Bulldog's Plight (standard:action, 5881 words)
Author: hvysmker	Added: Apr 10 2004	Views/Reads: 3888/2697	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A Detective story in the 40's A kleptomanic detective. One who likes Hitler. Lots of action.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

It wasn't that Sam was such a good shot, he was trying to shoot over
their heads.   It must have been the luck of the Irish, dispensed in 
dribbles to an Englishman.  Well, that used to be an Irish 
neighborhood, at one time. 

In any case, the four decided it would be prudent to exit the area.  Sam
looked at the running, well one kind of bent over and clutching his 
crotch, men.  Then at his prisoner, and shook his head. 

“They don't make Assholes like they used to.  They look the same, but
just don't have that stink.” 

A patrolman had heard the shots, and was approaching while Sam called a
car from the Police Call Box on Halstead.  The boxes were spaced every 
hundred yards or so.  Every Police Officer had a key, and could use the 
direct line to Headquarters if needed. 

“Hey, what's going on, this is my beat.”  He yelled.  “Oh, hi Bulldog. 
What you got Jackson for?”  His anger evaporated.  There were a few 
keys floating around town, and prank calls were common. 

“Lo, Paul.  Our Mr. Jackson here knows a few things about a murder
robbery.”  Jackson shook his head, looking at the ground.  Sam had an 
idea. 

“Say Paul, you still got that little resting spot.  The one you don't
sleep in on quiet nights?  You know the little hideaway to keep warm on 
the cold ones?” 

“Yeah, guess I got a place like that, why?” 

“Well the wagon won't be here for a while.  Mr. Jackson and me could
have a little quiet talk.  Sort of get a few things out of the way, 
while we wait.”  Now, that got Jackson's attention.  The idea seemed a 
little ominous to him.  Especially since he knew Sam's reputation. 

“Ah, Mr. Bulldog, Sir.  Maybe we could talk right here?   I'm
comfortable right now.” 

“Sure those hand-irons don't bother you, Jackson?  We could even have a
coke or something, while we wait.” 

“OH, no Sir, Mr. Bulldog.  I feel fine right here, I can say anything
here I could in there, Yes Sir.” 

“You know how to write, Mr. Jackson?  We got us a tablet and pencil in
this here box.  Why don't you tell us what you know about that there 
robbery?  You know the one, the one you went bang bang on.” 

“I didn't shoot anyone Sir.  That was Clarence done that.” 

“Well then, just write that down, Clarence did that, like you just
said.” 

The two Officers talked while Jackson laboriously scribbled, with a
pencil stub, on the back of a form pad.  He looked, for all the world, 
like a large schoolboy as he formed each individual letter.  Eventually 
the paddy wagon came and took Sam and Jackson to the Station. 

****** 

It took Sam a couple of hours, at the Station, to book Jackson and get
his paperwork on the Majestic Meat Market robbery, Jackson's little 
escapade, in order.  He dropped it in the Sergeant's in Basket and 
leaned back in his chair, the only non-squeaking one in the office.  
Seniority had it's small benefits. 

He had been Sgt a couple of times, but never kept it long.  Sam was not
your exceptional Detective.  Oh, he was bright enough, and solved his 
share of cases.  He just had a few faults.  His biggest being a 
kleptomaniac. He just couldn't help it.  As a kid on the streets, he 
had discovered a great talent as a pickpocket. 

Time just seemed to slow down as he pilfered wallets, purses, and other
small objects.  He was never caught and later joined the Force.  Things 
still seemed to appear, like magic, in his own possession.  
Occasionally it helped in his profession, but also involved an 
occasional arrest, which was covered up by his Superiors.  What it did 
not help were his chances for promotion. 

“Hey Sam,” Detective Johnson called over, “Hear you finished a case,
want another one?” 

“Na, Johnny.  I still got three to work on now.” he called back, over
the sound of the oscillating floor fans. “What you think about that guy 
Hitler, over in Germany?  He's really kicking ass over there.” 

“Better get off that case, Sam.  It doesn't make you too popular around
here.” 

“So.  I'm not in a popularity contest.” 

Fear and violence also helped him in his work, but was increasingly
frowned on by the Bosses.  Now they wanted only new men with high 
school degrees.  Little namby-pambies afraid to say ‘shit',  like it 
would stick to their tongues.  Now, with Hitler in the news all the 
time, his affiliation with the American National Socialist Party was 
also frowned on.  A couple of years ago, nobody gave a damn.  Shit, he 
despised the Communist's like everyone else. 

