For What He Could Become Read online

  “To his good health.” He swallowed quickly, the alcohol warming everything in his body. He shuddered and his eyes closed. When he opened them, Harvey was smiling.

  “Have another,” he said.

  Bill held up his hand. “No. No thank you.”

  “Did you like that?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Got a kick to it, doesn’t it?”

  Bill nodded, thanked Harvey, and walked out of the bar. He felt warm and at ease. So he and Harvey had drunk to a dead man’s health—well, Wayne would have understood it and joined in if he could have.

  At midnight when his shift was over Bill walked into the bar and took a stool.

  A voice behind him said, “I see you’re feeling better.”

  It was George Norton.

  Bill turned. “Better than what?”

  “Better than you deserve.”

  “Since when did you care?”

  “Since the day you walked out on me,” George said, taking the barstool next to him.

  “I walked out on you? You told me to leave.”

  “I didn’t mean forever. You work here?”

  ”I’m the night clerk.”

  Harvey Munn slid over one stool.

  “Hi, Harvey,” George said. “Got a drink for an old buddy?”

  “Hullo, George,” Harvey said. “You like these?” He held up his shooter.

  “Hell, yeah—love ‘em.”

  “You two know each other?” Bill asked.

  Harvey smiled and held his glass up. “Do you want to drink to anybody?” “To absent friends,” George said.

  Harvey turned to Bill. “How about you?”

  “Okay—just one,” Bill said.

  Bill looked up and down the street. It was cold, but there was no snow. He glanced up at the streetlight, almost fell over, and spread his arms out to balance himself.

  George started walking, and Bill followed. They weaved their way past Reeves Aleutian Airlines office, where the security lights showed the trophies inside. George stopped and looked at the wolf hide on the wall.

  “We could get a lot of money for that wolf,” he said.

  Bill focused on it.

  “What do you think?” George said. “Three hundred dollars—maybe more?”

  “All black?” Bill said. “Maybe four hundred.”

  George walked to the alley. “Get in here.” He pulled Bill out of the light. The back door was locked, bars bolted over the glass. George kicked the door. The door didn’t give, but his kick knocked him back in the alley. He ran at the door and kicked it again. He stood and looked at the door for a minute, then walked past Bill and into the street.

  “I know where there’s an easy one,” George said. He walked several blocks with Bill trailing behind until they stopped outside a medical clinic.

  “There’s one on the wall in there,” George said.

  Bill looked but couldn’t see anything. “How do you know?”

  “Been in there couple times.”

  George went to the back of the building and tried the windows. One slid open.

  “Bill?” he whispered. “Boost me up.”

  “What’re you going in there for?”

  “Get the hide. Boost me up.” He lifted one foot.

  Bill shoved on his leg and George slid over the sill into the room. The alarm erupted in the freezing night. Lights flashed. In the sporadic light Bill saw George at the window, then a furry hide hit him in the face. He fell to the ground.

  George giggled. He wrapped the hide around his middle, zipped his coat, and pulled the wolf tail out under his chin. Then he bent over like a bear and walked down the alley. Bill followed. At the corner they turned around and looked at the lights flashing out of the windows. The alarm was piercing. A police car sped by, lights flashing, and turned into the clinic parking lot.

  “You sell the hide,” George said the next morning. “Bring back the money and I’ll buy the whiskey.”

  Bill sat up. He felt dizzy. “I don’t know where to sell it.”

  “I took it. You find some place to sell it. If I sell it you ain’t getting any of the money or the whiskey.”

  Bill ran a hand over his head. He squinted at the bare daylight out the dingy windows. George’s shack hadn’t been cleaned since the last time Bill saw it. He lay back down and held his throbbing head in his hands.

  “Get the hell outta that bed and go sell this hide!” George said.

  Bill turned his back to him.

  George grabbed the hide and lashed it across his back. He took hold of Bill, rolled him on his back, and pressed the hide against his face.

  “Damn you—you get up and sell this hide!”

  Bill wondered if he could whip him. He was younger. He was hung over, but George was still drunk. He should be able to do it. The major would be expecting him at the Corps, and he had to get to the hotel later. The way he felt, the last thing he wanted to do was try selling a hide. He got up on his knees, and George kicked him in the shoulder.

  “Hey!”

  “Get up, dammit. Go sell that hide.”

  Bill threw the blankets in a pile on the bed and jumped up. He swung at George and missed.

  “I’m not gonna go peddle that hide. We shouldn’t of taken it,” Bill said.

  “Well—we did take it and I want the money for whiskey.” George walked away then turned suddenly. “I want it now!”

  Bill jerked the door open with one hand. The other held his shirt and jacket. The cold stabbed his bare torso causing him to shiver. He fumbled with his clothing, turning the shirt over in his hands until he found the buttons.

  “I’m not gonna do it!” he yelled.

  George stuffed the hide into an old rice sack. “Here,” he threw it at him. “And don’t by gawd come back until you’ve got money for it.” He slammed the door.

