, the
ended at 4:30. I counted
people
out. JV!ost afthe
cars in the Davis & Nyman parking lot were gone by 4:45.
From listening to my bugs, I know all eight Davis &
ernployees are
still inside. And from the firm brochure J pinched last night, I know
their
names. Plus the ages of the five with coHege
Two partners: Lane Davis,
fifty-eight; Sheila Nyman,
Two gssocigtes: George
two; Emily Harris, tvveni:y-seven. One
Naomi
Plus office managerllegali assistant Sue
legal assistant Janet fickel, and
rp{'p1i""j-W,T(l"'"C Debbie Smith. The brochure has pix of the four lav;/yers. And the
an
'''~'~A''M~'<' No
of the three staffers. But still, listing the staffers by name in
the brochure is very egalitarian. Classic Ann Arbor. Long live the Revolution.
At precisely
three women exit. Head for their cars. I check the brochure
pix. Not Sheila. Not
Not Naomi. So these must be the three staffers. I only
get a
From my rooftop
But one is quite the hot little minx"
High heels. Stockings. Killer short skirt. Tight little bu11. An absolutely wicked
pix. For the, urn, record. But
walk. More like a slow prance. I snap a few
Pli,d gone. In a flash. Like all my dreams,
then she's in her
At 5:15,
and
go home. Wholesome kids. Fresh out of law
schooL You know. Nerds. I w-aste no film on
p,nd Emily. l\Tow all we
need is to get rid of Sheila and Naomi. And then the coast will be clear. For
Nom1a Lee to come boogie with Lane Davis.
ll5
16
FIRST WEEK
But at 5:20 my dreams of a tabloid spectacle are dashed. Two cars arrive in
tandem in the Davis & Nyman parking lot. A Volvo and a Honda Civic. From
each a woman emerges. But neither is Norma Lee. Worse, the woman in the
Volvo is Lane Davis's wife. Camille Davis.
Now in Hollywood, group sex is not uncommon. But here in the heartland,
I doubt I'm going to catch Norma Lee doing the nasty with Lane Davis infront
of his wife. Not to mention the other woman who's just arrived. In the Honda
Civic. Raven LaGrow. A feminist law professor at the Michigan Law School.
Rush Limbaugh's favorite "Feminazi" target. Raven's very stern. No way
Raven LaGrow's here for swinging sex with the Davises and Norma Lee.
Clearly our normally reliable informant was misinformed about the true nature
of today's activities.
I consider packing up and going home. But I'm no quitter. After all, if
Norma Lee does show, I might still get some pix of her with Lane Davis. Then
we could crop out Raven and Camille. And Sheila and Naomi. And insinuate
that Norma Lee was getting cozy with a married pol.
Would we really stoop that low? You bet we would.
At 5:25, a taxi pulls up. Bingo. First the bodyguard. Looks like an ex-cop.
Asian. Think Odd Job, from Goldfinger. Sport coat bursting at the seams. From
the sheer pressure of his bulging biceps. Odd Job could plainly crush me like a
bug. I feel a sudden need to pee.
Nevertheless, I hang tough. It's show time. I get five great pix of Norma
Lee exiting the taxi. Really, no one looks good getting out of a car. It's especially awkward for a fifty-year-old woman in a skirt. I'm too high for one of those
is-she-wearing-panties shots that tabloid readers know and love. But those shots
work better with the younger celebs anyway. Norma Lee has a few too many
miles on her for that. Yet I'm in the perfect spot for an ample sample of Norma
Lee's tremendous cleavage. Which is deep. And long. Like the San Andreas
fault. From a spot just two inches south of her super-sternum notch, Norma's
cleavage runs-through mountains measureless to man-all the way down past
her sternum. If Norma even has a sternum.
So. Just ninety minutes on a hot tin roof (well, gravel, actually), and I've
got next week's cover. Without shelling out a small fortune to one of the independent photo agencies. Not bad. Not bad at all, for an aging has-been tabloid
hack broomed by the Enquirer. Ha! Fuck 'em.
But it gets better. Much better. From the trunk, the cabbie hands Odd Job
two suitcases. And hands Norma Lee an intriguing square box. The size of a hat
ENQUIRJ[NG MIN]])§:
But heavief. TOG
to be a hat box. l'~ onna e1Cadles~hat square box Uke
inside.
it's got the crovvn
Lane Davis comes outside.
a mmpled suit Athletic. Trim. Not
ba::J1~looking. For t1fty-eight.
he's
goofy,
John Lennon
beard. But Norma's
And a
had a thing for
guys
v;lith beards. Davis whisks Norma and Odd Job inside.
go to the first-floor conterence room. Where my
Unfortunately,
bOlL
line from the roof is poor. I can
aHows me to hear ""',,,"rCTn,,,
see half the room. Though at least my bug
I see the backs of Lane
Odd Job and Norma Lee. I hear introductions: for the other four
m the room. Davis's fijend, Professor Raven.
LaGrow. His
CamiHe Davis. His law
Sheila
And his paraNaomi 'NiHiams.
I VVOl1't have a
distinguishing Lane D:wis's voice from Odd Job's.
Odd Job even kno'll;;; hml ;/ to talk. 1 know Norn'1a Lee's syrupy voice aU too
well from TV. 'i}llho doesn't? And I k.now Raven LaGn),i,)If's
too. Raven
\;vas an expert witness at the Yankee
lrial I covered l\ast year in l\Jevv
10ork. But there's no way to ten if all unfamiliar voice is Camille Davis or Sheilil
Nyman or Naomi 1NiHian'ls.
AU seven people hover around the conference room table.
I gather,
that heavy, square box sits. Frmn all the breathless exciteIl1ent dovvn
you'd think
were about to unseal King Tnt's tomb. I can't
see the
box. But 1 can hear Davis
it
The opening of the box IS foHowed
an
heavy silence. Like
someone farted.
"You know vvhut it is?" Nanna Lee gushes. In that
voice she
uses on TV.
"I can guess," Raven LaGrow says, coldly. "From that bullet crease on the back"
"The most famous bullet crease in the history of the Movement!" Norma
enthuses:.
Norma," Raven counters.
poor
to bring this
"V/hy?" Norma sounds hurt. And flustered.
"Lane's
in the
" one of the unfamiliar women says.
"Because
feel he's too far to the left."
"For Lane to win this election," a second ~unfami1iar woman
"'we have
to play down his radical
But
like this only serves to .. remind
UUF,HAV'"
0
people of- "
17
"WeH,
only a
gift," Norma interrupts. She sOlJnds defensive.
"It's not like Lane has to stand 111' and tell the world about it at tomorroVl11110mlng's press conference."
And ifs .. , veri rnrl1HTf/l1HH Nomcm.
" Lane Davis says. "That's
ThaI11c you."
"1vlaybe one of you couM
in touch '1iI/:ith her?" Norma's voice is bubbly
again, "See if she 'N3lnts it back?"
stiU working. I can still
Silence. I fiddle with tny eaqJiece. But the
hear nmfIled sounds from the conference room.
breathing. Clothes
Only 110 one's '~LL'"H~5'
At last Raven LaGrow fJpeaks.
"No one here has any idea
where she is."
" a third unfamiliar woman chimes in
"That's
A munl1ur of general agreement sweeps the room-no one here kno\ii!s
where "she" is.
it here," l\Torma says brightly. ""I!vith all these
"WeB then you could
other wonderful mementos fr01'n the Movement" Norma waves at the "walls I
can't see. But from my B&E last
I YJlOW what's there. Photos oHv'l:alcohn
and M:artin. The Kerme:dys. Ralph Nader. AIld a
of okl
stickers:
imn12'QCn ·Nixon. Free
Give Peace A
"Because this " Norma continues gushing, "genuine
"It's a lot worse than
" Raven says. "It's-evidence."
"Evidence that might be used
you, Lane," warns the f1rst unfamiliar WOHmll.
"Damn right," the second unfamiliar woman says. "You should never di.splay it
Lane. People see it, they may think you know vvhere she is-or that
her."
you've been
Heavy silence. I shift a little. To get an angle on the thing they're discussing. No luck.
"How'd you get this
Raven asks. "I take it you're not in contact
with herT'
"Oh, n'O," Norma titters. "Heavens, no! My agent doesn't anow me to talk
Raven, are about as far out on a limb as I'm
to people like that anymore.
allowed to go these days!"
lawnmower
from Odd J'Ob. But no one else
This
a
is laughing.
"So how do you know it's
),;<dHU,aRv
ENQUIRING lVUND§
friends vvho found it assured Ine it's reaL lUld it does have that ballet
crease."
"And since it's ·','n1In"I_1'1 years old," Lane Davis says
"it's not 'evideuce' of anything. It's
So rn
it here in the office. With the
rest army collection. Thank you, Nanna."
NOfIna a
No easy feat-giv"i.ng NOIDla ,,t hug. You need
some
anns to get an the way aronnd Norma Lee. But Davis 111anages. In front of his
110 less. Since they're standing closest to the
I
three nice pix of the
hug.
·NO~7na." Davi.s speaks vilith
"So
cheeriness. As if
to lighten the mood. "Ten us where you
it!
who
found it-do I leno",,, them?"
"011 no," Norma Lee says OH'.~V.U'U
"My sources are"-she titters
again-" secret"
Davis turns serious. "Does
lal01fil you
this?"
"No," ]\I01Tl1a admits. "That's
could get a lmessage to her- "
"Vlfe can't" Davi.s cuts Norma off.
"Believe me. None of ES
has any idea vihere she is. But v/hat if l--ter parents hear about this
And
claim it's thei.rs?"
"They dismvned her
years ago," Norma says.
""'1l1h5:t about the little
the second unfamiliar woman asks.
I miss the answer. Fiddle with my earpiece again. But the
still working.
Lane Davis is
"Strange. You raise a kid. Send her offta coUege.
She fucks up.
time. But then
turl1 your back on her? Forever? That
doesn't seem
"But that's what happened," Raven says. "The FBI's been sitting on her
parents since 1969. And it hasn't
them any closer to finding her than the
she "lent underground."
"Where do you think she is now?" Davis asks.
"Probably dead," the fi.rst unfamiliar woman says.
"No, I don't thiIl..k so," Raven counters. "You'd have heard about it if she'd
pn,rnnnrl in death."
died. No reason for her to
"Timbukiu 'Nould be my guess," says the second unfamiliar woman.
"That's the o:nly place you can hide out from the FBI for thirty-five years."
"No," Raven says. "I think she's very close.
even here in
19
do you think that?" asks the third unfarniliar woman.
Raven's
is lost in static. I
my earpiece on the roof.
'Which fixes it. But
the time I get clear
the talk has moved
on to flJm jl,ibor politics. The!l
agree on 8 restaurant The
Dancer.
And all seven file out of the conference room.
At last I have a dea:: sightlil1e to the
in the middle of the table. But
I still can't tell what the hell it is. Figuring I'rn done here and r can reload in the
on my roll. Thinking later I can blovi'
car, 1[ quickly shoot aU the
the photos up. And
tell what the thing is.
The confere11ce room lights go out I flex my stiff
Pack my carnera in
its case. I'm
up from my prone
When suddenly the conference
room lights blaze on again.
IH""r1na I've been Spl[l'C[ieOi, I
back dmvn on my belly. A dumb reaction.
have left the
otT.
Because if someone had spotted me,
lilO
one's looking out the windovv.
Yet someone has come back into the confereli1ce room.
ters the door closing. Then footsteps. I11side the room. Sounds like
son. Too frur IlCOl11 the window to see who it is. I fumble with iny camera case.
l"~ real paparazzo 'would have a second camera, at the
A
back-lIpvl'hich never runs out of film. But not me.
This is v\lhat
when an editor tries to be a jack-of-aU-trades.
my camera back out, I
all eye on the room. The unknown
While I
person walks to the middle oHhe room. Lifm the artifact offthe table. And in a
the thing on his or her head. While at the same time
So I'm nOVif looking at his or her back.
I've got my camera out and focused now. The unlmown person is wearing a
to be Norma Lee. It's one of
dark skirt. Light blollse. And fiat shoes. Seems too
the other four women. Lane Davis's mend, Professor Raven LaGrow. His
Camille Davis. His law partner, Sheila Nyman. Or his paralegal, Naomi Williams.
I
to remem_ber what Raven and Camillel,vere wearing when they
out
of their cars. Seems like they both had on dark skirts. Light blouses. And flat
shoes. But I'm
sure one of' em was 'wearing a
too, And
the other one iJliOre an
jacket I think.
This womal1w'ho's returned to the conference room wears no
no
sweater. So chances are, she's Sheila or Naomi. Not Raven or Camille.
The thing she's put on her
I nOVif see, is a
helmet.
with a colorful design on the back. I push the camera button. Just in case I've
tan
lVlIINDS
got any mm left. No luck. ]'he
I shot all the fihn
seconds ago,
vvl1el1 I thought we Vi/ere done here. No time to reload. I'm not fast
So
I just study the woman-whoever she is-tl:J1"ough the telephoto lens.
She stands very stiff. And perfectly stilL Like she's in a trance. Or like she's
1V_J"'-'UJ", in a mirror. That's it! I saw a m.irror there last night 011 the back of the
conference reom door.
The vroman spreads her legs defiantly apart Eif'&l ~o'wer
Bows her head
slightly. No hair is visible COtrllng out the back of the hehnet Then she balls her left
hand in~o a fist. Pmd punches her fist high above her head. The old black power
radical ones, The
salute. A salute some white radicals used, too.
members of fhe 'Vve2lther UndergTODmai.
A middle-aged 'white woman. Striking the classic
stance, The
exact pose I saw on dozens of l\Veathenman '·""~'"',..t','f'" posters. Plastered on
back when I 'Nas a kid.
The War Back Home.
kiosks aU
End Racism.
The Draft, Etcetera.,
I'm 110~ sure why I remellIlLber those Vveathennan
thirteen in 1969. And it's not like I ever vVHG''-','''vU
ance of those militants was very
Legs
spread, fist raised.
seemed so free. From all the social bUlUshit confining
the rest of us. And their slightly bowed heads made me fed
found peace.
In their fierce commitment to a cause. Peace I
even at
would
ahN2lYs elude a self-conscious,
little ironist like me.
my
lens this middle-aged vvoman strike the
So seeing
same revolutionary pose, thirty-five years
rivets me. She holds the pose.
For what seems an etemity. There's something almost eerie about the way she
holds the 'Neatherman pose. Like she was born to hold this pose. Like this pose
is her whole
Then from outside the conference room I hear a noise. She hears it, too.
Abruptly she steps toward the door, at the same time ripping the helmet off her
head. She's too far into the room now for me to see her head, Her veiny, middle-aged hand sets the helmet back on the table.
"Time to go," I hear Lane Davis say in. my earpiece. I can't see him, But it
sounds like he's
his head in the conference room aoor.
The wmmm does not reply. So I still have no clue if this H".U'","'¥-""",,"U radior Naomi VviHiams. Or even conceivably Raven
cal poser is Sheila
LaGrow or Camille Davis. But whoever she is, she leaves. Because again the
conference room
go off. Thi.s time for
21
22
lFJiRST 'VEEK
I race d.ownstairs, Fasr.
as I take the stairs t'NO at a time, 1:0 make
sense of 'Nhat I've
see-i}, Hut I
can't run and think at the same time.
At least, that's 'i.vhat my high school basketball coach
used to say. And
I'm aft-aid. he was
The house next door to Davis &
parking lot has a nice taU
I hide behind the hedge as
seven ofthem
out No suitcases in hm1d.
Raven LaGrovv is
the aviator jacket I remembered. i\nd Camille
also has on
Davis has 011 the cardigan sweater r saw before. But Sheila
a sweater. Al1d N-aomi "Nilliams wears a 811av;l1 Vifhich means, the vvoman v\1ho
an
struck the 'WicathefllTlen pose must have
ierel1ce room, So I guess
all four equally
I can see -wr18t's under theif various wraps.
they're all we1lr~
light bloulses. And dade skirts 'TIlth Hat shoes. So it could be aay one of the
four who just struck [hat 'Weatherman pose.
Raven LaGrovif. Or Carnine Davis, Or Sheila
Or l\~aomi\}lmiams.
They're aU four about the same height, too: 5'5",
or take an inch.
Lee is 3h01ieL Ivfore like 5'2".) And though
aU have different hair
all 'Near their hair short
that it ,NCllldn't be visible out the
But nOe
enough for me t(J say "that's
her." Or even to eliminate one. None IS really
none IS
skinny.
to indicate which one was just wearing that
Studying their
helmet and
Short black hair.
cheekRaven LaGrow is the most
bones. Big sexy
Flashy makeup, Minimal wrinldes. Nice boobs, too.
Raven's
hot-for a ;fifty-four-year-old.
too, Short blonde hair. More wrinkles than
Camille Davis is a
And not as stacked. But Carnine wears a raspberry beret
Raven. Less
at a rakish angle.
sexy. Camille's face is a little strange, though. Her eyes
seem asymmetrical. Pl:?cstic surgerj? Doubtful. That's just me. Hang around
celebrities long enough, you stmi
everyone s had work.
Sheila Nyman is plain. Short brown hair. No makeup. Not much chest
surgery for Sheila, too? C'mon! This is
Large features. Weird nose.
the Midwest. I
get a
Plainer still is Naorn.i 'NiHiams. Shmi gray hair,
tired eyes. Tons of
wTinJdes. Hunched shoulders. Naomi is the dEssic \valHlovver, Blank and 11011asked to the dance,
descript The girl who never
MUNDS
into Camille's Volvo :and Raven's Honda Civic. I tail
DlIncer. En route I reload my camera. But I
rental U>o.'o..n'HFo" to the
don't
I'm only tailing them to be sure 110 one else is on this
In the
our exclusives. Like jealous husbands
their'l,Vives.
Luckily, I see no
of my fellmTv
outside the
Dancer.
'lVe all parle
walk to the restaurant
A.s
I
Black-haired Raven LaGrow has a powerwalic Fast PurposefuL Her
whole ama says, to any male vifho might be yvatching, "1 ~110W I look
but
don't even think about it, fUZZl1utfL"
By
blonde-haired Camille Davis,
beside
The r"V'li"l,f"""'J beret
Carnine a jaunty air. And she isn't batHing
the 'world like Raven.
Sheila Nyman and Naomi ';Vmiams 'walk H10re
Sheila's shoulders slml1p. Like she's ,',,'''7''\,''1''lU very
burdens. Her walk is
IJVH'U"",U~'''. Pmd sl,bduecL But
SheHa seems downright
with hunched Naomi 'Williams.
Naomi looks down at the sidewalk the ~whole time. Picks her
Like she's a:6raid she'll
on an ant.
aH safely ensconced inside the
I drive back to
Make sure the
aren't watching. PuB on rny latex
gun, again. Normally I'd retrieve my surveillance
Use my
devices. But I'm intrigued by that litHe
1 saw with the helmet and
the power salute. So I leave the bugs and
K rime tIHVU~H Norma Lee's suitcases. Debate stealing her 36-FF bra. What
a trophy that would be! But she's only packed one. She'd miss it. Can't risk
alerting them toO my :intrusion.
In the conference room, I don'r touch the ''n",,,j~rw,~',,,' helmet on the table,
it. It's an
Just
it. And
helmet Vvith a very wide
chin strap, i'Lnd it has the bullet crease on the back they were talking about.