A couple of days later, Sam had just finished breakfast and gotten back
in his car.  He had to interview a woman about a gas station robbery.  
He sat down on a hard object. 

“Shit.”  He thought, and checked his pockets.  He found a salt and
pepper set from the restaurant.  He had inadvertently stolen them, 
while deep in thought.  “Oh, well.  I'll return them tomorrow.” he 
decided.  When thinking deep thoughts, he often stole things without 
noticing.  He put them in the glove compartment with other small items, 
of the same type. 

After the interview, Sam had occasion to look for an item at ‘Marshall
Field's' in the loop, a large department store.  As he was leaving he 
felt a hand on his shoulder.  It was a large man, flashing a Security 
badge in his face. 

“I believe you have something that belongs to us,.Sir.”  The Store
Detective asked him, “please come with me where we can have a little 
privacy.”  Sam noticed a well dressed man standing behind the guard.  
All three walked to the Security Office.  It turned out that he had 
stolen a cheap watch as he passed a display. 

Sam tried to explain his condition to the Head of Security and the
others.  This time they didn't buy it.  He still thought that the 
Captain of his Precinct would take care of it, like always. 

“I will see that you are prosecuted Detective.  I'm a City Councilman
and will make it my priority.”  It turned out he was a Councilman, 
getting his position on a law and order ticket. 

“We can't have any thieving Policemen in My city.”  Councilman Peter
Orbison railed at Sam.  “I'll see you off the Force if it's the last 
thing I do.” 

Sam was ignominiously escorted by Mr. Orbison, all the way through the
process of booking, and  then releasing him on his own cognizance, 
despite the Councilman's efforts to keep him incarcerated.  The flash 
of photographers followed their every step. 

****** 

“Sorry Sam,” his Captain told him, “There is absolutely, definitely,
unequivocally, and really nothing I can do.  The best thing for you is 
to put in for early retirement.  I can push it through today.  I have 
enough influence to do that for you.  You can be retired on half pay 
before you go to trial.  That way, they can't fire you and screw up 
your pension.” 

At the age of forty-five, Sam found himself out on his ass. 

****** (Continued) 1865 wrds 

Sam immediately used his connections to get a job at the County Morgue. 
He chased down relatives for them, saving Cook County money on burials. 
 Chicago being a political town, he got out of the shoplifting charge.  
The Judge was in the opposite party as Councilman Orbison.  Sam had to 
promise to see a shrink, which he did for a few weeks. 

With the political climate, he knew better than to try to get his old
job back.  Besides, he would lose all seniority, and be back to walking 
the streets as a Patrolman.  He had to get a Private Investigator's 
licence for his new job, so he further decided to start his own agency. 


During the next year, business boomed.  He searched for runaway kids,
and did a little divorce work on the side.  Sam thought it would be a 
good idea to get a cheap secretary to answer his phone. 

Other notable events in his life were that his hero Adolf Hitler invaded
Czechoslovakia.  Sam was shocked at the event, so shocked that he got 
into an argument with the leader of his Nazi  Bund movement and quit.  
He still believed in Hitler's cause, but stopped going to meetings. 

The United States was to be strictly neutral in the conflict.  But, for
some reason businesses boomed with sales to England.  Some neutrality.  
In any case, he needed a secretary, a cheap one. 

“No, sir, I can't work for that.”  They would tell him.  He had already
interviewed a dozen prospects.  They all wanted more money, and other 
benefits. 

“All you gotta do is sit in this chair and answer a telephone.”  He
would tell them.  “It's not a real job.  You can read a book, listen to 
the radio, sleep, I don't care.  I'll even sweep the fuckin' place out 
myself.”  No dice. 

Due to the business boom, there weren't that many applicants.  They
could get more money in a factory.  Finally, it was down to one teenage 
girl, a Japanese one at that. 

“Look, Honey, you speak English?”  He asked her, thinking, “all I got
left is a fuckin' gook” 

“Of course I speak English, Jack.”  She bridled, “what the hell you
speak, Gobbledegook?” 

“No, I don't know none.  Where's that at?” Sam replied.  “And my name's
Sam, not Jack.” 

“I'll make a deal with you, Sam.  You don't call me ‘Honey' and I don't
call you Jack.” 

It was her first try for a job after graduating from high school.  Since
she had no idea of the current wage scales, she accepted the job.  She 
would even sweep the floor, so Sam hired her, rather than put another 
ad in the paper.  What the hell, he wouldn't be around much anyway. 