  The chill air drove through Bill. He stood like a frozen statue devoid of thought or feeling as he looked at the sack on the ground. He had no idea where to sell a stolen wolf hide.

  ANCHORAGE POLICE DEPARTMENT REPORT

  Case No. 73-4501

  Date: 10/11/73

  Name: Bill Williams Location: 130 W. 4th Ave.

  Date of Birth: 10/10/25

  Arresting Officer: Lt. Phil Brender

  Officer’s Narrative of Events:

  David Green Furs called stating an individual was attempting to sell them a black wolf hide that appeared to have been torn from a wall mount. I responded at 1105 hrs. to find suspect with black wolf hide in hand and asking $350 for it. I asked to see it and he handed it to me. I questioned him as to where he got it and he was very vague. I arrested him on suspicion of burglary, impounded the hide, and transported him to Anchorage jail for booking.

  Officer’s signature: Lt. Phil Brender

  Badge No. 1210

  Date: 10/11/73

  Time: 1152

  George grabbed him from behind just as he reached the top step. He put his hands inside Bill’s belt and threw him in a crazy arc down the stairs to the sidewalk. Bill’s head hit the concrete. He couldn’t get his eyes to work right. His head felt like it was on at an angle.

  He felt in his jacket for the bottle just as George kicked him in the face. He had never been hit that hard. He knew through the haze that he was busting up. Blood was running down his throat, and George was still kicking him. His chest couldn’t expand and take in air.

  Christ, oh Lord—George’s gonna kill me. Kick me to death.

  He covered his face with his hands and felt a kick in his back. He heard the bottle clink on the concrete. He reached inside his coat, found it, and rolled it down the sidewalk toward the building. George grunted and stumbled after the bottle.

  In his forty-seven years Bill had never failed to get up when he wanted to. Now everything in him pulsed and ached; his blood and urine were draining on the sidewalk, and he was telling his body to get up, and it couldn’t make it.

  Bill blinked his eyes but couldn’t cl
ear his vision. He could just make out George looming over him when he was kicked again. The blow struck him at the base of the skull. He felt no pain – only the jerk of his head. My God, I’m going to be paralyzed. I’m going to be a damn vegetable.

  “Don’t move him. Call the paramedics, he’s hurt bad. Bill, you dumb shit, how’d you get in a mess like this?”

  Inside his head Bill could hear Patrolman Pat talking, but he had trouble making sense of the words. He stared at the uniform and badge and blinked his eyes. At least George hadn’t kicked his eyes out; he could still see something.

  “You just stay still,” Pat said. “Help’s on the way.”

  It hurt so much. The paramedics arrived and when they reached to move him he tried to say don’t, don’t, don’t let them touch me it hurts too much, but no sound fought its way through his spasming lungs and broken ribs. He felt cool just before he passed out—like he used to feel with the first wind off the river signaling the end of summer when he could smell the drying fish.

  ANCHORAGE POLICE DEPARTMENT REPORT

  Case No. 73-3416

  Date 10/5/73

  Name Bill Williams

  Location G St., between 4 & 5th Ave..

  Date of Birth 10/10/25

  Arresting Officer Sgt. Pat Dugan

  Officer’s Narrative of Event:

  Unidentified caller reported a fight on G Street between 4th and 5th Avenue. I responded with my trainee at 1906 hours, to find suspect down and out on sidewalk. Suspect was injured and we called for transport to Alaska Native Hospital. He was transported and checked in to Dr. Jordan at 1938 hours.

  Officer’s Signature: Sgt. Pat Dugan

  Badge No. 1576

  Date: 10/5/73

  Time: 1945 hrs

  A man in a white coat with a clipboard reached for Bill’s arm.

  “Hey, fella….”

  Bill opened one eye a little. It was just a slit in the swollen flesh around it.

  “Hey fella – uh…” The orderly looked down at his clipboard. “…Bill Williams. We need to get some info on you. Can you talk to me a minute?”

  Bill tried to talk. His lips, his throat, wouldn’t let him. He nodded.

  “Okay,” the guy said, “let’s see…we got your name— Bill Williams, right?” Bill nodded again.

  “This will only take a few minutes,” the orderly said. “Let’s see…mother’s name? That’s her maiden name.”

  Bill couldn’t nod any more. He took a short breath, let it out, and managed to groan her name. He tried to move. It seemed to him that all of his bones had sunk to the bottom of his body and he was lying on them with the muscle and fat piled on top.

  “Ah…the last question,” the cheery orderly said, “if there should be an untimely demise, what do you wish done with your remains?”

  Bill opened and closed his lips to get them flexible enough to talk.

  “What do you mean?”

  The orderly paused a minute and then said, “If you die while you’re here, what do you want us to do with your body?” His brow furrowed as he looked out the window. “I’m sorry, but it’s something we must know while you’re still lucid.”