Same spot 011 the skull where JFK was shot Old cracks Hne the helmet's surface.
out from the bullet crease. Like a spider's web. The cracking
adds extra electricity to the design on the helmet. A jagged red lightning
running across a bright
rainbOlTV'. The Weathem1an insignia.
As I said betore, I grew up in Ann Arbor,
by the way, is the real
reason I came up here
of our Hne
My thirtieth high school rellllion is this
13
about to miss this chance to come back home on the company
In the
I used to hang out 011 the
of
campus. 1Nith my "M"","~~"',",',
per pals, YVe' d sit on OulL
bikes. Vi/ith our handlebars turned badnvards.
To show how cool we were. VW,"H>H6 the Vietmnn protests. The South U riots.
The Hash Bash. The teach~ins. The love-ins. AU the radical action.
I was thirteen ~when Rachel Clark and her 'Weathermen
tried to
blow up the Lal)\[ School. '\Nhen they kiHed that cop. The FBI's
47 'lvas
for Rachel Clark. 1\1a11, they even ronsted my
that fall.
high
every kid with long hair.Vle knew
'Nere graspat s[ra'ws. Rachel Clark was from Centreville. Not Ann Arbor. But the: hunt
for her was all the buzz in the fan of' 69. Especially with that big reward money.
""He weren't specifically
for or against Rachel Clark. VVe were: just
fascinated
the
of it aIL Like watching a car vvreck i'JJ1d vvhen
47 couldn't catch her, Rachel Clark became
legend. The Fugitive
Itadical. Hiding deep
On the lam forever-for deeds so dark we
could.
man. And she
away vvith it.
l shoot more pix of lRachel Clark's
helmet It's more than just
the echoes
childhood that dnl'w me to it. There's a
in that helmet. I
it.
How about: "NOI!'!fIlU.f Lee's Jllfystelriou:s; Links To The l?adical
U lndep'gl'a curd. "
J\Taw, that's not it.
it's vlerrd as hen that someone as ditzy as Nmma
Lee has
Rachel Clark's helmet as a gift. To a
no less. But the
here isn't Norma Lee. It's in the Weathemlan pose that other woman
struck. That s what's
rne.
Staring at Rachel Clark's helmet, I realize the chin strap is awful emnD,rex.
In were to put that helmet on, right now, I'd have to fumble around awhHe to
get it on right. Yet she picked that helmet lip and put it on in one feB swoop. A
single, effortless motion. Like she'd worn the thing before. Seemed like it fit her
perfect, too. Like Cinderella's slipper. And then she stmek that old Weathennan
pose. Like that pose was
she ever lived for.
Let's be reaL Bob Woodward I am not. There's no danger the Pulitzer
Committee will can for me in this lifetime. I know my limits. I'm a tabloid
hack. And my nose for news ain't what it used to be. Not after so mal1Y years
of
senseless stories about celebrity cleavage.
But this old dog can still hunt A little. And my nevvsman's nose tells me
be a great story. Not a tabloid
A real story. If one of those four
this
an
ENQUUliNG lVHNDS
'lvOmel1 turned out to be, in
Rachel Clark.
25
here in Ann Axbor.
Right under
It's a
noses!
shot, I knovi!. But 'If/hat the helL ][ gotta find out.
hands careJl:i1Hy along the
so as not to disturb any
fingerprints, I
up the helmet. And walk out the back door of Davis &
Helmet in hand.
Law school is HU',HMJU',Y a nU"QP_""<1r program. Took me eight. I kept dropping
out
Da.cKp")~lGng
in Europe. Bartending 1n Boston.
novels even less pron:;ading now. Then one dark
in March 1986,
as
r turned
shock Sorne killjoy in the dean's office had c1iscovI got a
eredI'd
accunmlated the
credits to graduate. I pleaded fur
a second chance. Pointed out it was an accident. ,-,,-,,/',/',,,-,u them not to give me a
degree. But tney V\TeTe detennil1ed to force me to gro"W up. Heartless bastards.
I
the B@f. 'l//orked five years as a federal prosecutor. Then I
disbarred. FOf failing to produce exculpatory evidence that would have
It vvasrr't fair.
I was 2, scapegoat. And it was
cop I was
poEticaL But it's at long story, And 'Nho cares anymore,
It's aU ancient
The point
took away my license. They said I could reapply ill
three Vt:;clfS--D I had a family to feed. So I decided to give J"""'H~"H"nH a
The
an
Nevv York Times V\T3Sn't hiring disbarred
at the time. So J[ landed at the
my family and friends aU feel I'n1 a chronic tmderachiever. Even
my dog feels I could do better. But I'm not apologizing. I make better money than
most
And I have way more fun than any of 'em. If you think I'm a
you're entitled to your
But you can bite me, too.
While at the Department of Justice, I leamed how to conduct an investigation. Skills that came in handy, when I rose above mere lavvyering to become a
lofty tabloid hack.
Rule #1 at the DOJ: Make the FBI run every conceivable lab test.
Of course, we don't have a lab at The National
But next to hotel
concierges, cops are the best tipsters we tabloids have.
tip us off-and we
tip cops back
green
And as a fon'ner
K knovi lots of cops. So when I need a lab test,
I just call a cop. In Ann Arbor, it's easy. I call Cliff Bryant. }\illll Arbor Police
MyoId high schoo~ basketball teammate.
late. Kdon't ten Cliff it's Rachel Clark's old helCliff's
met. Don't ten Cliff how I got it Or where I got it I just ask if Cliff can have it
26
F'lRS'f WEEK
dusted for hn'GPrn'I·"'lh, i'Llld checked for
hairs.
sure, 110 problen1.
I ten him I can't leave it with him. Gotta get it b3:ck ASAP. Cliff says sure, no
can't run the cmnputer check 'til morning. But
tonight. Collect any stray hairs. And let me take it
muse have
at least for Lane
::mel Odd Job. The Davis & Nyman brochure says Davis is
Davis, Norma
an
like me. Nonnawas arrested at 1970s
And Odd Job
looks like a former badge. So all their prints should be on fik Which vITiH help
eliminate any extraneou.s prints. And help Ai\PD l1armvv in on the prints of the
woman who str:lcI( thati,Neathennan pose. To see if she's
Rachel Clark.
Cliff to check. And ifthey find any
Vi/hat the hell. Won't cost much to
I'll leno"v for sure 'vvhich one it ""vas. Since my fom Qn"1I"l<~"11'Q aU have different color hair.
At the i"um P,rbor Police Department, the techie processes the helmet
V/hile I endure Cliff teHing {'NO young cops about SOl'l1e of my leTIore igl1omil1~
ious mome.nts
school basketbaliL Like the ltime I got confclsed after
a time-out Picked up a loose ball, Dribbled the vllJ:ong way. Pmci scored a basket-for the other team. "Wrong
Fisher" they caned me: after that one,
in. eady iouli trouble, 1'111
out
And. then there was the time Cliff
at the end of the bel1ch. Checking out the babes in the stands.
coach
RanIes
"Fisher! Get in there!" I leap up. Like a drunk shot out of a cannon. Yan.k
v'mrm-ups. Report to the scorer's table. The scorer, a local wit,
stares at my chest. "You gonna be number zero today, Davey?" I look d.own,
Find I've yanked off my
along with my 'warm-ups. With the whole
school watching. And hooting. Bare-chested I scramble back down the bench.
Peel my uniform out trom inside my wann-up. Fumble to get i.t back 011 my
torso. lVol my finest mOll1.ent.
Cliff has a
at my expense,
"'Wrong
Fisher" and
"Number Zero." Ancient stories I've only heard about eight thousand times. But
I am. Finally slip Cliff a few Benjamins.
I smile along. Like the
~Nhen the other cops aren't ~V'-".'.UM'
The techie repo:rts she found no stray hairs inside the helmet. But she did
lift several fresh fingerprints.
he'll call me right away if the computer matches any of thenl.
Next
Davis & Nyman. Make sure the neighbors aren't watching. pun
on my gloves. Use my pick gun. Put the helmet back on the table, Al1d get the
hell out .of there.
ENQUIRING MINDS
It's only 8:00 p.m.-too early to go back to my hotel. And I'm way too
excited about my theory that one of those four women might really be Rachel
Clark. In my head I know it's a long shot. But in my heart it's the kind of story
I've always longed to find.
I dig a Power Bar out of my pocket. Gnaw on it while driving down Fifth
Avenue. And try to convince myself something good might really happen here,
by reviewing my "case" against the unknown woman who struck the
Weatherman pose in Rachel Clark's helmet.
First, the helmet fit her perfectly. Second, she put it on faster than I could
get my camera out of its case. Like she'd done it before. Third, she sure knew
the Weatherman pose. And last, there's Raven LaGrow's tantalizing comment,
just before my listening device crapped out on me: "J think she So very close.
Maybe even here in Michigan."
Why did Raven say that? What if Raven's right? What if one of these lefty
pinkos in Davis & Nyman's conference room really is Rachel Clark? What if
some of the others are helping Rachel Clark hide out? They seemed awful quick
to deny that they could get a message to her. And yet awful worried that her helmet might be used as "evidence" against them.
What a great story this would be. For any paper-but especially for my
fledgling tabloid, The National Spy. Biggest tabloid story since the Enquirer
outed Gary Hart with Donna Rice. I can almost see the headline. ''National Spy
Catches The Fugitive Radical! Secret Ann Arbor Cabal Harbors Rachel
Clark For 35 Thars. But No One Hides From The National Spy!" Man, a
story like that could really put us on the map. Put me on the map, too. Finally.
You think I'm a dreamer? Remember Kathy Boudin? The most famous radical terrorist, except for Patty Hearst? Kathy Boudin was on the lam the entire
1970s, after the Weathermen blew up that Greenwich Village house. For ten
years Squad 47 staked out Kathy's parents. Yet Kathy and her parents got
together all the time. How? Friends ferried messages to and fro. Arranged for
safe places to meet. Really that's the only way Rachel Clark could possibly have
eluded the FBI for thirty-five years. With a little help from her friends.
Anyway, call me crazy. Call me a dreamer. I don't care. We underachievers
cling to our dreams. Now I've convinced myself Rachel Clark is alive and well.
And right here in Ann Arbor. I've convinced myself she's one of that small cabal
oflefty pinkos gathered in Lane Davis's office. And since I can't just go to bed, I
go to the Ann Arbor Public Library. Read everything I can fmd about Rachel
Clark, both online and in hard copy. Mostly old news articles from the fall of' 69.
27
The artides recount the attempted
Speculate about the
bombers' plan" And raise a question I !lever heard before.
Can it Question #1: 'iNere the bombers reaHy
to I1>lUrder Pembroke
\Vatkins in his office?
I can't ten you how bizarre itt is to see Pembroke 'lvatkins's narne comlected
\)vith Rachel Clark. I "vas only thirteen back the,}. At the time his name meant nothto me. So I never registered it was V,/g;tkillS'S office
attacked"
the time
I got to Michigan LayV' School, Rachel Clark vms
gone. No one talked about
her anymore" But 'Watkins was stin there. Older than dili" Yet stiH
The
the "Socratic; IVlethod." The tedious ritual 'where the law
ne'ver anS-'~iVers a stu(~enfs cmleSlJC1!n---/E;xc:erl'il'
anal,her question.
And it didn't fiflatter hcnlf marry times I dropped out I
drawing
Watkins. For Civil Procedure. Cont1icts. Class Adl0l1S" One
in my fifth or
sixth year of law
'Na-tkins caned on me. He 'wanted to play Socratic t01"ture games. But I 'wasn't in tlbe ulLOod. So vvi1en he
"1''I1r. Fisher?" I
out my 'wallet Held it close to my mouth. Like 2l Star Trek 'Nalkie-t:dkie. And
"Beam me 1.1jJ, Scottie." The dass vvas deeply amnse.:l '<Natkins was not.
][ fmc! a vveH-reaf::oned ari1de from 1969. Psguing tihL[l:r the bombers
been
to mUTder \7\fatlili'1s. Because you couldn't
a window to land right in Vhftkins's lap" And if the borribs 'Nere
to lfu"'ld anyvvhere
he'd have tirHe to escape out his office door-long before the
fire got hinL But persuasive though this article is, it
lost in a tidal Vi1ave of other
articles lambasting the Weafhemwn for betraying the Peace
by resortmg
to violence. In the end, most wri.ters corwlude,
that the radical bombers
were indeed
both to bum dovin the Law School and to murder Watkins.
The 1969 articles raise tv;ro other questions I never heard before:
Question #2: Since twenrj witnesses saw Rachel Clark first go into the Law
School five minutes
lPau1 Zimmemlall and Al Brown started throwing
bricks at Vllatkins's
what the heck did she do while she was inside the
Law School?
Question #3: Since the cops were only fifteen seconds behind
and had
the Law School exits sealed within
seconds of her second
how the
heck did Rachel Clark
I read a lOt of 1969 articles. But find no answers to any of these questions.
The old nelNS articles do have some human interest stutI-which we tabloid
hacks love. There's a candid of Rachel Clark fl:om her high school ye8xbook.
Quite the littIe hottie"
sexyo Big, v/Ud-child eyes. Huge boobs. Short skirt
ISNQUliruNG l'.:I[INDS
wet dream! Rachel Clark also looks very hnt in her Days of Rage
mug shot
I razor-blade bothlhese pix out aHhe news articles in
the
archives. Put the pix in my briefcase. FOf, um, i'hture use.
There's also a human il1terest intelyie'l,\! vvith Rachel's
in
Centreville.
and Ruth Clark.
rough stuff. Ray and Ruth pledge full
cooperatio11 with the FBI. Disown their daughter Rachel, And hope the FBI
love 11'0111 the nCIT'P'11"'''''
catches her soon.
But after
fhe articles about Rachel Clark
else in our sound~bite
she becomes old news in about~hree months.
Fades to biack. Like all ofhistmy.
As I drive to my
the Campus 1m'.,
the fact that Sheila ]\Jyman
a:.nd l'{aomi ·WiUiams are both
Just like Rachel Clark. But how old are
Ravel1 LaGrow and Carnine Davis?
At the '~<'HIIJCi\" Inn, I requisition three small Scotches fl."om rny
Then
I
REi.'ven. find her lVIichigan Law bio. Born 1950. Same as Rachel Clark.
Next I Google CamiHe.
So I pay ten bucks vvith fay credit card to an
on-line
site.
got her. Camille Davis, fonnerliy Camille
AIlnArbor. Born 1950. Same as an the others.
I'm tired. IVIy three Scotches are gone. The whole idea of Rachd Clark hidin Arm
as one of four fifty-four-year-old
is
be;glrmll1g to fed surreaL And kinda stupid. But before collapsing 011 my
I remem.ber to phone home. For once in DIy life.
~'t
"I
you're not """'J<:n,,_,
**
up there in Ann Arbor," Elaine teases over
the
"Sweetie!" I protest vvith mock
"How could you even think
such a th.ing?"
I remember you and Ban), used to get
·wild on the road. In the
old days."
"Exactly!" I counter. "The old
iH the DOJ. Before
and I both
got married. Now
not even here anymore. And we're both way too old
to misbehave."
"Good," Elaine says.
"But I'n have to cut this can short
and Frieda are coming up in five
and Frieda?" Elaine echoes.
29
"HH"C,U~".
You'd like them.
mce
Vlhat are the odds? Said they could help rue 'stretch my back' Just the
'Nork"
"Oh?" Elaine Immvs I'm
but
along. "Andwhal do 'Inga and
Frieda' look like?"
"Don't vvorry. Not my
at alL Huge boobs. Short skirts. I hate even
loakin ' at 'eD1."
"Oh, sure," Elaine says, "Not your
Not at alL"
'We both laugh.
011 this
is easy. Elaine herself has
And
she k110VvS no reason to doubt my
in eighteen years of marriage, I've
'\Nith iVi!efJ.ly-four~year~old receptiononly
mA)"'-""1U";,, j[ couldn't resist Each ofthese "flings" vras over
gathered, as Stevie Forbert put it, '1 ain't no
saint and I don
admit [wo
hours of nnsconduct in an el~(nl:!c;erFvear
really ain't all that bad.
Elaine never discovered either ofthese two one-hom fIings. And she has heard
about me tuming down
overtures nun beautiful women elsewhere. So
I t1llst myself Not because I'm IVII". Moml. Far iTom it. As
Elaine 1.1118t8 me.
you already knmv, I'm a disbarred
lind OJ tot;:J scoffiaw \;vhen it comes to
i.nvasion of privacy, B&E and theft I'm also a scofflalN when it comes to marital
vows. Thirteen years in the t8:bloid biz vlOuld convince anyone you might as wen
cheat on YOUI" spouse 'w"henever you can. Because everyone else seems to.
So why do I trust ll1Y8elf? Because having OJ real affair would require so
much more energy and commitment than I would ever want to give it.
that whole secret
kind of thing, It would tire me out Like
Rachel
on the lam,
r d probably end up
flowers for the rnistress to Elaine, Or vice-versa. Something dmnb like that
Plus, I love Elaine. In a middk-aged way. And Elaine's a terrific person. We
kids, too. Whom I would never
have so much shared history. 'Ne have two
want to disappoint. Even at forty-eight, Elaine still looks great. And-if
pardon my French-Elaine's still a great
So
would I ever want to start
replete ',Nith all the
and cheating that comes with that tera messy
ritmy? I get an the
and
I need at work. Each and every
"Before YOlll go frolic vl/ith Inga and Frieda," Elaine says, "Sara has a home~
work question,"
Our 0,",oc".,.r
011 the phone. Sara. A live
if ever there was
one. Sara's the one 'who had the state tennis finals that
me fired from the
f",I1'01)'IV?'r' last year.
VU,",UCHHF,
ENQUIJRI1'\JG MINDS
"Hey, Dad," Sara sayEL
"I
"I need your
"'iJilJDLat ",nightmare for YO'LL"
"You're not kidding. Feel my
Dad."
''I'm trying, S2X3. BGt
have these
little bottles in the refrigerator
here in my
Just silting there. Three of these, a11dl it's hard to feel any pain."
"Don't teE me you've been
again, Dadl" Sara was born a hundred
years too late. She vToulid have been an OUISl'ar,!a!nf! member of the
lVlovement
"Am 1 allovifed to lie?"
"Not to me,
" Sam scolds. "Dad? Have you been drinldng?"
"No comment?" I venture.
"rn1 ;:)",'V'-'lOc\A", Dad. Shocked!"
"Me,
" I confide.
do you stm need my
Or can I go pass out
with the other winos here in this hotel?"
"I'm not happy with you, Dad." Sara doesn't like to let me off easy.
"I know." I try to sound contrite.
"But I do need your help," Sara admits. "Even if you are drunk as usual.
Kes for school."
"'What class?"
"LaYv. You used to be a
Dad. Remember?"
"Don't mb it in. You sound like your grandmother."
"VVhich one?"
"Exactly, you litdewise-ass. What's your question?"
The Law," Sara says.
"I need an example of how someone's state
A second passes by. If that.
"Dad?" Sara continues. "Dad? Are you still there? HeB-Io? Dad?"
"I'm thinking."