Tamiko came from a large family on the North Side of town.  She got Sam
to bring in an Army cot and she just about lived at the office.  It had 
a lot more space than she had at home.  Even a private bathroom. 

With Tamiko at the office at all hours, Sam soon had more business than
he could handle.  He had to turn away cases.  So many that he just 
dropped the arduous divorce cases.  They often required time in court. 

Things were going well, until Councilman Orbison found out about Sam
working for the County.  Sam was promptly fired.  He had to rely on his 
other work, and spent much more time at his office. 

“I have to find another place to live, if you hang around here all day,
Sam.  I need more money to pay the rent.” 

“I ain't got more money, Tammy.  You just have to make do with what I
pay you.”  He had an idea. 

“Maybe you can move into my apartment, I have a storage room I can clean
out.” 

“And how much you going to charge for it, Sam?” 

“Nothing, not a thing, You just have to clean up a little, is all.” 

The room was a mess, old files from twenty years before, an old dog pen,
complete with old dog shit, etc.  The rest of the apartment was little 
better.  It still had dog crap in the corner, from a dozen years 
before.  Sam had a dog once but it ran away, probably from hunger or 
inattention.  He often forgot it was there and didn't think to feed it. 
Still better than with her family, she figured. 

Tammy started staying out late.  It was none of Sam's business and he
paid little attention.  One morning he got a call from the hospital. 

“You know a Tamiko Hayakawa?” A female voice asked. 

“Yeah, my secretary.” 

“You better come down here, to the hospital, she's in a bad way.”  Sam
dressed and hurried down to the hospital.  They directed him to a room 
on the third floor.  He found Tammy in a bed, with a bandaged face and 
arm. 

Sam sat down and held her hand.  It felt cold.  He wondered if all gooks
felt that cold or if it was  because she was hurt.  He had never 
touched her before. 

“What happened, Tammy?  Did a car hit you?” 

“No, Sam.  Some men  di..did things to me.  Ba..bad things.”  She sobbed
into her good hand, held over her mouth. 

“I'll find the bastard.  He won't hurt another girl.”  Sam vowed. 

“It was that Councilman, Sam.  The one who doesn't like you.”  That
snapped Sam to attention, 

“Tell me what happened, take your time.” 

She told him the story.  She was out drinking with a boyfriend the night
before.  She noticed some people looking at them from another table.  A 
bunch of important looking men.  One pointed at her, talking to a 
bigger one.  She recognized the big one as being Councilman Orbison, 
from pictures in the newspaper. 

When she and her boyfriend left, a couple of the men were waiting
outside for them.  They chased her boyfriend away and shoved her in a 
big black car.  The councilman was in the back seat.  He seemed drunk 
to her. 

“You that gook bitch that works for ‘Bulldog'?  He asked. 

“Yeah, I work for him, what of it?  You fuck with me and he'll have your
ass.”  All the men laughed at that. 

“Look, baby.  I want to hire you to keep an eye on the bastard.  Pay's
good.” 

“Keep your fucking money and let me out.  I'm not spying on anyone for
you.” 

After further rejected offers, and threats, the Councilman arrived at
his destination. 

“Take her out of here, do what you want.  She isn't any good to me.”  He
left her to the, not so tender, attention of his underlings.  They 
raped and sodomized  her, before dropping her off on a side street.  
Since her family didn't have a telephone, she called Sam. 

Sam tried to call the Councilman, and wasn't put through.  The man
didn't want to talk to him.  He knew better than to call the police.  
Tammy had already given them a statement.  He had absolutely no pull 
with them, all his friends in the Department were either retired or 
ignored him. 

He promised Tammy that he would bring the men to justice. 

Then came Dec, 7 and the attack on Pearl Harbor.  Being patriotic, Sam
tried to join the Army, but was rejected.  He was almost fifty at that 
point, and labeled a subversive by the F.B.I. because of his past 
affiliation with the Nazi Party. 

The next March, Tammy's family was told to report to an Internment Camp
in Arizona.  Not wanting to go, she hid out in Sam's apartment.  
Luckily a cousin had been visiting from Japan at the time.  The cousin 
went to Arizona, using Tamiko's name. 

Along with his other work, Sam investigated the Councilman, finding out
the names and addresses of the rapists.  When he finally got a call 
through to Orbison, he was just laughed at. 

With his knowledge of the street, Sam found an ex-medical student.  The
guy had made it through almost the whole course, before getting hooked 
on Heroin.  Now he lived from day to day, sleeping under a remote 
section of the ‘El' track.  Being an ex-family man and eager to possess 
a goodly amount of his drug of choice, the man agreed to help Sam out. 