" Sara presses. "This is due tomorrow. I've got to get
"I don't have all
to bed."
"You mean, you've
to go watch Real World." Even when drinking, I'm
not stupid. Claims that Sara is going to bed anytime before HUUH'!S'.H
me. "Okay, you little TV addict, I've
one. My
"was a
public defender. In DC. The nation's capitol."
"J know what 'DC'
" Sara says dryly.
"Carol's client was a nice little old lady charged with third-time possession
of heroin. Not a dealer. l\T ot a lot of heroin. But in DC back
it was three
3Jl
32
Fl':!R§T 'j7!/EEK
ThinJ( about
strikes and
'cmt She was
years In
Sara. "fhafs longer than
"I k110'0:1 hOVJ long
years
Dad."
Actually, I'm pretty sure no kid has any idea how
years is. But
I let
"So
Carol
a mental
" I say. "A state
defi;mse.
personality.' Basically, it fneant the nice Rittle old
so little SellHf')st:eem, so little sense ofhersdf-such all
that she should11't be held re:~p{)n;slt)le
buHshit to a hardened litHe cynic like you, Sa:{;1-"
Based on the
personthere:in the coulimflde:quate personalhy. Here
the next twenty years of her
the little oId
says to her
room, the little old
she is.
found out she vviJI not have to
.And 'iNhat do you think is the first
life in
Carol Jones?"
"'I'm so
YOUo'" Sara beats rue to my OY;'11 punch lilleo
did have no sense ofher own self"
I'm astounded. "You've heard this before?"
my usual keen grasp
of the obvious.
"I've heard them all
" Sara says. "Don't you ever
any new
stories?"
Best sentence ever9vTitten by a journalist? Some: droll bloke in the London
Dame Bm:bara Courdand, aU doned. up for the 1981
of Lady Di and Prince Charlie: "Her eyes, twin l11liracles
looked like
tvw black crows that had dashed themselves to death on the v\1hite cliffs of
Dover." Great stuff If only 1 could vvrite Eke that.
The line comes to mind at the Lane Davis breaktast press conference, which
turns out to be
here at the Campus Inn. Norma Lee's eyes
like two
black crovvs. Dashed to death on the white cliffS of Dover. But her chest looks
g[eatViJith each breathless remark it heaves like Mount Vesuvius ..And she foHovvs
~qow she doesn't want to
a nice little script. How she's ki'1own Lane
be a distraction. How she YellOWS Lane's is a campaign of ideas, Of substance. Acl1d
(big dramatic pause here, while I'Torma bats her twin miracles
a campaign of truth So Nonna just Twants to lend her
.And blah-blah-blah.
The good news I see no evidence of any tabloid rivals. We have them totally scooped on this nice little
about Norma Lee dropping in on Am'1 j-\rbor to
help out her old radical pal, Lane Davis. The dailies are here, of course. The mainstream press. They'n beat us easily, because we tabloids are all weddy, Vve aU go
to press on Monday (aU slavishly printing the same day as the
which
is still five
away. But
beat
fhe dailies doesn't matter. The dailies
don't cover celebs like we do. We'll show our readers a side of Norma Lee's visit
to Alil )Jbor they'll never see in the dailies.
For one thing, I have those
cleavage pix ofNonna getting out of her
taxi. And the
shots of Davis hugging her.
110 one else knows about
Rachel Clark's WeathelTnan helmet. I'm stiH not sure exactly 'Nhere that goes.
But it's .....'-'.HUH'b'.')' a
And better still~it's exclusive.
myelbovv.
Someone
"David?" It's Cliff Bryant, looking very tense.
].01,
FIRST WEEK
"Hey, Clift~" I tum to greet him. "How you nom'? li,ny luck vvith my helmetT
"Yeah." But CHff G'oesn't sound
DoeSll '[ look
either. CliJT is
normally a cheeriul fellow-fbI a cop. 'We used to caB Cliff "IVIeathead" in high
school, Not a compliment Even in his
Cliff's face looked Eke a slice of
uncooked meatloaf. So ClifIhas
cOInpensated for his
By being
ever want to meet. Bllt
cmT looks hard
about the nicest guy
and llnforgiving-theway most cops look all the time.
As I tum fmther
1 see that Cliff is not alone. Al,no~her plaindothes
its with hilll'l. Uglier than CHff Tenser, too, Even harder and more
" Cliff SRYS, "tilis is Detective
Hunter,"
Hunter does not exteud his hancL I-Ie':;; a S\':;~!P:(-lUOKllng
like an old
Loose skirL Big
Paunchy,With srnan, r~ani eyes, The eyes of an
assassin ..fA dyspeptic assassin.
"\Ne need to
" Hunter
i\bruptly Hunter
and vJalks out of the press conference. Cliff gestures
first" with his ann, and we Io11oVII Hunter out the door. Hunter steers us
into a small room off the Imain
at the
Inn.
Hunter
closes the door. I feel (ils:twl.ctl like a detainee.
"Don't you ever ansvlfer your phoue?''' Hunter barks.
I
for having disconnected it when I went to sleep, per my usual
practice.
"Don't you ever check your IHI;:;"~":t",;",,,, Cliff chimes :in.
I
tor
l.ate
my usual practice), and then having
gone
to the press conference dovvnstairs.
"Where'd you
that helmet?" Hunter demands.
I'm not sure 'J'lhere this is going, so I shake my head. "That's
"Like hell it i.s," Hunter
"It's evidence, In a murder investigation."
hoss!" I say. "~VVho
murdered'?"
"Hold on
" Hunter says. "Now for the last time--where 'd you
"Afy
that
, helmet?"
His brother? Murdered? This is bad. But I can't tell a cop, whom I don't
know, that I broke into the lavr offices of a
candidate. Just to take a
motorcycle helmet for a
ride.
"VVh08e fingerprints did you find. en that heh11et?" r ask, going on the offensive.
" Cliff anS'Ners. He pauses to raise his
ShH! No wonder the cops are on the muscle! Even
I convinced my
IV!ONJ[(EY BUSINESS
heart last
that the woman
the pose might be Rachd
my
head never believed it. I figured this was just another in a long line of foolish
fantasies that have distracted me over the years,
"Your broth.er '\Ivas- " I start to ask.
officer Rachel Clark and her
murdered. "
Hunter pronounces each syHablie very
death sentence. "By the
Law School.
years I've been
that bitch. And now you shovV'
up,
1:1 helmet. Bullet crease fWIrl my gun. And Rachel Clark's
on it. Vlhen evef'jcne
she was in Timbuktu."
Ii seems odd for Hunter to say Ti:rnbuktu. Because someone else saw
Timbuki:u-just laslllight, vvhen Hunter wasn't there. But I can't ask a cop ifhe
the sall1e room 1: did.
"Probably old
" I say, trying to buy SOlne time.
" Hunter says. "Rachel Clark's fingerprInts on the hehnet are fresh."
"Davis's
are fresh,
" Cliff adds. "Vi/e're here to arrest hiT!l, David."
"An-est Lane Davis? For 'what'?"
"pjding and abetting a fhgitive," Hunter replies.
j-\~rrest a mayoral candidate? Thxee weeks before Electiml
This is way
for me. I can see I'll end up
to tell them where I
that heltoo
met. But not 'tiel I talk to my boss, Graham
publtisher of The National
And maybe talk to a
too.
"So where'd you get that
Dave?" Cliff slaps me on the back. My
old teammate,
I shake my head a third time. "No 'way.
privilege, feHas."
privilege?" Hunter explodes. "'You're sitting on material evidence.
In a murder
Vlhat the hell kind of bullshit is c"p'"",",,,,,,.
"The First AmendlIlent to the United States
" r say, very
pompously, "gives jonmaJists the right to shield our sources. 'Ne cannot be compened to identify our sources."
I omit to inform Hunter that the shield laws based on the reporter's privilege aU carve out an
for criminal
1 aliso don't mention
that the reporter's privilege doesn't even
because my only "source"
is myself. But I see no reason to give these gumshoes that much detaiL Let ' em
go to law school, if they want. At night
"AcrJally, Dave,"
·wrong. I know you went to law school
and aU. But the I/Hchigan shield law for
has an
For
felonies. Murder is a felony."
U'-'UU'Wh,
'0
35
I hate it when cops go out and attend seminars and leam stuff.
"The
exceptions never stand up in
" I lie, to buy time. "A
the Ul1:ited States Constitution." Pembroke
mere Michigan statute cal1't
of Ine for that one. It sounds so
Even
Vvatkim: vlOuld have been so
CHlYU;o;U. in this case, it's dead wrong. Because the Constitution has exceptions,
one for lTI1.mier
Hunter looks ready to burst. Apparently arcane
does not
to do this the easy way.
float his bOilt "Look," Hunter says, "we 'Nere
Since you're Cliff's old
" Cliff cZlilnes in,
me the whole Meathead hang-dog
hirn dovvn em this.
look again. Like he can't believe his old teammate is
~/Iakifllg hirn look bad.
"But if you v.ron'!: cooperate," I-Ilmter
you. Then
you can eitIhier talik to~he
or you can go to jaiL There's no third
"Then rn go to jail, But rn never
up lIlly source."
the 'vllay, is buHshit. l\To Yifay wcmld I go to jail. (At lieast, not over
I may
busted for B&K Or
surveiHance.
the bluff out. Remember that Humphrey
But to buy
riff at the end of The 1lJa/tese Falcon? "About how a detective can't standi
killed? Because it's bad for business, Bad for detecthe riff for reporters.
tives
up his source, he's outta work.
"See, :feHas, it's like this. If a reporter
'Won't no one talk to him no more. Everyone will think he's
a tool for the
cops. A snitch. That's bad for business. Bad for reporters ever)"vvhere. The
whole idea of a free press goes out the v{indow. And if you don't have at free
anymore. Fellas."
press, you don't have a free
to gauge the
I'm
on these hard-ass cops. But they wear
I
poker faces.
"Would I like to
you feHas out?" I continue. "Of course. But don't you
see? I can 'to"
" Hunter snarls.
"Let's arrest this asshole now,
"On what
I demand.
"""",,",,,aU'UH." Hunter turns to Cliff, as if
"Materirtl witness in a murder
rIB invisible. "Don't let him out of your sight 'til I come back viith a
jUly "',,,'U'-"J,"<U.
Greg," I admonish. "Not smali at all."
"Not
MONl(EY BlUSINESS
asshole?" Hunter turns back to me.
"Because newspapers fight grand jury subpoenas
"Material vlitness
too.
fight in
I meet Hunter's hard, ugly stare. To show him I mean. busi~
want
do
ness. "Think about it," I continue. "Right now, no one knows you have Rachel
Clark's
Or have you already blabbed it all over town?"
"Right nov;! the three of us are the only ones who YillOW," Hunter says in a
tone.
with the officer who ran the computer fingerprint search.
"Who won't ten a souL Not unless! ten her to." Hunter anticipates my asking
how he can be so sure. "She's n::y girlfriend."
"Good. So then Rachel CLark has no reason to nm. But
me with a
be: on the seven o'clock nevIs. There's no
and this
the
media likes better than a 11e\iVSman heroically going to
to
a source.
And after
hmv
do you think she'll
in town?"
"Rachel Clark's hereT' Hunter demands. "In Ann Arbor?"
"I don't Imow." 1 open my hands. Palms up, The universal
of innocenee. Even though I'rn not innocent at an. Since I
let that remark about
Rachel Clark
'in tovm' slip out on purpose. I look at Cliff. "1 haven't seen
her. God's truth, Cliff." A,s if J y,novr
about God. Or truth.
Cliff nods, But still looks like he'd just as SOOI1 slam a basketball in my face.
"But as near as I can tell, K \"V'UIHU.-" "Rachel Clark must be somewhere
near Ann Arbor. That's where I got that helmet with her fingerprints.
here
in Ann Arbor."
"In Lane Davis's office?" Hunter asks.
"C'mon, Detective," I say, "This isn't 21 Questions. But rn tell you what.
I will
baH with you.
play baH with me."
"Go ahead," Hunter
"You vvant Rachel Clark And I want an exclusive
I got no
with
you getting Rachel Clark You
any problem with me getting an exclusive story?"
"No problem," Hunter agrees withou! hesitation.
"Then we can be teammates! lilly paper goes to press on Mondays. So hold
If I find Rachel Clark, believe
off pinching me with that subpoena a few
me,
be the first to kn,ow. Just let me interview her first. That way I'n get
my
And
get your
"
Hunter shakes his head no. "1 don't lillO'll you, Fisher. But you sound like
you're just blovving srnoke out your ass. The stakes here are too
This isn't
some game, you know."
to lose?" I counter,
"Vvlmt have you
to loser Hunter sOlmds incredulous,
"What have I
years
I've been
myself for letting Dale's mlJIderer go free. And you ask-"
Hunter pounds his right fis~ into his left
Hard. "Ten you
" Hunter
says, his voice suddenly quiet SJ700ky quiet. "Since you want to be teammates.
Flunter!'
Go interview Dale's kid.
"Vlfhere would I find Boyce?" I ha'ile 110 intention of interviewing Boyce
Hunter. But I find it best to
'Nith
men with guns ,,;vho look like
about to slug me,
"At the bus station, maybe," Greg Hunter says. "Or maybe the CW'lHI"Hd''''
detox. But mostly he's
dmvn at
sheheL Sometimes
on the
streets. A pathetic little loser."
Hunter smacks his
fist into his left palm again. This time he rotates
his fist into the
palm ofbs left hand. Rotates it Oiler and over. Like a pestle grinding into a mortar.
"After Dale
" he
mommy took the Inoney a
~N11ich ain't much, Blew it all on booze and pHk
grew up ","ith nothin' but
bad example-no Dale to keep
him straight Dropped outta school. Ended up lookin' hke the pun:l<:s who killed
Still ain't never held a
more than six weeks in his life."
his
I wonder if Uncle Greg here feds a little guilty about
this, too. Since
he fajled to
his brother's kid out oftrouble, too. But this seems
like a very poor time to ask.
Hunter pulls his
hand out of his
So he can
a thick,
gnarled forefinger in my face. "You asshole ri""'f'l1'tP",,
an
he continues with a sneer.
"National Spy," I correct. Can us what you will. But please. Get the name right.
"Whatever. You could never understand Boyce's pain. But it's real. There's
people
' out
Mr, HoHyv\food
goddamn
Boyce is
still dyin' out
because of what Rachel Clade and her litHe shit pals: did to
I ain't gonna play games with
his daddy. That's ,]\That I have to lose. That's
you. That's why we can't be 'teammates.'"
'\iVelL There are very few things in life as
as having someone ten
you to your face you're an asshole. Especially 'when you know they're right.
But that's vvhat makes tabloid hacks
VVe :know no guilt. Vve have no
shame.
MONKEY lIllU§'INJES§
So I just
plugging 3tiT/Bly. "No matter what you think
it VifDUld stm be dumb for you to go public nO'll. Yanking me into a grand
Or auesting Davis. AJI
be doing is hassling small
And splashing so
much water in the process,
scare the
fish away."
Greg Hunter exchanges a
glance with Cliiff Bryant
"Wl1at else can '\ve
Da'/e?" CMf asks at last, sounding like he really
does VI/ant to find a
WIllie
the evidence you brought
Olr ~,Ne'n be IIp on
us. 'Ne have to do
ourselves. Dereliction
of duty."
"So stake out Davis. SIake out Rachel Chrk's "'>:"'P1ntQ
you're the
cops. You don't need me to tell you what to do. Do "I/l1atever it is you do -whenever you're
a group of crooks. You don't
mn Out and
Slnest the first guy who meves, do
Hurr~er says. He and
out in the haH to confer.
Which
tooo Maybe I
ten them ',II/here I got the
damn helmet. .A,nd ten them those {'ir"np'Trtrini-Q came from one aftte fuur fifty-foursure? Fingerprints
year-oId women in that room last night. Bllt do I know
don't lie. Yet Rachel Clark could have touched that helmet sometime
Norma
Lee brought it to Ann Arbor. The VlOman I saw striking the Weathemlan pose
be all imlocent
they found fingerRachel Clark and someone else'?
Yet as fast res I think of this, I realize there had to be other fingerprints on
the helmet that Cliff didn't H"1ention. Norma Lee s. Norma mllst have fondled
that thing a few times before boxing it up for Davis. Yet
didn't mention
Nonna's fingerprints. Which means they might have fOlUld
unidentified
fingerprints on the helmet, too. fingerprints they didn't bother telling me about.
But then why mention
and not Norma Lee? T\,l\lhy wouldn't they suspect
Norma Lee of aiding and abetting Rachel Clark, too?
didn't
come
here to arrest both of them?
I feel dizzy. In the tabloid biz, we
think this much. But one thing I
If I ten these guys where I got the helmet,
just haul
see
of my suspects into custody. Fingerprint the lot of ' em. Until they :End which
one is Rachel Clark. And I'n lose my shot at the greatest tabloid exclusive since
Gary H8Jt and Donna Rice.
So I decide to hold off cooperating aVlfhile. Investigate some more on my
own. Get a litde closer to
press mn.
UHHUV,-,,"
39
4~
FIRST VVEEK
The cops retnm. "Okay," Hunter says. "Here's the deal. Vie v;ron't haul you
into the grand jury. For tWW. But we might change our rninds any minute. No
r;varning. Got it?"
"Got it," I say.
" Hunter says. "But we
"'We 'Non\ atTest La11e Davis right away,
too. No
Got it?"
might
our minds any minute about
"Got it," I wonder if Hunter is Catholic. We have a nice litHe catechism
going here.
"You don't h::ave town 'Niti1out
~'Got it9~
way that order is
us four horus notice. Got itT'
enforceable. So K see no ham1 in
you tell us right away. Got itT'
"Do I
to interview her first?" I counter.
"'\0(m can intervieVif her right after we
" Hunter says.
after?" I ask "Or vvm you suddenly get bogged down in red tape?"
you get firs"t and only crack at her. Right after US,"
af1er.Ifyou fil1d
"DeaL" I offer Hunter my hand.
He looks at m,y hand like it belongs to a leper. But shakes it, an the same.
'Cliff, too.
the reward money."
" Hunter
find her, you can even
You mean that money the banker
up back in ' 69 is still
just-"
"-sitting there? You bet it is, boy-o. With all the
it's worth close
to two hundred thousand dollars now. And I'm stiH the guy who says who
it You sure you don't want to
ten me where you got that helmet?"
"No thanlcs." Sure, tWO hundred large is a lot of jack. But I'm sure Graham
would
clairn the whole reward for the Spy,
Xstart to go. Then tum back. Like Colombo used to do. "Say, One more
thing. 'vVere there any other fingerprints on that helmet? Besides Lane Davis's
and Rachel Clark's?"
Hunter
a quick guilty-looking glance with Cliff. "No. Why?"
HV"",,eUi". " I start to go again.
Fisher." Apparently Hunter's seen Colombo, too. "I have a
very long memory. If Rachel Clark
away because of you, well, I wouldn't
"If YOV! find Rachel
want to be you."
A completely unnecessa;cy remark Most
want to be rne.
my
I've felit like I didn't
By the time my Allil1 Arbor police buddies finish
my cage, the press
conference is done and gone. Norma Lee is on her-way back to La-La land. And
Lal1e Davis is back in his office. So I do the mature thing. I go
to Iny
face dmiVn on my bed.
hotel room. And
What the hen am I doing? (Besides biting off 'way more thal1 I can
Vilhat kind of shit 'NiH h:it the fan if Rachel Clark escapes-again-and
decide it's
VIle tabloid hacks knov! no
Have no shame. But
the Fugitive Radical escape-again-might be criminal. The
in blu.e
are already unhappy with me. They 'won't cut me any slack.
lfWWS
Hunter ordered me to stay in tovl1n.
not
The
a cop s
legally enforceable, But still. I'n tell Graham Hancock l: can't
order. Vi1hich solves one little
I
narDely how to drag this little
out to Saturday-so I can attend my thirtieth high school reunion.
him to hire a
I debate caIIing Graham now and
But Graham
might order me to cooperate \vith the cops. I don't like orders. Not vifhen they
conflict with 'what I vvant to do.
can f01md up the four susThen again,
no'f!,/v.
noon. I'll get my intervie\v tomon-ow.
I'll be the hero. The guy who
the Fugitive
Friday at the latest
Radical, What more do I want? Vlhat more do I need?
the answer to these questions does not cover U1e 'with
But by now, Wmthy Reader, you've figured out that I'm not the nicest guy in
the world. 1Nhich means, if you're still reading, you must have decided to over~
look my multiple character
So why not be honest?
The truth I'm a fornj-eight~year-old disbarred
as a tabloid
hack At a third~rate tabloid, no less, Like
Dangerfield, I
no
Not from myoId classmates. Not from my journalism
Not from my
j\.l1d now I have the chance of a lifetime. The finpeers. Not even from
gerprints of the legendary Rachel Clark. The Fugitive Radical. And I'm the
person in the \'IlOdd who knows that, unless she touched that helmet sometime
she has to be one of four Ann Arbor women.
Norma gave it to
For respect. And for
more, too.
This is my chance for
Can it ego. Can it mid-life crisis. Whatever. But I don't want to
the
I Vifant to
casual her:) who fingers a fugitive. The fifteen minutes of fame
V,!bo finds her. Intervievvs
be the one who tells Rachel Clark's whole
HU",-,,",V'-,
her. Gets to know
lTty
A,nd then writes it all up,
outShowboating. An those
boss at the /-I,)l1'fnJ'''<'Y crJled me when he l:lred me.
life is short If you aon't
it, at least once in a ""hile, vvhat's
BEt
the point?
So I
them to touch
a simple plan. I'll intervie-w the four
Get es,ch of
A drinking
A piece of paper. Whatever. Then
y,rith their finger-prints. ~Nithout them
I've
in to GiffBryant. One by one. Pm testing. To see
taken it Tum an the
which one is Rachel Clark.
This
needs fine-tuning. I know that But I fee!
aplaJL1.
I get up. Fire up my laptop. Print out "p~I,',-,r:""J'"
OV,CH'-'HEH",
The NOID'l21 Lee cleavage shots are awesome. And Davis U~'",b'""b Norms, will
be easy to crop, so it looks like theY'Nere an alone.
But the best
The shots of that hot litHe minx of a staffer from Davis
about her,
&
I almost
Rule #2 at the DOJ: Visit the scene afthe crime,
So at 11 :30 I vv'alk over to Davis &
To sniff around, Where two of
to numtion the hot little minx of my
my four suspects work
011
the way I hatch a
The
Debbie Smith, is not the little minx. I tell Debbie I'm a
that I
prospective new client. No, I don't have an appointment. But it's
speak with Mr. Davis. ASAP. Debbie looks dubious. Worse, she seems
vious to my (admittedly
charms.
my youth I was
and
good-looking. Now I'm just tall.)
Debbie buzzes ups:tairs. Speaks with "Janet." "\lVhom I Imow from the
brochure is Janet Fickel. 50/50 chance. The little rninx has to be either Janet
Fickel or Sue Webber.
One good
about working for a tabloid: we see lots of beautiful
women. True, it's mostly when they're slamming doors in our faces. Or
us the finger. But still, they're lookers. So I'rn not
Besides,
I'm a
I never let a hot babe distract me from
I'rn
here at Davis & 'Nyn::w.n on business.
Nevelihdess, I'm
Janet Fickel looks even better from ground
level than she did from up on that roof, She is Oli].e very hot b",JJe. And she knows
it In her
heels and her cinnamon "",.JV"i"~"" and her short
stairs slov\1er than a Victoriz-'s Secret :model on
walks dovvn Davis &;
the runvvay. "Her Strut" mesmerizes me.
"0
they de
Janet is only about 5'2". But vvith the heels she looks 5'5". And nwst of her
is in her
slender
Her
th',l'arts my Pavlovian desire to check out her chest.
and f01ih as she
faint
rnents
skirt. The Nhole
vokes my, um,
Vlith vvhat little ren:mms of my
I
dimly see dubious Debbie
I rnop rnest of the
drool off my chin. Then I introduce
And stick out my hanel.
Looks amused. But shakes my hand
Janet Fickel cocks her head
anyVJay. Janet's hand older than the rest of her looks. Before the
I was
thirti es. ~,;\;11iJ e
mid-twenties, Now I'm
my
sexy ·Vlay. i~~s if she Vlere
hand, Janet looks me up and clOVl/ll,
interested in :tne. For purposes I can
"Can Ytell NIr. Davis the nature cfyour business?" Janet
"H's
" I confide. "ihId
" I smile my nicest srniIe.
Janet gazes at me. l\Jot
is she sexy as
Round
face. I-Hgh cheekbones. Uses makeEp vvelL Light auburn
'lVith bangs. Heavy
frarning mischievous eyes.
'vvith a velY
sexuality. Janet Fickel has
been around the block a fe'N
times. And she doesn't mind
me knml'! it
"Tell him I'm
! cocked up on the way over. How can Davis resist that?
"I'n see what I can do," Janet walks back up the stairs.l:ler Strut is even more
shamelessly the
flare
provocative from the back Ignoring
in Janet's rump, The slow sashay of those
Cmier's inl1nmial
the
vvords, I sin in my he31i. /',1'1d elseYlhere,
instead of a return visit fi:om Janet
To my huge
Lane Davis himself conIes downstairs next His gray beard ane!
confirm v/hat I
knmv from his firm brochm'e and from the ietemet
mrmer. A VV:est Point
Davis is fifty-eight, but 8tm a serious lUH"'-""""
disillusioned. Embraced left-wiIlg
pn)se:cutor in Arm lvbor, until he
fired in
'78-for lending his car to
so Ralph wouldn't be late for a sit-in
at a General Motors
Davis went into private
In the
'80s his legal
"misunderestirnated" him
George Dubya would
because he looked like such a flake. But
the' 90s Ann Arbor la'0ryers had
learned Lane Davis was one
because juries loved his common sense
In 2002, Davis won a landslide election to City COllncilvoters, like
loved Davis's common sense approach. In 2004 he decided
to run for mayor as a third-party candidate. For the Human Rights
IYV'H'~UAH party, last heard hool'll in the ' 60s,
Lane Davis motions me into the conference mom. VVnere I feign interest in
aU the
decorations-as if I'm seeing the room for the first time. The
photos of Ma1cohTl and Martin, the
and Nader, The collage of old
radic~:l
stickers, And the Rachel Clark 'l,iVeathe1TJ1ml helmet. ]\Jow disper Davis's j-H'UH.H"" to ]\Torma Lee last night, on the credenza.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Fisher?" Davis sits down.
assistant said
it's
" Behind his rmmd John Lennon specs, Davis's shiny eyes
out.
Like a curious fi·og.
too
"Wen, to me it'sl1rgent" I also sit down. "But
"
"No, no," Davis assures me. "You caught me at a good tiTne. My assistant
says you're starting a
magazine? VI/ith a progressive focus? Here in
Ann Arbor?"
"One oftne few towns left in America that stiH has jonJg"j'eS:Sl
in residence."
Davis laughs
Good stmi.
"Do you have Hk'F><""JH issues?" Davis asks. "Or do you just need business
advice?"
who served in 'Vietrmm. Returned
"Both."
"Wen, I handle the litigation
And my partner Sheila Nyman handIes the business side. Sheila advises dozens of non-profits. She's very good."
"Is Sheila here now?"
"YeS. But she's in an
board meeting, I'm afraid."
"vIm Sheila be able to see me soon? To me, it's H-n.nn,,",r~m to get started
right avvay."
"011 yes," Davis says. "Her
Sue
can get you an appomtm€;nt"
"'Will Sheila vvork on my business matters alone? Or does she have c,,,,,,'~'wt'
"Sheila gets 3J1 the
she needs. VVe have hvo associates ..And a paralegal."
"The paralegal-has he been 'with you
"Fifteen years," Davis
"College degree?"
Of'H''''H~;QC'.
(I pretend I haven't seen the
"She's very capable. Naomi '''TiHiams.''
Alil of us here are U ofM grads."
"Is Naomi Williams here novv?"
board meeting with Sheila. I'm sorry.
"It'svVhat did Naomi Williams do before she came to work here?"
"Humanitarian work i11 Central America.
isn't itT'
"This is a progressive law
"YHe
to be.
here is committed to social justice tor an people."
Davis removes his Jo1m Lennon specs and cleans them vviH1 his rumpled,
tk "But you said Y01..1 need some
in addition to the
business advice'?"
need litigation
" I say.
"WhaCsthe
"There's a cop hassling me. Detective Greg Hunter."
"I YJ10W Hunter. He's been in Am1 Arbor forever."
"Are you friends? Viauld you have a "nT~tI'''frerlre:,elllmlg me [tgainst Hunter?"
no," Davis assures me. "Fact is, Hunter hates my politics. Hated me
even when I was an assistant
"Wen, I suppose you weren't at straight-aHow kind
"What do you l1Jean by that?" Davis bristles.
you lent your car to
Nader and all ... "
lilian what you might read 011 the intemet,"
"That was a little more
Davis says tersely. "VYhat exactly is going on between you and Detective Hunter?"
"Hur:ter is threatening to search my offices," I He, fronting mild paranoia.
"As a joumalist, I have First Amendment rights, don't IT'
"Absolutely. What's Hunter looking forT'
"He's got this crazy idea I lrJiOW where Rachel Clark is."
Davis doesn't bat an eye. Betrays no emotion at the name Rachel Clark. Or
at the idea that someone might know where the hell Rachel Clark is in 2004.
don't
I ask.
"You do know who Rachel Clark
at the credenza, "That's her Days of Rage helmet
"Oh, yes." Davis
over tb.ereo'3
"N0 ~U~l"'J1l6; VV11ere' d you get that?"
"Gift. A memento. FroHl. the Revolution that never was."
46
FIRST Vl/EEK
I inspect it. "View! It's even got the bullet crease, Is this the bullet crease
fr0111-7"
Hunter's gun," Davis says, "Yes, The day his brother got killed."
"Does Hunter Imow you have this?"
"r·Jo."
Or he'd search your Off:i.CeEL The man's obsessed with Rachel
"Good
Clark."
reason Hunter hasn't retired," Davis agrees, "Back in '69
"She's the
Rachet Clark to justice, Can't bring himself to admit she's
he vowed to
gone."
idea vifhere Rachel Clark is today?" I ask Blandly,
Davis looks shocked. "Of course not," he protests, "How should I know?"
"You l'LI"lUst lmow some of the SaIne people Rachel Clark knew. To get that
helmet
Davis relaxes a little at this explanation. "No one I kJnlOW has seen Rachel
Clark since 1969, She disappeared
years ago, through that Law
School steam tlIDneL After
everything you hear about Rachel Clark is just
urban legends,
" Davis loosens the knot in his tie, "And
does Hunter think you know where: she is7"
"I've done research on social
for 'where are they now?' artides," I say, \iVhile
how Davis knows she eS IC!1ipeld through a steam
tunneL
some research on Rachel Clark.
Hunter heard I was
asking around about her."
if you want me " Davis says, "I could can Hunter and back hhn off
Review for him your first Amendment rights. Or I could write him a 1etter-"
"Naw. I'd prefer you not contact hiHll-yet. But I'd like to retain you, To be
In case Hunter hits me with a warrant. Or a subpoena, And r d like to
meet with
Davis buzzes upstairs, Asks Janet Fickel to prepare a retainer letter,
I decide there's no point asking Davis how he knows Rachel Clark escaped
UU'UU~H a steam tunneL He's not going to admit anything incriminating, And the
nnF'Ql'lnn, may
him off.
Next Davis buzzes Sue Webber, Gets me the earliest avaHable ap'po:nytm~m
with Sheila Nyman, Next Tuesday at ten, Six days off. Not
as "early" as
r d hoped, but I seen1 to have no choice.
I notice a smaIl bronze moving van among Davis's left-wing melTlentos,
"VIhat's this?"
lVlIONIKEY BUSlIl''l/ESS
Camille. In 1989 I drove a
van fun of medical
"Gift from my
supplies to "",;U<llfO,Ctct. ".chat's where I met Camille. She got this made for me to
"I've read a lot about Camille's '010rk for the homeless. I'd like to meet her
sometime."
"She'll be at
a presentation on the new homdess
shelter."
"My college roommate was very active in
" I say. "Saul Schwmiz. I think
works a lot with Camille."
ter
HJUIH~vUg'L"'RY at Saul Sch,7{artz's name. "Sauli's a great guy."
Davis
"Is
W'J.-Vl,'O'YOl'"
"aH.·~wualv,
you know. The old HUInan
That's hard for DeIl10crats like SauL The Nader problem. They don't want
lines."
to cross
press. And
you
"But The Ann Arbor News has
pretty
mainstream. "
me
press because
"The News hates me.
I'll
dravJ lots of Democrats away firom the Mayor, and open the door for the
,:..3 ,"v vuu they'd like to vifin."
"Could the
V'-"UU.'vCtlE vifin?
"Not in this town. Republicans in Ann Arbor are
a noisy
No
votes. ifthe students tum out
I'll win. Otherwise, the incumbent Democrat
vvill hang on."
Janet Fickel comes in. Hands Davis the retainer letter. Smiles at me. Then leaves.
next
I sign the retainer letter. Promise a five-hulldred-doUar check
I'll
Tuesday. Of course, a Florida check could raise questions. But if need
get my rnom to T01Jrite the check My mom still lives here in Ann Arbor.
We get up. Shake hands.
"Say, do you know Raven LaGrow?" I ask. "The progressive HJLH"JLH<O.an
Law Professor?"
"Sure," Davis sayso
''1' d like to interview her, For my new magazine. But I hear she doesn't like
the media."
with. And Rush
"Oh, she'll like you fine. It's the tabloids Raven
Limbaugh."
"VVeH, if I have any trouble getting an interview vvith her, would you be
able
er-"
H
47
48
FJl:RS1r WEEK
"Put in good word for
Sure. I'lT1 seeing llaVell .'LH",j",U'. I' n mention
}TOUr nallle."
So. AU four suspects are still in Ann Arbor. Present anQ accounted for.
That's good nevvs.
Since I don't pray, my prayers are seldom answered. But as I leav,:;; Lane
Davis's office, there she is. Just fifty
ahead. Moving at a
pace,
like a
lioness. lier Strut. Janet Fickel. Sashaying dO'Nn IVlaIn Street
Alo11e. hI those
and high heels.
31m I such a sucker for S'C()Cl,:mgs and heels? It goes back to my form~
ative years. In seventh grade, alli the
of illy 70!et dreams wore
a11ct
heels. But
the tin1e I found the gumptiol1 to
talk; to any of them
(eleventh grade), they'd aU moved on to overalls ;;md hiking boots. That's j~m
A,rbor for YOLL 111 college and lmv school it vvas even worse: no self-respecting
U of 1Vj[ woman would be caught dead in a skirt or a duress, So I didn't actually
to
to a woman in
and heels until 1
the '.,."",-..".>'"
world in my thirties. By which time I vias married to Elaine. 'Nho never vI/ears
So in my whole life,
for BIy two one-hour mngs, I've never
gotten my hands on a INoman in stockings.
m,e
But I'm ,1
So it can't be those cinnamon
to double-time it down the sidevvalk. Not me. It's
that Janet Fickel could be
a great source. Of infoID'lat:ion, that is. On Sheila Nyman. And Naomi 101:iHiams.
But chasing Janet down the sidewalk is hard. GoUa move fast
to catch
her, before she gets wherever she's going. Yet can't an-lve all
and breathless. And can't 111lake so much noise she might catch me sneaking up 011 her.
"Fancy meeting you here," I say, sidling up to her. "Would you like to have
lunch with me?" I try to sound nonchalant. But fail miserably. Can't be done
when you're out of breath.
away, either. But
Janet Fickel doesn't stop walking, Doesn't answer
then, with a what-the-hen tone, she says, "Sure." To seem like a real local, I
suggest Zingennan's.
"\i\There's Zingerman's?" Janet asks.
I repeat, like ail incredulous parrot.
"\I\1here's
vvrote 'ern vp."
"Never heard of it," Janet says. In a
facts toOne.
noOn-confrontational, just-the-
IVIONKEY HUSINJESS
"It's just tilv.;) blocks up
"Is that the
~UcHt"'''V.r
rn show you."
1 don't have time :tor
I have a mend there vvho can s'Geak us " I boast "Ifhe's there."
tlvo blocks to cover, Because sJrl1aIl
'Nhile
'\J\TaJking side
gorgeous
is hard. Even for a l1atgabby guy like me.
Ann Arbor's streets
distractions
First we encounte:r a
round
of indeterminate age.
from
a
sltrmN haL And
an old Schv'linn bike. 'Which she's loaded up like
General Patton's tanlc The ii'ont basI;:efs crammed
and drink. The tvvc rear baskets are stuffed with
and junk. Her ,-,,",',,'.ucH>;
across the back u<,."'~,~",'.
She herself is built like a
that bare1y reach her
lot cuts her off. ~She's forced to di<3A Cadillac V'"'~'~"',LJUl'; from a
mOllnt IV[utters dark ObSCellities, Because
is haret \{illth those stT!bby legs. And
is even han:ter.,\~lith0No htmdred
i.n tow, She
'Nobbles as she pushes
So I catch her !dbmv and
forVifard
"Hey, fuck
The homeless vifornal1 snarls at me as she rides ofE
I jump back in dismay,
Janet Fickel laughs. "That's "lv-hat you
fur being a Good Smnaritan."
"You're the first pers::m ever to accuse me o f a Good
"I
say. "Usually I get chastised for being a bad
Janet laughs again. She's
mce
Throaty.
Totally reaL
lAle cut through the Fanner's Market. ~\;Vhere we're eTegulfed in a
crowd
of people. l',nei immersed in smells of cider and fresh-cut
But
Janet seems to Eke it So I
and buy her a smaH anrmlg(:;JrJCl1el1lt ofnmms. Then
arrange to
them up on our vifay back.
We cross Detroit Street. At
High L>vHU'VJ. several teenage
playing football
dead in their tracks.
Janet. She
not w
notice their attentive stares. But I catch her
to herselif
with
rop'c:s .of thick sausages
cheeses. llllarm
bread. And
sausages.
0WdHUF.