John Simpson and Peter Sellers got off work as gophers for Councilman
Orbison.  It was late afternoon of a nice spring day in 1942.  One of 
the perks of political life was an exception from the Draft.  They sat 
in the front seat of John's Buick, discussing where to go that night 
for entertainment. 

The back door opened and slammed shut.  Peter turned in the passenger
seat and found a masked man pointing a large pistol at his face. 

“Drive.” was a command John decided to heed.  He followed directions to
the south side, and into an old warehouse.  The gate squeaked loudly as 
an unseen hand opened it.  They could hear it squeaking shut after they 
drove in.  Another masked figure joined them and they were directed 
around back of the building. 

John remained silent and every time Peter started to talk, he was
slapped in the head with the pistol.  He soon got the idea, and was 
also silent. 

“Out.” Was a new command.  Easy to understand.  The gun pointed to a
manual door, which they entered.  The two gophers were motioned into a 
pair of heavy wooden chairs, bolted to the floor. 

“You want the honor?”  A large knife was passed from the bigger
kidnapper to the smaller, who shook it's head no. 

Tamiko took her mask off, so they could see her face.  Recognizing her,
the scared gophers, were horrified.   A bad smell suffused the room as 
one of them voided his bowels.  Tammy just smiled an evil smile, and 
motioned to an unseen figure in the background. 

It was another masked man, who took the knife from Tammy, and slit their
trousers down both legs.  Undoing their belts, and ripping off their 
underwear, the third man exposed a pair of genitals.  After tying their 
penises at the root, he got to work. 

Screams filled the empty warehouse as he castrated them both. 
Afterwards, he accepted his pay and left.  Tammy picked up the knife as 
a souvenir.  Taking a last look at the two unconscious men, Sam and 
Tammy left.  The makeshift surgeon called the police after he left. 

****** ( Continued ) 3574 

“Come on Sam,” Tammy pleaded, “let's find and kill Orbison.  If you
don't want to do it I can.”  She felt much better now. 

“Uh, uh.  I'm not a killer, girl.  We'll get him some other way.  I'll
get someone to tail him and see if we can get something on him.  A guy 
like him must have some secrets.” 

They were fixing up a false wall in Sam's apartment.  To make it
simpler, Sam had bought a large heavy bookcase.  One that came in 
sections that they had to assemble in the apartment.  Like in the 
movies, they fixed one section to pivot around a central axis.  Sam had 
worked as a carpenter for a while, as a young man. 

He had one long slim room that had been a hallway at one time.  It
extended past two other apartments, and for some reason, his was the 
only door that wasn't sealed over by plywood..  It was not technically 
a part of his apartment and gave Tammy a long, very narrow, hiding 
place.  She would just have to be quiet when in there. 

He figured that the police would be around and didn't want them to see
the woman. In the WWII United States, a Japanese girl stood out, even 
though the authorities weren't looking for Tamiko. 

That morning the police had knocked on his door and escorted him to the
nearest Precinct.  Luckily they hadn't searched the apartment.  Sam's 
face hadn't been seen, although they strongly suspected him, the Police 
had no proof. 

Being an ex-Detective, Sam knew better than to have an alibi.  If he had
made one up, they could have cracked it.  There was no reason why he 
couldn't have been home reading.  He said the radio was off, so they 
couldn't question him on programs.  Of course, no one had seen him, he 
was home alone for Christ sake.  So were millions of other Americans. 

Sam himself had cracked many a case by checking alibis, and checking
repeat requests for inconsistencies.  He had read the book in question 
and could answer questions on those chapters.  They had no way to hold 
him.  As it turned out, the two punks were more afraid of Sam than they 
were of Orbison.  They refused to even name him. 

“Promise me that when we get  him I can help.”  She kept insisting until
Sam agreed. 

Meanwhile the country mobilized.  It got so most of the men Sam saw on
the street were in uniform.  Women looked at him funny because he 
wasn't.  Where a month before all the talk was about staying out of the 
war, now it was just the opposite. 

Sam also hated the Japanese for attacking but couldn't see what that had
to do with Hitler.  Hitler was halfway around the world and had nothing 
to do with it.  Although he was against Hitler for starting a war, and 
wanted to beat Germany  back, he still believed in Hitler's cause. 

Lately, Sam hadn't been picking up very many small items, maybe the
shrink had done some good.  But, he had also changed his habits, doing 
his heavy thinking in his car, and office.  When he was in a store he 
would try to keep his hands in his pockets. 

Boxer Joe Louis had joined the Army, a couple of days before his draft
date.  Sam had handled a case for a State Senator named Richard J. 
Daley.  A woman was threatening to sue Daley  for ruining her marriage. 
 Sam had done it gratis, figuring it would be nice to be owed a favor 
by a politician.  That never hurt in Chicago.  The Germans continued to 
bomb London, which didn't affect Chicago any.  World events continued, 
as did Sam's business. 

Since the two punks didn't finger him, the police soon left him alone. 
They never searched his apartment, and Tammy learned to like her narrow 
hall space apartment.  She got her own radio, with headphones, of 
course.  Without a secretary, with most men in the Military women had 
better jobs, he lost business.  Now he also had the expense of feeding 
Tammy. 

She was going crazy, not being able to leave the apartment, and drinking
a lot, also at Sam's expense.  He spent a lot of his free time tailing 
Orbison, trying to get something on him.  For his part, the Councilman 
seemed content to let Sam alone.  He might have figured it wasn't worth 
the effort to harass the Detective. 

In June of 1942 Sam followed the Councilman to a home in suburban Rock
Island.  It was late at night and Sam had spent the day chasing down a 
missing schoolboy.  He parked down the street, and saw Orbison go in.  
He then fell asleep, to wake up to the sounds of sirens. 

Ducking down in his seat, he watched police cars and an ambulance stop
at the house.  Looking at his watch, he found that he had been sleeping 
for several hours.  The ambulance left and police started unrolling 
tape around the front of the house.  He got out and walked over to see 
what was going on. 

“Can I help you, sir.”  A patrolman was standing beside the tape
barrier, already anticipating a boring shift. 

“I'm Jeff Jamison, and live down the street,” he pointed back at his
car, “What's going on here anyway?  I have to get to work.” 

“Someone died inside, we gotta investigate it is all.” 

“I hope it wasn't that nice Mrs. Adams, was it?” 

“Could be.  What she look like?” 

“Oh, about eighty, eighty-five, white hair.” 

“Na, this one was only in her thirty's with red hair, a looker.”  He
looked around nervously.  “You better get on to work.  I shouldn't be 
talking to you.” 

“Sure thing, take it easy Officer, and thanks.” 

Sam went back to his car.  He had to park somewhere and think.  Idly, he
slipped the purloined wallet in his glove compartment.  He would drop 
it in a mailbox later. 

“So, Orbison was in there, and now a dead woman, a looker.”  He thought.
 He also remembered a newspaper article about a red headed woman being 
found the week before, murdered.  With all the murdered gangsters in 
Chicago, he hadn't paid it much attention.  Interesting parallel 
though. 

The next day, after reading his newspaper at home, he dug through the
stack beside his couch and found the other murder article.  Also red 
headed, but in an apartment down town.  He hadn't been trailing Orbison 
THAT night.  Maybe he should spend more time on it, and be more 
vigilant. 

Sam debated reporting what he had seen, but realized it wouldn't do any
good.  The police  would just laugh at him, figuring he was just after 
revenge. 

“I can help, Sam, Please,” Tamiko pleaded, “I gotta get outside for a
while.  Nobody will see me that late at night.” 

“We can't take the chance, Tammy.”  If the police stop you for any
reason, you'll go right to that camp in Arizona.” 

“When was the last time they stopped you for no reason, Sam?” 

“Well, not very often, but that's not the same thing.” 

“Yes it is.  I'm a good driver, they won't stop me for anything. 
Besides, the camp can't be any worse than living in that damn hallway.” 


“You know you got the whole apartment, not just the hallway.  That's
just for emergencies.” 

“Like you said, the same thing.  I still go nuts here alone.  You get
out all day and sleep all night, I still need to get out once in a 
while, Please.” 

“I don't know,” she had her arms around his neck from behind, nibbling
on his ear, “I guess I could use the help though.” 

“Thank you, thank you, Sam.  I'll be ever so careful.  I always wanted
to be a Gumball.” 

“You mean Gumshoe.” 

Tammy started spending nights tailing Orbison.  The first couple of
nights he went along and taught her the different ways to tail a car 
without being observed.  Like already knowing the destination, taking 
advantage of parallel streets and lights, etc. 

Also carrying non-salty snacks, plenty of plain water, soda would get
you bloated, and especially something to use for a field toilet.  After 
that they alternated, often changing vehicles.  Sam borrowed and rented 
other cars for the job. 