49
Luckily, my friend Sauli Sclnvartz is there. And yes, he was fny U of rvl
rOOD1ITlat(B, just like r told Davis. Vlfe both spent far more tliIne there getting
stoned than
to class. Now Sauly owns ZingemJlan's. He gives me a big
bear hug. But frovvns at the idea of helping us jurnp the queue.
SanIy," I
'with a quick jerk ofnlY head at Janet, gazil1g at
the cheeses.
looks Janet up lind dOVlTn. Pal1tomirnes a sHent whistle. Then breaks
into a huge
Just this one til'JCle:'
Janet agrees to
a sandvrich. But leaves me to
it
mistake, I wam her. Cuz I Eke [ny sandvviches CU,rYILJI<:::.k. Janet
breast and far~m-fresh 101isconsin muenster
I choose free-range
cheese. On fam1-baked, no-yeast breado \l\lith orchard-fresh Caliifo;)mia avocado
spread. Imported Greek kalamata olives. And hot Spanish
peppers. Just
your average Ami Arbor h:mch.
I find us 'it
table outside. Make ,1 mnall
of removing my
Even though the October sun isn't aU that hot. Because I'm
Janet
vim folloVI suit. Remove herr' loose business
So I can check out her chest.
But she keeps her
on ..And buttoned.
I
to be 11 little indirect. But I'm nervous. So I make no hones
about Janet Beiter
about interviewing Janet. Til0ugh I start vvith questions
than diving
into my Davis &
questions.
Janet tells me she vvas bom on a farm. outside Fort
Indiana. Worked
in lavv finrns 1n Fort VV-ayne for several years. Is married. To John fickeL A car
mechanic.
regret I notice Janet wears a
ring.) John's boss asked
him to transfer to Michigan last year to run the service
at Olson's
and landed the
at Davis &
outside Aml Arbor, Janet came
Nyman. But she hates Ann Arbor. As does her younger daughter.
"How old's your younger daughter?" I'm fishing,
for a clue to
Janets age.
"Eighteen."
"No way! You can't be more than
yourself."
" Janet corrects me, while
the Spanish piquino peppers out
of her half of our sandwich. "And-I have a four-year-old nn~,r''''''''0r"~
"You don't look like any granny I ever met."
Janet
Like I said, she has a great laugh.
"I
pregnant '?\Then I VVCloS seventeen. Dropped out. Married the gl.!1y. Had
the kid.
older daughter, Carrie. She's twenty-three l1ovv.\tVhen Canie was
MON}1:(EY BUSJINESS
8he made the same mistake.
at seventeen.
out
the guy. Had the kid. My fOlrr~year-okt grandson, Colin." Janet Fickel
delivers this laconic V~fJ".'dc"nUH of hm¥ she became 2i grandmother at n",,,~·,,,_c"V
m
~\l1alTied
without a tTace of
In a voice as rich and throaty as her
Remember Stevie l\T1cks? Fleetwood Mac? Janet's voice is like that. Plangent.
Almost raspy. Like a torch singer.
as helL
"Did you ever go back [0 school?"
"No. Just
"So
a job. Been worldn' e-ver since,"
been manied twenty-three
"No. I divorced my lIl'St hrcsband
after Carrie 'V'Ias hOlm, I've been mar-
ried eleven years to John."
it do SOIT!e quick math. She said
daughter's eighteen. Too young
to be from
VIThich ended in a year, But too old for John to be
the father, Unless Janet was
out of wedl:)Ck vvith John for seven years
maniedL lNhich seems unlikely,
before
Janet readls my :'111no. "John's my third husband,
is from my second
lmsbandl,"
age thirly! I censor myself ilLOl11 "'''CH~Y~C
I faE bade on rny kids' favorite '1'''''",,'1_"",
Tr11'ee husbands
Janet to Liz
F'ountains
Like that song?" Off-key,
it
, on/She s all I want and I've wailed so
smom,
I'm in
with
Janet laughs, "Yes. Like that song,
friends sing that around me an
the time."
"W'en you do have it
on-Granny,"
"Stacy's boyfriends ten her
mom is so hot.'
not what Stacy
really wants to hear,"
"But Stacy's ... staying out of trouble?"
Janet roUs her eyeso "I ground her tvvice week. And still she defies me.
John won't do anything, His ovvn kids 'Ncre more trouble than mineo So he says
he's done worrying about it."
Janet reaches in her purse for something. Changes her mind, Brings her
Instead sets about removing the inl.pOlied Greek kalamata
hand out
olives from her half of Olj)X sal1dwich. Since she's taken only one
I ask if
Janet INants Hae to get her
else.
"l\To, I'm fine." She nibbles a little
of the crust off the faITl1~cooked,
no-yeast bread.
J
'"
5!
across the street says: Davis For
We Need
Change Here, Too.
r
at the campaign Sigfi. "Exciting times at Davis & Nyman?"
Janet snorts. "I c2:n't wait 'tH it's over."
Vifhy?"
"So much builshitl Fundraisers every
calls. And
remembering I'm
aU tbe media morons. COl1stantly-" Janet
one of those 'media morons.'
I've been called worse."
I smile ruefully. "It's
"Like wlmt?" Janet teases.
That's 'Norse than a 'media moron,' right?"
God, I could listen to that
aU
"Maybe. But you
" Janet cocks her head. Raises a dramatic eyedon't seem like a
brow. Gives me that sexy OlD'-alll0-,aO"vvn look she gave me in the office. I can't
tell if she's
But I sure as hen hope sOo
Wfhafs cuz I'm on my best behavior here
to be a
impress you."
"Good boys don't impress me," Janet teases.
At this I gaze into her eye:;L Ready to flirL
But Janet sees the danger in my eyes. Looks away at once. Starts
at
her olives
" she says,
not the kind of reporter who
All they want is their
drives me crazy. Xi's the ones 'who call up every
They wait 'til five minutes before deadline. Then they call, Gotta talk to
Lane. Right
To get Lane's views on whatever's hot news todayo I explgin
he's
on the phone, with another reporter. Giving that guy his daily
should think about caning a little earlier. They never do.
quoteo Maybe
They're so rude."
"Occupational hazard," I mumble, "You think Lane'lI win?"
"God, I hope not."
"V/hy not?"
eyebrows. "This is offthe record, right?"
"Lane's a shit." Janet arches her
on Lane."
"Of course," I assure her. "I'm not
any
what happens to my job ifhe wins?"
"Lane's way too left-wing for meo
"You could go vv'ith him to
HalL Have your
on the pulse of
Ann Arbor:'
"I'll pass, thanks. I don't know anything about poHtics. I like being a legal
assistant"
HPLHHH V
0
lVlONKEY BUS!NESS
"Well
d(m't'JllantDavis to vvin,
in the perfect position to
11in1."
"Dish a little dirt Ten those reporterswno can every day about Lane and
atrributedi to you, of course. You'd be a confidential
Norma Lee. No
SOUJlce. Speaking 'on background.'"
Janet opens her eyes wide. As if shocked
my impropriety.
But the mischief in her eyes says she's
net shocked at alL
"Lane and Norma Lee?" Janet laughs. "I don't think so."
used to be an item."
"Really?" Janet cocks her head.
But these
Lane's. , . other~
"Oh, no," I groan, "l'-Iot the
iug story."
"Who said his
is where he's
over Janet's f::::ce.
Afarried Politician. That's such a bor-
VUi","'i",""'U
Mischief is now '.vritien aU
"Oh? Then \vho's Lane ~'"''',,,r3'''i3 Ifl10t I. .Torma Lee? 'leU! Tefl!"
Janet laughs. But shakes her head no. "Not to
Ai
that's 'vvhat 1 tell my mom."
Janet
"Does yom mom buy theet BST'
"Not really. But l a n e t - I w i t h the infonnatiofl.
Lane's my
I'd never bm11 my own
I just ... rn1 curious, that's
all. '\Nho's Lane stepping Oillt with?"
Janet shakes her head again. "I don't know you '0/1011 enough, David Fisher."
Rather than admit this, Xshift ground. "Does Camille know Lane's hav'ing
an affair?"
"I thilJlc so. Lane's not very discreet, really. I kinda figured everyone knew."
~,.~'~'tJc for me," I
"Does Camille
him? Any
scenes in
the office?"
"No. CarnitlIe looks the other 'Nay. I don't think she
minds not
Lane around aU the time, He's kind
you knovt1-dulL"
"Does Camille step out on him?"
"I doubt it. She's too sweet for that I think she
stays wrapped up in her
causes.'~
"The homeless, you meanT'
"And the Sierra Club. AJld the Interfaith Peace NetvilOrk. And about fifey
others."
"Well, we Ann Arborites do love lost causes."
5s
saint of lost causes.
Janet laughs. "Then yau'n love Camille. She's the
"Ever hear Lace talk about Rachel Clark?"
"Not 'tH today. 'NIl.en he started talkin' 'bout that new mOlron,:yde helmet
VI/110'8 Rachel Clark
"A lost cause from the sixties. I'd like to interview her. For my new magazine."
Janet opens her expressive eyes wide at this, "I
the
she's a
it vliouid be [; great interview. If
you vJOulid ten me
to find her,"
"Jl;frs?" At first Janet is takeTh aback "Why would 1-T' But then she sees
that
So she srniles. And
iEyon
wanna
find someone, you should .. , take out
I play
too. "01(. Let's see. How 'bout:
seeks R~IF. For
secret interview."
"FUll-loving journalist"
"FJIF?"
"Red-haired fugitive."
Janet laughs. "J don't think that's
to inspire Rachel Clark to can you."
"HOVI 'bout
"NOllld that intriguing
you to can me?"
This time Janet doesn't look awayo My heart skips a beat She's very
ty. Remember DOID11! Reed? Janet's face is shaped like that. A classic
Midwestern
Al'I.d to me, Donna Reed was most appealing vJhen cast
against type. As the can girl in From IJere TO Eternity. Janet has the same
appeal. The sweet innocent face, Cast against those teasing, sexy eyes.
"I'm not a fugitive." Janet doesn't take her eyes off me.
"But you're red-haired,"
"This week I am."
I laugh. "What color is your hair naturally?"
"vVho knoY\Ts? Naturally is so long ago. V{hen I was in high schoolIny hair
was brown,"
This gives me an excuse to gaze a moment at Janet's hair. 'Which is also
very pretty.
"Back to my personal," I say. "How can I i:11ake it better? So Rachel Clark
will call."
"Well, J seriously doubt a '"-,,eTH1IVP would be 'UCJLUU;e; fer
FlIn~
loving or not."
"Good point. S1.1 I shenk;;
to be Lane Davi.s? Here.
"FEeR?"
"Frog-eyed doset radical."
Janet liaughs. "Do you ever
":No,"
"I could tell"
"Hey nOVy!" I
''lvrite a
to be someone
"ols(~.
I-Io-w 'bout I pretlBl1l1
seeks lUli-:;: For
l{)O,
"Since
so
C~'O·'F,,,,,.n1. '"
'bout Camille Davis?"
Janet chews on this a mi.nute.
lected half of our complex sand'wieh. "CmniHe Davis:
"HOV\f
Democrats
nr'Pl,crrp,,-j
But can't we
ii up
some? HO'N 'bont:
"Hmm.
acL That's more like a porn ad.
'bout Sheila
'\Vhat vvauld her
ad
"You 17\101nt a realistic one? Or one like you would
'Nlth the
initials?"
"One like I ~Nould do, of course. I like
initials."
Janet reaches in her pmse again.
empty-handed. "Sheila: FDFL, 54, seeks EDML. For
talks. And many
visits."
"FDFL?"
"F aid y dull Ee:male
"
"EDML?"
"Equally dun male lawyero"
I
"That's SheBa?"
Sheila's divorced. From a rnal1. But these days she may Vlc:nt an
EDFL."
is a lesbian?~9
"You'.::e telling nrJle my nevI' business
"Ididn'C say that. INho knows?iNe're not
the oflFice as you are."
"Speaking of lesbians, do YOilllc110W Jlaven LaGrov;?"
Janet roBs her eyes. "Yes."
56
FlLRST ,\VEEK
"VieH
" I say, "here's Raven:
law prof,
seeks
docile male of any age. For
dominatrix games. ivlarital status: un'tnr!J(Jrtani. Penetration:
it.
Dog collar:
But no
tattoos,
I'm not thai young."
Janet's laughing hard nnw.
"You are a bad
aren't
"I suppose so," I say.
I really were.
"The only thing you
wrong was the tattoos. Ra'len
has a taHoo
of her own."
"Really!" At the ,c"nvc~.J, we crave this kinct
detaiil. "\Vhere is
Raven's tattoo?"
"On her lmver back."
"What kind of taHoo?"
"Some complex
"Ho,)'1 do you knmv this?"
Janet raises an eyebro N. And looks away.
"N'ol Don't tell me! Raven s the one Lane Davis
out vvithT'
Janetauns out to be no
player. The look on her face says I guessed
"No shit!" I sayo "But I always thought Raven was a lesbian."
"She goes both ways." Janet wags her finger at rne. "But you didn't hear
this firom meo"
"Janet who? I've
forgottel1 this entire conversation." I smile. "But
man! Raven LaGrowl In bed vvith Lane Davis! That is
difficult to pic~
ture. Whoa!"
Janet catches me
at her uneaten half sandwich. She offers it to me.
I
"Hey,
have you actually seen Raven's ccmplex and SP(~Ct:31Cllhu tattoo?"
"No.
"Then how do you know about it?"
"I told you, Lane's not real discreet. When his door's
he thinlcs he's
in the Cone of Silence. But that's a very old house we work in. I hear lots of
things I'D] 110t SU1J1J()Se:a to hear."
"So what did Lane
About Raven's tattoo?"
"It's
And big. Some complicated design. That's all I heard."
Janet starts to reach in her purse again.. But this time changes her mind before
" she says. "I have a lot ofwark."
her hand even goes in. "I should get
ReliJ.ctantiy ! nod. Offer to wrap up for Janet the few scraps of our sandwich I haven't devoured. She declines. We begin to walk bade Janet steals a
glance at my left haneL
UC"CUHU,"Eo
1
"'\/Vhat about you? You never told me
"That's
about yourself"
"".fn')rHN' ~Vllhaddya vvanna know about me?"
"You have kids?"
The moment oftrl1th. We tabloid hacks know 'v\That to dO' in these situations.
Lie. Early and often. Yet against all
I ten Janet Fickel the tmth. "TViO
Seventeen and sIxteen. Great kids." I leok daVin at my left han(1. 'N11ich
has 110 ring. I can still
to be divorced. But strangely I
m
the~TI),th. "Married eighteen years. I
"So hO'iV old are
Janet asks. "Ill 011e
you said fortyBut ill another one it was fif[y~eight"
"Guess."
"Flatterer. "
~'I-iuh?"
"You're
nice."
I'm not," Janet says. "!'In not nice at all." No smile or
with this
dark remark.
But I turn Janet's daTk rnood around in a heartbeat. "That's
I hate
nice girls."
That draws a throaty laugh. So I pun two
ahead. Tum around. Face
her. While walking baclnivards. This compels Janet to look in my eyes. And she
doesn't look away. Several yards we walk this way. I'm thinking I could lose
myself in Janet's big brown eyes. Until I
lose my head on the low bra11ch
of a tree.
Janet laughs. God I 'lvould love to listen to that woman
aU day.
I'm not at all sure where we're headed. But I feel bees and butterflies in my
stomach. Like I haven't felt since high schooL Strange. I asked her to hmch for
information. And because of those stockings. That great little
And Her
Strut. But at lunch, it's been Janet's lively patter that's made the strongest
impact. She's a discerning little minx. Witty. Vivaciolls. And fun.
Vile stop and
up the mums I got her. Janet thanks me.
"You said you hate Arm Arbor. r fed like I should defend my hometown.
What don't you Eke? Besides the left-over hippies like Lane and Carnine."
Janet shrugs. "The shopping's terrible,"
"That's it? That's your entire indictment of Arm Arbor? Old hippies and bad
shopping?"
Janet laughs. "I don't get~o see much of Ann
V'le Eve out in
Clinton. CheapeL And closer to Olson's Chevrolet. I just come to Ann Arbor
tor work.
"'Nhat about the weekends?"
of his gun club. Iv10st weekends he goes away to skeet
"Jolrn's
at the bar. So
I stay home.
toumarnents. If I go "'lith him, I sit all
And stare at the 'ivaUs."
"No friends?"
"AJli my friends are back in Fort Wayne."
surely YOll go out tOlhe bars here once in awhile. Evenings, or some~
thing?"
"Never. I used to go drinking all the thne with the hllwyers in Fort ·Vv'ayne.
But here, the Davis & ]\Tyullan people never go
And even if they did,
wouldn't ask me."
this
not
" I declare. "TAle have some
great bars in Ann
ATboL 1'd like to appoint
be yom offici:aJ Arm Arbor
buddy."
Janet looks down at the sidevvaHc Have I upped the ante too fast?
But then Janet stops. Looks me square in the eye. Her eyes are bottomless.
at
V/ith no more hesitation, she agrees. 'Vife rnake a date to meet tomorrow
DOfninick's. A campus bar across the street fi·om the Michigan Law School. I
write directions for her on the back of all. extra Davis & Nynlan brochure I've
got in my
Vile finish our walk in silence.
beside Janet is exhilarating. Every
male 'lye pass checks her out Great for my ego. Yet it's much more than
too. I feel so alive. When was the last time anyone looked at me like that?
Laughed at my jokes? Seemed so fascinated by me?
'Nhen was the last time I seemed even remotely interesting to myself?
Vile reach Davis & Nym.an. Shake hands. I remind Janet of our date tomorrow
night Watch her walle inside. And rue the fact that her damn jacket never came off.
As I leave, I see a Latino guy in his twenties.
in a parked
in the aBey behind Davis & Nyman. Baseball cap. U of M sweatshili.
Studiously not n"JL~"HM at me. Or Janet Fickel. IViaybe he's not interested in me.
But Janet? No way. This guy is the only male on the north side of Ann Arbor
'who hasn't ogled Janet in the last hour.
he's on a stakeout.
His Cbtrjsler has local plates.
a plainclothes cop. One of
Hunter's minions.
But there's noway to be sure he isn't a rival tabloid hack. Or rival paparazzo.
Rule # 1 for the mainstream media:
The dailies love violence, But
emb2ITrassed
sex, Monica Lewinsky
was a huge
tor The New York Times, They knew
hated themselves in the
Wrote op-ed
for the
salacious content of their ovm stories, Like
were going to confession.
At the ',,"CHVcUO vve know no such guilt. Have no such shame. The only
comparable Rule at the tabloids is:
catch her with her
ner on
the cover. TNe love SeX stories,
But that's my problem. Rachd Clark is not a sex story.
that Hne I
gave you about how this could be the best tabloid
Hart and
Donna Rice, lYJIaybe you fen tor that. But my
Graham Hancock, won't
Graham's in the trade.
Hart and Donna Rice 'were about sex, sex, 2md sex.
Remember the
of Donna
on
\VhHe the glazed eyes of the
were lost somewhere
in Donna's decolletage?
On a boat caned
no less?
lNe've
nothing like that here, Just a foiled firebombing. And a dead cop.
Thirty-five years ago. Sure, Rachel Clark's yearbook
A hot liule hippie chick had sex with her
Back in the
sixties, That's not a tabloid
I'nlL not caning in. For just this reason, Because even wHh Hunter "ordering" me >to
in Ann
I know Graham
tell me to come home,
He'll praise me for the
of NOlTfm Lee, Then ten me to
my butt back home.
But I'm interested in Rachel Clark. (Not to menHon Janet Fickel.) And I'd
really like to stay at least UH'V,""'"> uuuuua For my high school reunion. So I
go to the library. Again. To look for
try to tum this
into a tabloid story.
I stole, Good start Especially the one from
I st31iwith the 1967
Rachel Clark's high school vp<l1cl,~"n,n
she was built.
Lots of chest. Long,
too. That devastating miniskirt
Pretty face.
long red hair,
Graham would love this
But it
UHUAJ"~5 about nly four middle-aged
No red-heads.
Raven's the
one whose chest I even noticed. And hers are not on the, um,
their hair. Get boob jobs, too. But breast"
scale of Rachel Clark's, I},lomen
reduction? Uncommon. Though it W;'1Jp".H0
wm
How tall was Rachel Clark? You can't change your
I read the caption under the mug shot I stole: Rachel Clark-LK 246-021.
19, 5'5", 110 lbs. Thin build. Red
brov\Tll eyes. Fed Wt 60-3369.
Vv'anted for mob action.
5'5" tall. Same as an four afmy
I read more archived mikles. In the fall of
Rachel Clark Yvas a
more. An aU-A student. Took
Art History. Spanish. Her U
of IV'![ profs ~Nere shocked that she ",vas
Her
and
feel she vvas led astray
Paul Zimmerrmm.
I dig deeper. There's a 1981 Time
about Kathy Boudin's
arrest For the botched Erinlcs truck robbery in Ne'w York, vvhich resulted in ["lifO
dead cops and one dead
guard. Sidebar mentions Rachei Clark. The
RadicaL The last \Veathem:mn fugitive stiH free.
The 1981 Time sidebar says Rachel Clark was atTested at a
riot in
Amsterdam in 198,,1 Using the IJJime "Rebecca
Gct fingel1Jrint,ecio
But then released. Just milrI.rtes before
matched
Rachel
"Rebecca Snyder'S" fingerprints with those of the i:llgitive
Clark. The Amsterdam Police searched
and 1mv. But she ,eluded them.
I dig deeper stilL Find a 1980 Nellvsweek article. About the near capture of
Rachel Clark. JVewsweek has the i\1Tlsteraam n11lg shot of "Rebecca
"
WhO looks nothing like the 1969 hattie Rachel Clark. ShOfI black hair. Can't
see nUlch of the boobs in a mug shot But what's there looks pretty skimpy.
Indeed, in the 1980 mug
Rebecca/Rachellooks dm,vmight gaunt
So she changed her appearance in the seventies. A lot So what? I'm
nowhere.
I decide to drive to Centreville, Visit her PaIt::xri:s.
To make this a tabloid
Even though I'll be
tovvn v/itlhout
Hunter his four hours notice.
But walking back to the Campus Inn to get my car, I find I'm not alone. I'm
leading a regular
There's my Latino pal. From Davis & Nyman. Baseball
cap. U of M sweatshirt. Tailing me in his Chlysler with local plates. And tailing
him is another car. A gray Taurus with rental
I savv this Taurus an hour
ago. On my way into the
The Taurus has tV'IO blonde guys.
This is bad. No 'Nay Greg Hunter sent two cars to tail me. One of 'em's
gotta be a tabloid rival. Or paparazzi. Those blonde guys in the Taums, With the
rental plates. Gennans. Gotta be. Many
these
are Germans.
95
MONKEY BUSINESS
Probably spotted me at the Norma Lee press conference. Now they figure ifI'm
still in town, there must be a story close by.
I don't mind a cop tailing me. But I can't have paparazzi jumping my exclusive. And since I can't be sure which one is paparazzi, I gotta shake both cars.
Before I go to Centreville.
Luckily, Ann Arbor's my hometown. I use my cell to call a cab. Arrange to
be picked up in five minutes. At Huron and Fourth. Then I run my tails silly. I
walk in the back of the Federal Building. Out the front. In the front of Afternoon
Delight. Out the back. Half a block west through a parking lot. Vault a four-foot
concrete wall. Half a block north through an alley. Half a block west on
Washington Street. Then through the parking garage entrance to the Seniors'
Downtown Housing. Out the Seniors' front door at Huron and Fourth.
No sign of my tails now. So I hop in my waiting cab. But not back to my hotel.
My tails will go there once they see I've lost them. Instead I take the cab to a rental
car agency on the edge of town. Rent another car. A Dodge. Just for the day.
Then I drive to Centreville. Alone. Laughing all the way. (I'm easily amused.)
***
The 1960s never made it to Centreville, Michigan. All the buildings on
Main Street here are at least fifty years old. There's a barbershop with a gyrating candy-cane pole. A drive-inA&W Root Beer. With the swivel stools in front
of the service counter. And a bank that looks easier to rob than my mom's
ho:use. No bulletproof glass. No surveillance cameras.
Four old geezers are sitting on a bench outside the barbershop. Suspenders.
Flannel shirts. Watching the traffic light change colors. I love these guys. They
remind me of my grandfathers. Guys who never get excited about anything.
Because it's bad for the heart. And because they figure nothing in life really
matters that much anyway. The old geezers point me to Ray and Ruth's house
on Oak Street. Right around the corner.
Ray and Ruth Clark live in a small 1950s house. White aluminum siding.
Small front porch. I drive by twice, looking for signs ofa stakeout. Nothing. No
parked cars on the street. No good stakeout place I can see. If someone's here
watching this house, he's very good.
As I walk up, I see Ray sumo wrestling a big moving box in the living
room. Ray is very small and very old. So the big moving box is winning their
wrestling match. I shout "hello." Barge right in. And help Ray schlep that big
61
Ili2
FJIRST V/EEK
moving box into the kitchen, Where Ruth
is ever: smaller than
profusely thanks me, Ray thanks me, too. ',Nlu:m he finally gets his breath.
I introduce myselE
they won't talk to a reporter, I flash my old
1980s DOl ID. (1 kept the m v/hen I left th.e DOI. By falsely claiming I'd lost
I tell the Clarks I'm a federal law enforcement
it. A violation of federal
for bothering
officer. (Another violiatiol1 of federal law. Oh vvello) I
things. But I need a fevtT
and Ruth exchange sad 'here "'Ie go
I'm seldom
oHender ~eelings, But these sad Ettle old itclks
atnJeY
of water. 'Ne aU sit down at gray lF0TI11ica table.
Ruth pours three
"'INe had the same gray Formica table in Illy house ill AIm Arbor vtTnell1 I "N:IS
up. My
threw their's out about 1965. But the 1960s never fJmde
it to the Clarks. Except in the fom1 of bad ne'NS about their prodigal daughter.
"We think Rachel is back in Michigan," I say. "Has she tried to contact
"Ray says.
"'life haven't heard ~,nuj-I"""n- since the business vlitlb. our gTandchiJd," Ruth adds.
Grandchild?
"You'll have to excuse me," I say, "but I'm new to this file. I don't remember
anything about your
This is Rachel s chHd?"
"Vve think so. Vile don't reaUy know."
"Girl," Ray says. "Sarah:'
"'vVlflat makes you think Sarah might be your
"We
a call," Ruth says. "Not long after the shooting. They-"
"Well, now, Ruth," Ray interrupts. "If you're gonna tell a federal law man
about it, you'd best get it right. It was more than a year after the shooting. Fan
of 1970."
"That's right," Ruth says, "Fan of 1970. Because after th::((
"'Ie figured
it out. That Rachel must have
been pregnant. The day they tried to
bomb the Lavv' School. In 1969."
"Who called?"
" Ray says, "From AnI, Arbor. "
"Girl wouldn't
her name," Ruth says. "\Vanted us to sign some papers.
To let her and her hippie ll'lends raise Rachd's child. A little four~month-old
she said. Named Sarah-with an 'h, '"
MONlfCEY EUSINESS
"Did you meet vvith her-or 2;ny of the
sayso "I told them on the phone. 'Iv,e wasn't gOl1na
avvay."
papers. l.lwd '"ve 7vanted om
,63
no
'~j-\.nd-'~
"Girl told us to go to
says.
"She was not veTY nice," Ruth adds.
"How'd yQU k110'N she and her friend.s were 'hippies?'"
"Gid lived in some kind of commune,"
says. "A cooperative-l1on(",C',rm,p'CCl,"'''P living, '" Ruth corrects.
"Girl said
Sarah since she ViaS born.
In this 'non-patriarchal experiment in
living.' I
\}laS it a stahome? Did they have the: rnoney to raise a child? Girl said
had many
for Sarah. And 'lots or resources.'"
else you relYlember?"
" Ruth says. "Except she ,\vas born with a
"They said Sarah 'NaB
deft foot."
else you C1Ul remember?" I press.
at all-it may be
Ray and Ruth exchange blank looks.
"Vie reported this can to the FBI," Ray says. "Back in 19710. Like
told
us to."
"I'm sure you did. My boss says you've
been fully {Y\,r.Y'P'·'<l-,h""p
nods. "We try to be. We're awful ashamed ontacheL"
Ruth's eyes tear up at this. ! offer her my handkerchief. ¥!hich, :Gor once, is dean.
"Rachel was ... she had ... so much . . .
m
" Ruth says between
sobs. "She was a very
grmving up. Until she "vent off to school in ...
Sin
"V/eH, now, Ruth,"
gonna ten a federal law man
about it,
best
Rachel was a good
until she got to
school. When she feU in with the INrong crowd.
here in Centreville."
"She was a Uttle wild here," Ruth concedes. "But nothing like the trouble
in Ann Arbor."
aC1ce(1mg to Ruth's "nlYI"'1"CHYllQ
"VI/hen was the last time you saw Rachel?"
"Summer of '69. Rachel came home for a few
shakes his head,
eyes down. "Bad visit."
64
FmSTWEEK
"'We VIas stiill livin' OD. the tlmn back then," Ray says.
"~,~ll1ei1
she came
Rachel to do her share ofthe chores. Just Eke everyone else.
hOl1L1e, ',vI;; """,",,p-r'1,p,",
Rachel didn't like thill."
"">Ie argued about almost
" Ruth adds. "Her
cans
back to her
in Ann iu'bor. Her hippie clothes. Her loud Hl11Sic Ol1l the
radio. Her tattoo!'
I akfiOst choke 011 my water. "Her what?"
"She had went and
says. "Like Popeye the
frowns. "YNe told the FBI an
sailor ma11."
that taltoo. It vIas 011 her
"'\Val1t6d'
right," I say. "I remember 110vv."
don't Evidently I Ililissed the tattoo
BmI
research.
Ray and Ruth l,ook
law ,nan not know
this detail? So I risk 3l 'Vl1ild guess. Based on my lunch with Janet fickeL And
lanet's vague
of Raven LaGrmv's tattoo. "The tattoo was 011
Hc1ichd's lower
snys, relaxing. Evidently reassured. Because I got this
detail
"Rachel tried to hide it," Ruth says. "But I S1:l'N it on her last
hefe. She
was coming out of the shower. We had a
ill.nd then she left. The last I
ever saw my
girl." Ruth teafS up again.
silence. ':Chen risk one more question.
I sit a moment in
"Help me remenlbef---:what
did Rachel's tattoo look like?"
looks disgusted -with me. "It had the
mark on it,"
says.
"Their
"it rainbovv," Ruth adds. "V>lith a lightning boh. You know. The
'1/11eathennen
Pembroke 'If/atkins loved to
"Those who do
reJnernber the
it. "iNeH I do remember my la'0/ school
are doomed to
All too well.
thel1~.
Yet here I am
around U of M['s Lega1 Research
to find Raven LaGmvv's office.
Btlilding.
school reunions. But rn never go to a law school reunion.
Haven't set foot in this place since the dark day in 1986 'when
kicked me
out No happy memories here. An I remember is guys like V/atkins. 'VVho never
ans\ivered a
except with another question.
to be here. Yet I sneak around the stacks. 'IN11O
1 have a perfect
knO'lVS
Habit. Or guilty conscience.
around recalls Rachel
Clark's stealthy f1ve~mirmte visit here in 1969. Just before her boyfriends started throwing bricks. \Y\1hat was she up to?
It's
me forever to find Raven LaGrmv's oftIce. Even though I've
her oi1lce number. Even though I went to sch.ool here. And even though supposI was once a crack federal
Not to mention ace reporter.
Because U .of Iv['s Legal Research Building i.s laid out like medieval Seville. A
random W3lTen of
winding corridors. An circling back upon themselves.
system that defies logic.
thanks to the
With a
Vl1eathennen, a locked fire door every five steps or so. Which keeps forcing me
into the dark interior. The ancient stacks. Rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves,
packed with
tomes. My worst nightmareo
I grope through the
looking for another tiny five-step corridor.
Hrm,nn it ,NiH be the cOlTidor vvith llaven's office on it.
Could this be what Rachel Clark Vifas
for five minutes? Finding
Watkins S
ThaI could
have taken five nli.nutes. Since it's
me
ten minutes to find Raven's.
Finally, I stumble upon it Raven's not in. Her office is locked. Her office
on the door. Office
actually.
4:00 to 4:30.
appomtm(mt" That's it
Or
At the student services desk, I get Raven's '''-,'''''HllUJ<, schedule. Even more
grueling than her office mim~tes. A seminar
Critiques of
Tuesdays one to fom. And a Constitutional La'N class Mondays and
ten
to) twelve. That's it Seven homs of
8. week.
life.
Outside, I don't see the Gennans. Or the Latino cop. But I
a half hour
uw tail allY'way. To be sure I'm alone. Then I go stake out Raven's
house. She lives in the faculty
not far tlrom ITly mom. In a sixties house
'-'H_'HUH.F,
with lots of glass. GoO(J: for
And lots of
trees Good cover. For
an
Excuse me. Journalist.
Raven is homeo On the second floor. Vvriting. At a desk ovenlOClKll1g her
back
I
to be a passing
until I get
into
Raven's vwods that I'm pretty sure her neighbors can't see me. Xclose within
thirty
of Raven at her desk Then sit dovvu on a well-shielded tree
i'md shoot a few pix.
Of couJtse ! can't see Raven'8 lower bade I~Vllere Janet Fickel says Raven
has a spectacular tattooo Vlhich I'm
tUTns out to be a 1Neatherman tattoo.
Rachel Clark's tattooo
be Rachel Clark? If SOl, this is a tabloid story
Could Raven LaGrow
after all! Because last year Raven made herself a tabloid
At that Yankee
stripper trial I covered.
Raven nas long been Rush Limbaugh's favorite "Feminazi" target. And
there's a huge overlap between Rush's niVenty million listeners and the ten million tabloid readerso So we trash lefries like Raven 'whenever we can. It sellso
But we can't write a tabloid
about someone
because they're liberal.
We need an occasioR
Like the Yankee
tri.aL
What a
Raven made there. Testifying as an expert witness. On behalf
of a stripper who sued her fanner boyfrriend, an ex-Yankee
for date
rape. Raven looked hot. And intense. Lashing .out at arrogant male chauvinists
evef'JWhereo With her big Sandra Bernhard
But on cross-exam, Raven laid an egg. 'WIlen she admitted she espouses the
hard-core feminist mantra that "all h.eterosexual intercourse is rape." Oh. My
God. 'if{e had a field dayo "ALL Sh",}( IS J.VJIPE, Femffrnazi Law Pro/Testifies At
J/([(unkee Stripper TriaL" All in
red letterso Above a
photo of Raven
on the courthouse stepso
like a
Victorian reforrneL Snarling at
the paparazzL And flipping 11S off. Ivfy all-time favorite front page.
0
§HOELJES~
JOE
wife Elaine says Rcnren threatens insecure men like me.
tme.
And though I vifOuld never admit it to Elaine, Raven's done a lot
for this
countl']. As a Senator's aide back in1the
Raven drafted most of
Tide IX.
that forced high schools to organize
sports teams for
girk So instead
cheerleading and puffing up the egos of
boys,
my
ball themselves. Which I admit is a very
thing.
But at the
we dOl1't extol Raven's virtues. Not when
her
seils so much better. So if I can expose Raven? Ten the world she's really the
Radical? Living a double life for
That would put The
.National
on the map. Put me on the map, too.
I can also expose Raven in another way. If Janet Fickel is right. If
Lane Davis is
boning Raven.
we don't cover small-tmi'1H scandal.
Iv[ayor(id candidate joo/ing a;"ifJunr:! witlh law
Not a tabloid story. But
Raven's made herself a
aU intercomse is rape. So vlhat is
Raven's affair vvith Davis
next to the Rachel Clark
IfIcan
land thal.
Buoyed
CH'YIJ'J"'U'C" I can in. Graham's unavailable. So I leave him a
voice maiL
I'm on a
hot
Too hot to discuss by cell phone.
~v\lon't be back 'til
hours.
mind goes
I sit out in the woods behind Raven's house.
into
mode. Like 11 copy machine 011 the vveekenc'l. Like a hunter shin a deer blind.
The air is warm. The rotting autumn leaves beneath my feet smell like wet
wood chips.
My
dlrift back to 1969. '\IV-hen I Vilas thirteen.
wise-ass pals and
I sat out in these very same woods. Even then. I was up to no good. We'd stuff
towels into pants and a jacket. To make a life-size headless dummy. Then throw
the dUlilmmy out into the road. In front ofpassil1g cars. So they'd think they hit
it was funny as helL
someone. Little fiends, we were. We
Tabloid work requires the same style of juvenile recklessness. The same
lack of concern for others. Rule #2 in the tabloid biz: Never start
about
your
With
this is easy. She's so arrogant. I zoom in close with my camera.
are
while she writes. No wonder they can her a "slasher in
Raven's
" '.i'Vhat a nasty bitch. But she's
fabulous skin. For
years old.
Almost too f;1bulous. If she's
Rachel Clark, Raven must have had a lot of
vi/arK. On the boobs. The haiL And
the
too.
67
68
FIRST VVEEK
I\1ore til-ne passes,
left butt cheek falls
Twice. I pee. Tv/ice,
But still Rav,en never leaves her desk. Iron bladder, She takes tV10 phone
calls, On a land lille. In her bedroom. But otherwise
glued to her desk.
Even eats lunch g,t her desk
1 can't sit out here an
'waiting for her to leave, Raven's cans give
me an idea,
tabloid hacks, HIY hero is Fletch. The Chevy Chase character with
Like
the stupid
'VI/hich
seem to work. So I come up vvifh a
Fletch \vould love,
I abandon the stakeout Drive to a hardware store.
work gloves. And a
,,"H'~'"";,,"H to hold lIly camera,
phone
My
Ac'ul1 my
have an ex~CIA guy at The NatiOi'wl
i~nother
i1-om the
He's very good.
us on the cutting
edge of sUTveiHance
An the latest
I drive to my hoteL JFire up my
repair t011.11o Print
it. Grab a gray
from my suitcase. Take my contact lenses out And put on
my black-framed
a tortuons route. To be sure the Germans
up my scent ,::;,gain. ]\To
of them.
and the Latino cop have ]1ot
up, I guess,
Raven's still at her post.
the leafy trees in her back
as cover, I
dodge my 'iNay up to the outside back wan of her house. Scratch a small hole
down to the
where her
line enters the house, And cut it.