One night Sam was nodding off with a good book on his lap, when the
phone started ringing.  It was Tamiko. 

“Sam, you better get here quick,” She was talking so quickly that Sam
had to tell her to slow down, “Orbison is in a restaurant, with a red 
headed woman.” 

“How long they been in there?” 

“Just a few minutes, he picked her up on South Adams, I think it might
be a hooker, but she has red hair.  When they went in I had to find a 
phone.  Hurry up.” 

“Tell me where you're at Tammy.  I'll be right over.” 

“NO, stay there.  I see them leaving, it looks like he just got
something to go.  I'll call you later.”  She hung up, leaving Sam with 
a dead phone in his hand.  He got dressed and waited. 

About an hour later, she called back. 

“He's at an old warehouse, Sam.  I saw him go in with her.  He was
pushing her in ahead of him.” 

He got an address and hurried to his car.  “Damn, I should have had her
call the police.”  He thought.  “Too late now.”  His second thought, 
just before arriving was, “Damn, I left my gun at home.” 

He met Tamiko at his rented car, in front of the office section of an
abandoned warehouse near the lakefront. 

“That the place?” 

“Yeah, he went in that door.”  She pointed at a door along the side, and
waited. 

“Go call the police Tammy, I'll take care of it.” 

“I wanna help.  He told them to rape me.” 

“Go call the police.  Hurry up.  I'll wait here for them.  And then go
home, so the police don't see you.”  She glared at him for a minute and 
walked away.  When she started the rental car, he walked over and 
started looking in windows.  The shades were all drawn, but he heard a 
lot of scuffling and yelps through one of them. 

Not stopping to think, Sam found half a brick at his feet and wrapping
his felt hat around it, slammed the window with it's sharper edge.  He 
had to pull his hand back quickly as the glass shards tumbled to the 
ground at his feet.  Heavy office drapes kept most of it from falling 
inside, covering Sam with dust and small pieces of glass. 

Sweeping the felt covered brick across the bottom of the sill, he
cleared glass from the bottom edge.  He could still feel glass cutting 
his free hand as he grabbed the sill and pulled himself inside. 

The screams got louder as he blindly tried to disentangle himself from
the drapery.  Something hard slammed into his forehead.  Head down he 
butted someone, trying to get his eyes clear, to see what he was doing. 
As the drape dropped from his eyes, he barely ducked another fist. 

A woman was screaming in the corner of a dark dirty office.  A naked
light bulb dangled from the ceiling, shedding it's harsh light on the 
scene.  Orbison seemed to tower over Sam, as the Detective struggled to 
clear himself from the drapery.  The other man had no intension of 
letting that happen. 

He attacked Sam again, this time with a right hook to the head, which
brought a flame to Sam's right ear, causing  Sam to lose his balance 
again.  The Detective hit the floor hard, his attacker taking advantage 
of it to draw back his foot for a kick to the head. 

Before the kick could connect there was a loud “Blam, Blam” and Orbison
collapsed like a sack of shit.  Unlike a sack of shit, He just hit the 
floor and lay quietly, not splattering in the slightest. 

Sam got to his feet to see a head barely clearing the window sill.  Next
to it was a .45 colt emitting a pale of smoke.  It was Tammy, wearing 
one of his spare hats.  The other woman was standing, disheveled, in a 
corner.  Her dress was almost torn off, one breast showing, as she 
clasped both hands over her face. 

“He checked the body briefly.  There was a hole in the forehead, and no
back of the head at all.  The man was very, very, dead.  Then he went 
over to Tammy. 

“Give me that thing,”  he took the gun, wiping it with his handkerchief,
“Now go home and  Park that car away from the house.  Now, hurry up 
before someone gets here.  Did you call the police?”  She nodded her 
head.  “Now get the hell out of here.”  He aimed at the ceiling and 
pulled the trigger, causing a lot of dust to fall over him, the body, 
and the other woman. 

Sam went over to the cowering woman, grabbing her by the shoulder.  He
was holding her when a Patrolman stuck his head in the window opening, 
also holding a weapon. 

It took all night to get things straightened out.   Sam and the woman
told different stories, but they tended to believe Sam's version.  
After all, he had the gun and the woman was very mixed up and 
distraught. 

Besides, it didn't make much sense that some mysterious little oriental
woman could have shot the Councilman.  Someone did think to check with 
Arizona and found that Tamiko was in the camp at that time. (The 
End)5878


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