Next I don the gray wig. The black
and gray
should keep her
from
me-in case she remembers the face
tabloid hack from
the Yankee stripper triaL
r put on my new work
Grab my new tool kit. And ring Raven's
front doorbell.
Raven doesn't open the door, "V,.1ho is itT' she calls through the door's
glass lights,
I hold up my new tool kit for her to see. "Telephone service."
"I didn't call for any telephone service," Raven
I puB out rny computer-generated form. "Is this"-I SQUillt-"2755
Devonshire Road?"
an
here your phone is down."
it's not." Raven starts to vvalk away.
§H-IOELESS JOE
"lVb'anrJL? 'IiVouid you mind checking it? Can't turn in the papenvork 'til it's
checked'. "
COInes
back. Opens the door.
Raven
"It is deacL" Raven motions for me to cmne in. "~Nho caned in?"
"Dunno," I rHumble. Vve move into Raven's kitchen, "Trouble in this whole
Main tmnk: line. Hit six or seven
I think. Shouldn't take
too long to fix."
Raven nods. Seems hassled. But not
I fiddle "'lith her phone.
Then say I 'need to check the line from the inside out. ~IJVe
down to her
I look trustworthy.
basement.
So Raven
I have
I s'witch to my thin latex
to be
I ferret around the basement a minute. Find a Iocked file cabinet
In the back of a closet. Bingo!
With rny
gun I open the rile cabi11et's lock Guess 'iI1hat I find?
Rachel Clark's old ID papers? Her love letters from Paul Zimmennan? No
slLlch luck.
Pom! Straight, HOlH!!"-'.AH
collection.
Nothing left to the imagination. Reams
The worst kind.
of the stuff.
Por an instant I'm elated.
the headline:
CirlUsadel'
Hoards Secret Porn Stash. Above an artide '-AI'JV"HJl'" Raven LaGrow's secret
porn addiction. But then it hits me. This sluff can't possibly
to a woman.
It doesn't even appeal to me, This must be some of Raven's old research. Trying
to link pomography to violent assaults against women.
So I
the porn back. Return to the kitchen. Tap Raven's kitchen phone.
Then I go upstairs. Poke my head in the study. And get Raven's pem1ission to
check her bedroom
In her
I
out an
video camera. Flip it on.
And place it on top of a taU armoire. High enough that Raven vvon't spot it.
Unless she dusts tip there. I aim :it down at her dressing table. The thing runs for
hours. Should be able to get some film of her lower back Tonight
Or tomorrow morning. To see if she's got Rachel Clark's tattoo.
Next I tap her bedroom
Then conduct a quick-and very quiet-search.
In the bathroom I find just one toothbrush. Raven Rives alone.
In the bedside table-which r open velY slovvly-I find a huge battery~pow~
asweH-endowed as this rubbery deviL
ered dildo. Lord! r wish I 'were
69
"Vlomen
claim sIze doesn't matter. So why, if left to their own
do
choose a 1110n8[e1' every time? Even Raven!
From the ceiling
an ie.dustrial-strength hook In Raven's half-open
Hmm. Apparently she's :3, lot
closet I see the reason for the hock: a Love
kinkier than I thought
1\1mnbIe
about
good progress."
I pass Raven's
back
the two ends ofthe line I cut a fe-w minThen walk outside.
the dirt back in the small hole I
utes ago. And
Find Raven in her kitchen now. Chopping calTots for
I go back inside
VLj,j',"'CUjU",
dinner.
I
up the 5)hone. Hand it to her. She hears the dial tone. Nods. Then
011 my best imitation of a phone re]paiITJllan drawL "So yer a
I
Raven nods. Doesn't look up.
""lhat kinda
do ya do 7"
topics. I'm a lavv I'.n'u~'.""u. " As if a mere phone "P,'<U,HAaH could not
l.mderstand.
"Oh, The Law," I say. "The Lmv Is AAss."
Raven looks up.
that her phone repairman is quoting
rc'Sorneiirnes it iso'?
"So do ya ever write about the faults 1n some of the laws?"
a feminist critirque of laws applying to various cnn'1es
"Yes. I'm
involving gender."
dose to sex-my specialty. "A Feminist critique of sex
Gender is
laws'!"
for a fight.
Raven jerks up to look at me,
"That's great!" I say. "The laws on sex ar,e a mess. They need to be looked
at fresh."
Raven gapes. lunazed, I presume, to find that her phone repairman supfeminism.
So I launch into a rambling rant about Puritan laws "still on the books."
Laws that make it
for two consenting adults to have certain kinds of
intercourse. Laws that make it
for married people even
to have
"Is that what yer
about?"
"Sort of," Raven says.
"Do ya think it should be
for manie:d people to have
§HOELE§S JOE
Raven frO'i!i/l1s. "I'm not sure having an affair actuaHy is iHegal anymore."
"Oh7 That's what I vras told. But yer the law perfesscr. 'vVhere'd you take
the BarT'
lavil, I teach it. Raven :iooks
"l"Towhere. I dOl1"t
"Is there
any paperwork you need me to
" I h;;;nd her Hly n11"'~_Yl,,"11t'lrp'n, form. V/hile reading the small
it away. Carefully.
"There's no
for
is there?" Raven asks.
ask ya thoughL Back in the sixties smne
"Oh, no." I pack up to go. "I
radicals tried to bomb the Lavi SchooL Does that I(inda stuff still go onT'
"No. The La'0! School's very safe these
quiet."
"Did ya ever hear 'what happened to those bombers?'"
"Police shot and kmed 'em, I believe."
"But dicln't one of 'em get
"I bdieve that's
" Raven says. "A young viToman."
"Yeah. A
Kinda liIce a
Hearst deul. Do ya knmJll whatever happened to herT'
"No idea,"
"10ou'd think if she was so hen-bent on
the Law School back
she'd come back and
it
"I believe she and her filiendswere
lay" professor,"
.llaven says. "A very conservati.ve gentleman. Pembroke Watldns. He's retired now."
"On,
I thought they was just after the Law School CllZ it's a
Of The Law."
Raven grunts. But her attention is back on her canots, which she's now
dumping into a pot
water.
"They say that little girl had herself tattooed," I continue. "With a
Weatherman tattoo. -You don't see many
with tats, do ya?"
This provokes Raven to look up again. Her face betrays no emotiol1. But
she's inspecting me hard now. "You sure ~~ow a lot about old revolutionaries.
For a telephone repairman."
"I read a liot," I say
"About free radicals. Nothin' wrong with
is there?"
Raven rerums to her
wat'er. I let myself out.
the
V'U'<HU<U,.,
71
"So what if my guy is tailing
Yen don't seen'} to have any trouble los~
ing him:'
'wrong," I say. "'Ne're
to be teammates."
"Like heE," Greg Hunter sl1('crk "So. jlc,Je you here to daim the revlfard
money?"
"Not
teammate. But I'rn very dose. Just gimme one more
I fed cocky Tl:lOse tattoos can't be a coincidence. Raven's
be Rachel
Clark.
But I can't give I-hmter the repair :Dorm
Because it has Raven's name.
So ifher prints match Rachel
Hunter win know whom to arrest. Before
r can intenr:iew her. Beitter to wait a day. Let my ,-'Hunne,,' camera film Raven's
I ten Hunter.
tattoo. Then interview her.
I've stopped
the cop shop
to be sure I-hmter is staying calm.
"There's not an
date for this reward money, is there?" I ask,
"It
in trust 'til 2019, Ifno one's eameo it
then, it goes to the Police
Fisher. You
Officers' Vlidows' Fund." Hunter scowls. "But I'm not that
better come up with somethin' quick."
"Okay. But it would help if Kkl1e"l}iT more details about Rachel Clade"
"Isn't that
youwel1t to the library? To read up on Rachel Clark?"
"Yeah, But there's lots of stuff that's not in the library, Like her
~Neatherman tattoo."
"Her tattoo'8 not '\Tm.nn,,"f'omt" Hunter says. "Tattoos only last about ten
years:'
"You mean
fade?"
"F'irst they tum into dark bruises. Then they faok Unless they
renewed,
And guess what,
don't
go out and renew their tattooso So by this time, there can't be much left of Rachel Clark's tattoo."
the tattoo is just an example." I mask my
At leaming this
fact about tattoos that I did not knov{o "'Without that kind of detail, I can't be
effective, Gathering evidence for you. Teammate."
Hlh'l1ter stares at me. Like he can't figure out ifI'm crazy,
Or both,
"I'm not
for state secrets," I say. "Just details, from 1969, What
went down."
Hunter sighs. "Ahight. October 27, 1969, 5:51 pollCL fv'fy brother Dale is on
campus
Alone. Sees two
in helmets, throwing bricks at the Law
School. Dale hits his siren and radioes for back-up, then drives as dose as he can.
P<CW",HC,
SI-IOELESS JOE
FIe jurnps out and
at them to freeze. The ShOli guy-Ai
11-<c,r"rml"Cl _ _U,rn
13
out
a .38. Gets off one round before Dale can
his O"W11 piece out One very
shot J-lits Dale fun in the stomach. Dale goes dO\ivn. Rei1.ID1S six rounds."
"And kills them bothT'
Dale's first shot catches Brovvn ilTh the face. Two other shots hit
ZimmennalTh-the tall guy. One in the
one in the chest. The exact sequence
of shots was never established."
"There was a
wasn't there? By Zim~ilemlan's
"To1[g! bullshit Zimmennan conspired to firebomb the Law School and
murder a law professor, I-Hs partner,
had
shot Dale vlfith a .38.
Yet Dale's
to lie there, half-dead in the
and say, 'what?
let's see now. Sinc\e Brm;vn shot me, it's
to shoot him. But Zillfllnerman
hasn't
his gun, Yet And he ain't
Yet. So I can't shoot himo Not
until he
out his gun and tries to finish me off.' Is that it? That's total fucking horseshit!"
"VVhalt nantJ,ened in the lawsuit?"
insurer paid the Zhmnennans some money to get rid of it 'Not much."
"Was there any feCieraJ criminal civil rights investigation?"
"Na'vv. The Zimmermans tried to start one. But it went nowhere."
"No one to
t.w.,--",-,(uc" Vias dead," I TIl1urnmr. "So what about Rachel
Clark?"
"She was their driver."
"But she went inside the Law UvWJVJl, too," I say. "Before they
out to
throw bricks."
"True. But Vie could never
She was on the third floor
Watkins's office."
"Hovv do youlmo'vv she was up there?"
"We found two stacks of pennies in a comer ofthe hall. 'Bout six feet from
his office."
"Pennies?"
"Pennies. Two nice neat stacks. Sixteen pennies in each stack. With her fingerprints. "
she dropped them there some other time?"
"Nu'ii'l. Janitor cleaned that han mid-afternoon on October 27. Said he saw
110 pennies then, or he woulda
'em up. And these were not dropped.
They were ·""",',',>,0,'". stacked."
"1J!fIJ.at forT'
"Beats the shit ou:ti:a me. But it proves she\vas on the third floor. For something."
"Tell me the det?lils
the shooting."
"Rachel Cl61rkjumped outta the van, Grabbed Zimmem1an's gun. Dale saw
her. He reloaded. But he didn't shoot her cuz he didn't l\;:now for sure she 'was
with ' em. She heard my si£en and the other cars
She got up 011 the load~
dock
as we anived. I sav" an officer dc~,vn aI1d her
with a gun.
I
'halt.' She didn't
So I fired at her, One ronneL Hit her in that heIinside, fmC!
in
the
other
night.
But she
.met you.
away."
~'PIOTjJV
did Dale live?"
"Tv/dve minutes, DOA at the E~t. Toxins in his stomach leaked out cuz of
the bullet hole. Poisoned him. Thiliy-five years ago this month. Rachel Clark
got away with murder."
"Villy Rachel Clark? You said Brown shot him. She
lip tlile
ather gun after."
"She's stiH a cop-killer. You wen~ to la~i\!
She was
ofa
conspiracy to firebomb a public
and 111lurder a law professor. 'While actofficer died. That 111akes
the conspirators eqlially
guilty Of
murder. Counselor."
"Okay-but you have to prove
were all in the CO]lSj:nr3iCV 'What physical
evidence did you find at the scene to connect the conspn"at,on;T
"Brm.vu's gun. Miatchedi the bullet in Dale's stomach. We also found two
an
bricks in Professor \Vatkius's office. And a row of Molotov cocktails on the
sidewalk."
on any of 'em?"
"No. The t"iVO men wore gloves outside the van. But TNe found Rachel Clark's
on the steering vlihed of the van and on the
Plus we found
Zimmennan's and Brown's prints inside the back of the van. VIThere the smell of
gas was very
If Dale had known
he woulda shot Rachel Clark"
"No vlay Rachel Clark sat in that van with that gas smelI and didn't know what
was goin' clown. But Dale didn't Imow about the gas
so he didn't
sure she was in on it. So he gave her the benefit ofthe doubt. Let her escape. Like
officer should. And still he got sued. Even though he was dead!"
a
"And you were able to identifY their fmger:prints because
aU had recordsT'
"Kids
all been arrested two weeks earlier at the Days of Rage in 'v'H''''''~'J.
at
SHOELESSJOE
"Not playing. Days of Rage was the first real Weathermen action. Marching
down the streets screaming and throwing rocks. Breaking everything in sight.
Storefronts, car windows, you name it. Half Chicago was scared shitless."
"But the whole thing was dumber than Pickett's charge, right? They didn't
come close to taking over the Army Induction Center. They just marched,
unarmed, right into the police lines."
"Even dumb punks are dangerous. Five hundred kids rioting in the streets
is bad news."
"But the Chicago Police drove 'em off with just a few shots over their
heads, right?"
"That's right. And arrested only the hard-core Weathermen who refused to
disperse."
"Including Zimmerman, Clark, and Brown," I say. "Who all got out on
bond. Came back here. And cooked up a plot to bomb the Law School. Was
anyone else part of their plot?"
"We never found any evidence to connect anyone else to the bombing conspiracy. Though it wouldn't surprise me. Because Rachel Clark musta had help
afterwards. "
"How do you know that?"
"Most fugitives can't last a year without getting caught. And Rachel Clark
was only nineteen. No money of her own. Someone had to be helping her.
Probably still is."
"What details do you know about Rachel Clark afterwards?"
"You mean after she escaped from the Law School?" Hunter asks.
"Right," I say. "Rachel Clark runs into the Law School. With that helmet
on. Gets out through the steam tunnel. In the basement, I assume. Then what
happens?"
Hunter leans forward. Grips my left wrist. "How'd you know about the
steam tunnel?"
"I dunno. Why?"
"Just a guess?"
"Am I wrong?" I wince to show Hunter his grip hurts. "Isn't that how she
escaped?"
"Are you guessing? Or did someone tell you that?"
"What's the problem here, Greg?" I pry his hand off my wrist while he
glares at me.
75
76
lF1IR§T Vy'EEK
"Problem
VIe never found any witness who saw her go i11to that steam
tunnel. Vie only figmed it out two days later ourselves. From her fingerprints on
the tunnel door and along the tunnel
and then over by where she
out
So how'd you kilOWT'
near the power
"I mustEl read about it at the
"No. That steam tunnel escape vvas never made
was
about it. Didn't 'Ivan! people to lenov\T you can travel all across campus
tlil,delcground steamtumlels."
,:JULU.UVTU
"But even; U of 1v1 student knovJs about the steam lllnnds," I
ouL
So we never told anyone out-
"I knmv. But the U didn't 'vvant
side la'0! el]jorcement that Rachel Clark
a steam tunnel. W!e
tell anyone. You see how I left that detaiJ
Habit" Hunter grabs my 'Nrist
"So. Teammate,\tVho the hen
told you about fhe steam tmmel?"
I can see I've made a serious mistake. Stopping
Ito see Hunter. But I can't
ten PIunter it was Lane Davis who told me about the stearn tu:nnd. Cu£; then Hunter
might go out and aIrest Davis. ',.iVhich might
Rachel Clark into nmning.
"1
don't know where I heard
"I lie. Once again I pry his hand off
my VVTist
"Check your
"I don't take notes."
"1Nhaddya mean you don! take notes? You're a
"Do you take notes Vi/hen you 'INork undercover?"
for Chrissake."
"I remember what people tell me 'til I
a chance to write it down."
"But I didn't YJlOW the steam tunneli was H~,,,,,,n..,,,u,. That's
I came to
Because I don't know enough details to recognize the
talk to you
COIne up."
H'<J'ieH, I'm tired of yom games." Hunter shows me the door. "Tomorrow
you better remember about the tunneL And where you got that helmet. Or I
swear I'll hit you with a
"U.UIo'V'_WJC."
On the 'Nay to Dominick's, I start thinking about pelmies and doors. So I
stop by the L::uv School. BmTOW 2. rulier from the hbrarian. Walk up to the third
floor. To Pernbroke 'Watkins's oM office, number 320. I J[neasure the
fTOm
the floor to the bottom of the office door.
SI5H11E:LESS JOE
TriIee-fourths of an Inch.
I fish four pennies out of my
Stack ' em. IvleaslU'e 'em.
Three-sixteenths of an inch.
You do the math. If four pennies are 3/16" high, then sixteen pennies must
be 3/4" high,
Janet Fickel says. "And now you're ... a rpl')()i~lpr
I say,
Janet smiles. ''I've heard of
writers. But not repo-er,
"You vvere
U"L~UJU""'?'
VV'UV,HHRRE,
"
an
"Happens
the time.
and
have lots ill common.
Lying, for example."
at ])ominidk's.
across the street from
VJe're
on the nl"Ont
the spot where Rachel Clark's Weathem1en pals shot Dale l:1nnter, Thirty-five
years ago this month.
Dorninick's serves its drinks mason
A
custom, they started long
the 1969 action.
Dmninick's is 2'. magical place to sit on a vlann even:ing in the fan. The
cast a
v>!arm glovv
twenty-one electric lights in the ceiling of the front
over the cafe's many quirky detaHs. Eccentric statuary. Old-fashioned omate
lamps.
!cables. And a
selection
and posters from
the ultra-liberal
Eke John Sinclair Freedom Rally--featuring a
of the v>!i1d-haired
of the marijuana movement
Janet's torturing me with another loose-fitting business jacket But she still
You should have seen her prance tip the sidewalk Ever so
looks damn
slowly. In her heels and short skirt Ever since I saw her, my heart's been poundharder than it should. For a man my age.
Now Janet raises a sexy eyebrow at me, "Lying?"
"Sure. When I was a federal prosecutor, I lied for a living."
"The prosecutors I know never lie," Janet says.
"Most don't. But Iny unit at the DOJ only did police misconduct cases. And
racial violence cases. Jailhouse Deanngs. Klan cross-burnings. Teenagers firethat mean you had to He?"
a Code of Silence. They never rat out
"Cops, kids, and the Klan aU
their
77
i8
FIRST WEEK
"Isn't that true of all criminals?" Janet asks,
"Not at all. Most cases depend on informants, And guys who
over, The
prosecutor finds a guy low in the chain. Cuts a deaL Gives him irmmmity. He
testifies against the others."
"But coukln't you find someone 'low in the chain' to take your deals?"
Janet asks.
"Only
Here's an example, San Juan, It's still the V/ilci West down
Then
hit the streets. The rest they
there. Cops there get just f;Jlir hours
leam from j\lfiami Vice reruns, Those guys shoot
ask
later, If they
bother with questions at all. So. Thnoe cops bust a kid seHing marijuamt outside a
schooL Kid rUllS.
chase him. Hundred
Dovvl1 to the liver. But they
can't catch him. They're too fat and slow. It's hot
pissed, So one shoots
the kid in the back l(id's sixteen. Dead, For
iit school,
"There's no witnesses.
the two cops who didn't shoot But
not gonna rat out their brother-with-the-baclge. So
fix the crime scene, Get
a throw-doVlITl glUL Fire it a few times, At their squad car. Hit the '01indshie1d,
Then stick the gun in the dead kid's hand."
too
I pause. Look deep into Janet's luminous brown eyes. Am I
long?
But Jcmet seems interested, And her eyes are even more beauof Domil1ick's
electric lights than
tiful in the soft
were yesterday in the sunlight at zlingen111lln
"So we bring in all the cops: the shooter, his two
who didn't
their sergeant, the lieutenant Vl1ho signed off on their phony reports, and even
the hvo cops 'who took the car to the
to get the windshield fixed, All of
, em. Sit 'em in a waiting room, all together.
talkin' tough. Pumpin' each
other up, Very Hlacho guys, You mO'l1! the
"I married one," Janet murmurs.
I pause, curious about her macho husband. But Janet offers nothing more.
"We bring the first one back The
Luis. We tell Luis the angle ofthe
bullet through the 'tvimdshidd is wrong. Bullet came in too
we ten him, to
be the dead kid who fired it He was a short little kid. Plus there were no '",n"'c'~"
marks from the gun on the dead kid's hand, So vve lc710W the kid didn't fire that
gun, We tell Luis that
everyone
a chance to tell the tmth. But tomorrow the grandjuf'j will indict anyone who doesn't tell the tmth
"lIfe stare at
Luis with dead eyes. But Luis is a tough guyo He tens us to go fuck ourselves."
Xtake a long
ofthe imported Belgian beer I'n1 drinking, Janet's drinking Bud Lite.
ron
S][fOELES§ JOE
'''Was it true?" Janet asks. "About the angle of the bullet? And the
,,",,n,n,,,-),,,,·
burns?"
"The bullet angle 'was a total lie, pillj!d the
marks-wen, that was a
too. It was true there were no
lTmrks on the kid's hand. But it didn't
mean anything. Because the kid fell in wet mud. So the lack of powder burns on
his hand vvas inconclusive. But those 'were
the little liies.
didn't
lie that worked."
vlmk It vias the
I pause, For dramatic effect. And to cOlL1t(~ml]Jl;lte Janet's sexy,
auburn
eyebrmvs.
"We tell our little lies. Luis tens us to ruck off. After fifte,:;n minutes, we
walk him back to the "",,,1-,,",0, room. Let him go. FIe
the thumbs up to his
buddies,
out.
macho.
the next guy back, Tomas. One of the cops who \vas right there.
Same drill, V'0e teU Tomas he's gain' dO'JiJH [OlTIOlTOV\T, Unless he
An
tellis the truth. Tomas tens us to go fuck ourselves. Tomas is even harder than
Luis.
But "lie
Tomas back there anyway,
minutes.
Finany we let TOl11,as go. Out the side door.
"Then betore Tomas can gel back to the waiting room, 'we go out and get
the third guy. Jose. The other
And you can seethe fear in Jose's
'was Tomas gone so
And why
face. Jose's IV'J~"'U~ at his buddies
hasn't Tomas come back out here? Like Luis did?
"V\!e take Jose back Same drill. TWe know what happened. The buHet angle,
The
burns. But now we add the kicker. Tomas admitted
We
don't need you, Jose, We don't care what you do. We're
you this one
we're
guys. Take it or leave it
chance to tell the truth because,
Tomorrow you won't have this chance. You'll be indicted with Luis. And anyone else v/no sticks t01 the bullshit
in those reports you guys wrote.
"And I swear to
Janet, the guy
it. Old Jose spills his guts.
Admits the kid was murdered. Admits the cover-up. Everything, VI/hat a riot!
'Nas so much [-Ul1!"
That
"Then
you leave it? Why'd you become a repo-a
I have a standard rap I use, to avoid telling
I was disbalTed, "Being
a
thing, Like being a cop. You send people to jaiL
Sometimes for life. I didn't Iike that
Only reason I lasted as long as I did
was a lot
fun."
was, my boss
"It does help if your boss is fun. I had the best boss in Fmt
Simol1.
So crazy."
79
80
FmSTWEEK
old
in FOli
About all her
I get Janet
about the
friends back home. And the contp>"-""'m11-'''' antics of her
boss Simon.. Tu;:ns out
Simon is Jewish.
"Did you ever go to any Jewish ~~~~~~--'J at Simon's house?" I ask
"One Passover Seder," Janet says_ "Jo1m hated it But I thought it 1,;vas
fUrL"
"Jewish holidays are a hoot."
curious how 1 knoy\! anything about Jewish
Janet cocks her
" I
wire Elaine is
I pause. The best advice I ever got in my whole Efe was, never talk to a
with Janet isn't
'woman about another woman. But v\That the hello This
anywhere. She's married. I'm married. I'm going home
If not
sooner. And even in my youth, 'when my dates were
and lived in the same
to'Wl1 as me, even then I never learned hGW to get a 'vV01rmn to
'With me,
siege. I
have ED idea hcnv to seduce a Vifoman.
it's
been the
wear 'em down. So I decide to "ten Janet a story
An I know how to do is
about Elahle,
at me, K forget
"One time before Vife were married, Elaine was
about what "
"No doubt with good reason," Janet teases,
"No doubt. So it's Passover. maine decides toO punish me. Seats me betvITeen
her
vvho was AttiJa the HlL'"1'S wife in a
life, and her aunt, who was
Lizzie Borden in a
!life. Now I'm the only
there. These two grim lit~
de old Jewish gnomes hate
fact that Princess Elaina is dating me at alL So
they're looking at me like I'm something smelly on the side of their shoes."
what I want.
Janet's laughing hard now.
"Elaine figures she's got me fixed. But she fails to account for the vifonderfhl effect of alcohol on the human spirit. It's Passover. Every few minutes, after
you read a little more about the Flight from Egypt, the Haggadah-the
Passover script-calls for you to take a sip of wine."
"I remember," Janet says, sipping her Bud Lite.
Mom and Am'1tie and I are taking
"'Wdl pretty soon, we're not taking
large sloshes ofwil1e. In fact, we're not even waiting for authorization from the
Haggadah. 'We're
with the w'ine. Then they find out I can recite
poetry from memory. Vlhich I tend to do 'Nhen I've been drinl"\;:ing. They
:from Canada. INhere education is 8tm about memorization.
They think American education sucks because Elaine can't recite Wordsworth.
SHOEiLESS JOE
But I can give you 'NordswoJrth out thewazoo,
cated. So
L'''F'''VMAUY
when I'm wen~11.lbri~
three sheets to the
are such 0.
cockroach-I CEn't kHl you, no matter what I do.'"
"And
that smug little shit-eating
of yOlJlfS,"
Janet adds.
I blanch. 'Til I see she's still laughing. Evidently she likes my smug little
"I-!ow'd you Imo"vl!?" I ask.
" Janet says.
the
and the
it to you ""'m.".u •. The
ugly. At the words
luck," I feel the stirrings of avery
erection.
'[vi/ho Imows
Just LlV',H"HHHt:, about the way Janet says it. Something about
how fun and
and vivaciOltS she is. Something about hOVif she luakes me feel
like I'm so
For here, in the
glow of Dominick's lights-and the
which ~'VHR'~L"]
glow of Dominick's beer-an my dmnb old
bore my family to tears, have been rnagically tmnsfomned into
The VIaY Janet sits also contributes to my erection.
she's posing for
Torso turned left.
twisted sharply right
V{ith that sho11 litde skirt hiked avvfuli damn high up her
stockinged
V/ith her K,lleeS an inch from mine,
At age
erections are a cause for
not embanassment. So I don't sweat i.t I just
its existence. As an unusual phenomenon. Like a geyser in the Antarctic.
"Here I thought I was being Prince Charming," I say. "And all this time,
you ',vere thi:nldng my grin is
and 'little' and 'shit-eating,' eh?"
Janet
Even without the Belgian beer, I'd be drunk On just that
woman's
"Are you always this hard on men?" I ask
"Onliy the ones who can take it."
"So if I start
vulnerable and sensitive, you'll take it easy 011 me?"
"If you sta11 acting vulnerable and
I'll leavel"
"Oh-you only like the tough
silent ones," Janet says. "That's all I've ever Imovm."
"Silent I don't do very well."
"I noticed."
I push my lower
dovm and out Like a kid who's lost his homev{ork
In
82
FIlRSl'INElElff.:
Ja:1et laughs. "But it's okay." She
my hand. "You.'re not bact For a
change
Janet Yifithdr3lv,/s her hand. But the eIech'icity ofllet" touch remains.
'lle dTink in silence a Devif minutes. Just looking at each other. Enjoying the
Vifarm autuJ.J]U
and the smen onhe
mixing with the autumn leaves. The
mood is very good.
In fact, the mood is so good, I ah'nost rniss an old friend
by. Tirn
.L·~".m"V."jJ'.L. Tim lenOVifS Elaine. And Imo\;vs tJhis ain't Elaine I'm clTinking with. I
avoid Tim's eyes as he passes.
you never did teE me how old yOll are," Janet points out.
"Boy, I can't put
you, can IT'
Janet smiles.
" Ysay. "That's l;:ot too old for you, is itT'
Janet
"Better not be. John's fifty-tvvo."
Vve talk about John. He's at his gUll dub. 'IVhere he goes every
and
VI/hen
go to the movies,
·which isn't
John insists on action movies. So Janet never sees the rmnal1tic comedies she
John. Just noting his shortcomings.
re:c:mr'oc'lte. Talk about Elaine. But that old advice about
not
toO a Vifoman about another WmTlllll seems much more relevant Now
that I have Janet I::mghing so rl1nch. Now that I've felit the electricity of her
tQuch. Besides, I cmn't say much negative about Elaine. 'lITe both hate gUlll1S. And
we both like rornantic comedies.
~~So,':; I say? G'that vvas fun
personals with you. But I forgot to ask. '\t'vhat' s Janet Fickel's personal ad sound like?"
Janet meets my eyes. "You teU me."
Sensitive
need not
Janet laughs. "SLAT'
"Sexy legal assistant."
TNe lock eyes awhile. Janet ain't lookin' away.
"And how 'bout yours, David Fisher? V\lhat's your personal ad
"You do it."
Janet svvigs her Bud Lite. Looks me up 2md down. V\lith warm dancing eyes.
"FLJ with many ,'U'Tln\,'p"
seeks a
to tell. And an even better
t.o live.';;
Sf[OELES§ JOE
Damn! This Janet Fickel is a discerning litHe minx,
'many 0""'!'J"""_" as compliment"
"This fim~lovingjoumalist wants to
it is." Janet meets my gaze again.
"But there's a great
right here ill front of me," I say.
"To ten? Or to live?"
"Both, 1\'10 different stories."
"What's the great
to tel!?"
I point to the Law School across the street
"That's the
Rachel Clark tried to bomb?" Janet asks.
"Yes, It's a great
to
Rachel Clark. Like those lost causes I love so
rrmcl:L"
Janet cocks her head at me, People cock their heads all the time. But with
Janet, it isn't just a
I can't ten you how incredibly sexy it
is. It spurs. me on.
"You
" I ,('>nn';-"l1T'P "like Shoeless Joe Jackson."
This earns me an even sexier cocking afthe head, And a very sweet smiIe,
"Y:ou remernber Shoe1ess Joe'?" I ask, "One ofthe
baseball players
ever. Accused oftaldng bribes to throw the 1919 INorId Series. So the little kid
say it ainl' so.' But Joe
on the courthouse
says,
his he2id and 'Nalks off."
yes! I have heard of him." Janet dovms some more of iller beer.
1'11 bite. How the heU is Shoeless Joe Jackson like Rachel Clark?"
"God, for a minute there I thought
never bite."
"1 only bite when it's caned for."
That remark provokes more activity south of my belt But I rattle on. "Wen,
after he 'TITas banned from baseball for
Shoeless Joe knocked around the
South for years. No
skins, No money. AU he k.new how to do V\fas play ball,
And he was in his prime. Best ballplayer in America, Except for Ruth. So 'Nhat
Shoeless Joe did was, he'd go anY'<l"here he wasn't known. Give a false name.
And play minor
ball, For peaImts. Anywhere Joe could find a team so
so far away, that he thought he could get away with it Just to be able
to do the
he tmly loved
Playing ball.
"Problem was, Shadess Joe Jackson Vias way too
to be playing in
Chucklehead, Texas, Or
Georgia. And way too distinctive, So after a
fevI! games, the whispers v\Tould start See, Shoeless Joe's
was so
his stride so graceful, H never took long 'til someone would guess who he was.
A fev" more gaJtl1es, and the vl'hispers 'would tum into a roar, Some loser ,\}i!ould
Joe hard in the faCe as he slid into second base. Call hin:l a cheater and a
&3
M
lFIRSl' 'f:NEEK
crook <1ll1d a whore. A fight vi/Ould break out. And then Joe'd be gone. On the
first bus outta [O'Wn. The Flying Dutchman of basebalL Unable to land in any
Condemned to sail the seas forever!'
I've been drirJcing. A lot. Ivfy chatter is grovling mildly incoherent
But J2net seems OYi'Nim',rN·n vvith this wild stream of verbiage. So 'what the
helL You don't
the dice just because you catch a
ofyour~
self in the casino mirro~· and realize you look like the dn:m:},;:en fool you are. Hen
no. You
those dice!
"And that's how ! see Rachel Clark. Unable to land. in any
The
Shoeless Joe Jackson ofAmlAJbor. Living a lie every day of her life. One false
identity after another. On the laTn the rest ofber Jjfe. ',Nhat'Noulid
like?
l'Iever able
to be
Never able to see your old friends. Never able to
go home and see your parents tor Christmas."
"I would die if I couldn't go home for Chrisbnasl"
fills
Ja:aefs voice. "That's the one thing I love best in all the vvorld. Ch::rishnas Eve
at home with my parerrts.
"Exactly my
Is that moisture in her
Not bad. If I can
tears
from a tough little cookie like Janet Fickel. "Thinl.;: ICOIN awfullitfe would
if
you couldn't ever go home. Couldn't ever be VfDur,'''' That's Rachel Clark's
life. And here's the 'worst
You know, Shoe1ess
he ViO!sn 't even
Janet cocks her head again. God, I love it when she does that!
"The year he
took the
Shodess Joe set the record for hits
in a World Series. Which still stands. Eighty-five years later. And yet
said
he took gamblers' money, to throw the Series? Nonsense. There's at least four
books out now
Joe was innocent."
"Then how come he wasn't acquitted back then?" Janet asks.
"Because Sheeless Joe was a poor boy from a fann. Never finished second
The
talked him into signing a confession he couldn't even read,
Told him it was all for the best."
Dimly through the haze of my fomih Belgian beer I remernber that Janet
was raised on a farm, too. Never graduated from high school. Has spent half her
life injobs that
aren't commensurate with her
wit and intelligence.
I'm
my account offann
Shoeless Joe
geHing railroaded by lawyers resonates with Janet. On the lmver
'Where, as Ralph Ellison
the real
checks occur.
"And I think Rachel Clark Vias innocent,
" I sayo "Even
she defiknew her
')\Tanted to blow up the Lavv School. And she definitely
SlBIOELES§JfOE
drove them there. But wheE it came right down to it, I think she abandoned their
Before the cop
shot"
"But Lane said after the cop got shot, Rachel Clark rim away."
Rachel Clark hit the road. But
"True. Vvhen the shit hit the
in her shoes. Just nineteen. Facing those circlU11stances.
have had the
and stand trial?"
guts to
"What makes you thi](Jl~ she abandoned their
before the cop
shotT'
"The pennies."
"The pennies?"
fotmdrwo stacks of
Vvith Rachel Clark's fingerprints. On
the third floor of the L,rw SchooL In the haH. Near the office her friends were
planning to firebomlb. Pembroke Viatkins's office. Why c,vo1l1ld Rachel Clark
up there'?"
leave tlNC stacks
"She
them while "''''"'''IJJLUC;
"No. She es,capen nw,~m();'" the basement. And she didn't
the
either. They found 'em in two nice little stacks. Sixteen
per stack,
Exactly the height front the bottom of Vvatkil1s's door to the floor. I think she
was supposed to penny 'Watkins in his office."
J1:Ullet cocks her head at my use ofthe vlfora "penny" as a verb.
"It's an oM college dorm
You
two piles of pennies under a
door. The person inside cannot get out They musta sent Rachel Clark up there
to penny Pembroke 'Watkins in his office.
threw the bricks at his
window. So he'd die up there in his office. When
threw the firebombs in.
didn't do it. Instead, she
those pennies in a comer of the halL
I know it sounds weird. But there's no other reason for hvo stacks of pennies to
be found on the third floor ofthe Law School, "vith Rachel Clark's fingerprints
on 'em. I'm convinced she was supposed to penny Watkins in. But in the end,
she backed out and didn't do it."
Janet nods. Reaches in her purse. Looks me square in the eye. "Do you
mind if I smoke?"
go ahead."
I hate
But we're outdoors. And
frankly, if Janet Fickel wanted to slaughter a small defenseless child in front of
want to stay on this woman's good
me, r d
say fine. Go ahead. I
side. "I should have guessed."
"\Vhat do you mean?" Janet asks, as she goes through the smoker's light-
up rituaL
I couldn't figure out INhat the hen you kept "~'J"~H'" for m
3l0lIT purse.'9
Janet cocks her head at me. Blows :ill
of sn10ke out the side of her
2nvay :liom me. The'Nll01e effect is so
I debate asking her to have
Hight now. On the table. In front of everyone at Dominick's.
sex with me on tlle
"You don't miss
Janet asks.
do
"I try not to." 'IJVe lock eyes a
tirne on that one.
Vie talk Ecvvhile
Drink another roUllct At last Janet says she's
home. But
John's 0H'V'UUUL~ skeet all 'INeekend. Out oftovvn. So Janet
agrees to dil1ner tmnorrow night I\To hesitation. 1\,11(( a sweet §l1'1ilie.
I 'wall( Janet to b~r car. Hands behind my back As vvef,valk, I S';ilfear Janet's
heels tap
ill Morse
I-M-S-O-S-E-X-Y. But it's probably just my
'HjLai';H2~CU'V'L Rmming wild agaiI'.
illL! her car, I stand beside Janet's door while she opens it Like an aVi!kvvard
teenage
Hoping for a kiss. But it's not in the cards. Janet isn't dosing the
cUshmce betweeil us. So I stick out my hand. Janet smiles, Shakes my hand.
proper. Af1:e:rwe are both married. And standing in the
Very fOnYlaL
street In front of sixty or
at Dominick's,
I'n spa:re you the grubby details of what I do when I return to my hotel room.