  Somehow, through his cracked lips, he smiled. “Well,” he started, “I want my head mounted…hang it on the wall in the Union Club. The rest…feed to the wolves.”

  The orderly threw his hands up. “I can’t make any sense with this guy.”

  A shadowy figure backed away from the bed, then the overhead lights went out. The figure moved back to the bed.

  “Bill? It’s Carl.”

  Bill didn’t move but his lips parted.

  “Carl?”

  Carl nodded. A woman touched him.

  “He can’t see you nodding,” she whispered to Carl.

  Bill twisted his head. “Ilene?”

  “No….”

  Bill opened one eye. “I hate for you…see me like this.”

  The woman nudged Carl.

  “How are you, Bill?” he said.

  “You see how I am. Drunk. Hurt.” He breathed heavily several times, and caught the putrid smell of his lungs and mouth. “What you doing here?”

  “Came to see you. We’re concerned about all this. This wolf hide business and fighting. It all comes from the drinking…doesn’t it?”

  Bill turned away.

  “You like this kinda thing? Drunk. Fights? You think this is some way to live your life?”

  Carl swallowed. He stared at the figure wrapped in cotton gauze. “What are you going to do with your life?”

  Bill wet his lips. “I didn’t do so well looking for gold.”

  Carl shrugged. “There’s lots of other things to do besides that.”

  “I can’t seem to get out of this. I try. I get one drink and I can’t stop. I just can’t stop.” He tried to mop his eye where the tears collected.

  Carl clung to the side of the bed and looked out the window at the leaves dropping and whirling in the wind. “Bill I’m concerned about you. What can I do?”

  “Why’re you in town?” Bill said.

  “I came in to sell some stuff to pay for dog food. I’ve got a real good team, Bill. I think it can win the Iditarod.”

  Bill didn’t respond. He tried to focus on the woman with his open eye.

  “Who’s she?”

  Carl looked at her. “Carolee.”

  The woman moved closed to Bill. “Hi, Bill. I’m a friend of your brothers. I know Patrolman Pat and Major Russell. That’s how we tracked you down.”

  Bill tried to clear his throat. “Give me a sip of water?”

  “Sure.” Carolee eased the straw into Bill’s mouth. He kept his open eye fixed on her while he sucked some water, swallowed, and coughed. She held the straw and he drank again, his eye still on her.

  Good-looking lady. Carl always gets the good-looking ones.

  Carl turned from the window. “Bill, why don’t you come home? You’re hurt real bad—I don’t know what all you’ve been doing in here, but it can’t have been good. I’m worried about you, little brother. You gotta quit this drinking business and settle down.”

  “Where’s George Norton?” Bill asked.

  “I don’t know any George Norton,” Carl said.

  Bill moved his hands, worked his fingers into a fist, then unclenched them and spread them in front of his eyes. He reached for his head, felt the bandage, and traced it to his left ear. He touched his face and his chest and ran his fingers up and down over his ribs.

  “I think I’m gonna live,” he said. “Didn’t think I’d be alive when I woke up.” He caught his breath and stiffened. “This is some pain. Carl—remember when your sled hit the tree—knocked you out?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did it hurt when you woke up?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I remember Dad…Uncle Charlie looking down at you like you were dead, and then you came around and everybody laughed.”

  “Yeah, they did.”

  “I need somebody laughing now so I can get well.”

  “I don’t feel like laughing,” Carl said.

  “Ask the lady to laugh for you.”

  “She doesn’t want to laugh either.” Carolee looked down at the polished linoleum floor.

  Bill took a deep breath and exhaled. “Oh boy, that hurt.”

  “You’re gonna hurt for a while.”

  “I’ve hurt before. It’ll hurt worse when it’s healing. I never felt it when the shrapnel hit me—but I felt it for days after that.”

  Carl paced around the room. “You want us to stay?”

  “I’m tired. I gotta sleep.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning then,” Carl said moving toward the door.

  Bill looked at Carolee. “Thank you.”

  Carolee smiled and touched his hand. “You’re welcome. Hope you feel better tomorrow. We’ll drop in and see you then.”

  Bill closed his eyes and nodded.

  She turned, but Carl wasn’t in the r
oom. She walked out into the hall and partially closed the door.

  The orderly was passing by. “Mount his head? I swear I never heard such a crazy thing. And feed his body to the wolves—like we’ve got wolves to feed in Anchorage.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bill was almost sober. He didn’t intend to stay that way. He looked at the people in the room with him—they were all losers. They reeked, some had teeth rotting out of their heads, and the clothes they wore were held together by twine and safety pins with an occasional piece of duct tape covering a hole. He stood up. He wobbled but he could make it up the stairs. This was no place for him to be.

  He got a firm hold on the banister and pulled himself up. There was a day when he would have run up the stairs. He could hear voices as he neared the top.

  Major Russell was speaking. “They need a place to go, to be safe….”

  “Look, Major,” another voice said, “feeding them and praying with them is one thing, but putting them up simply prolongs their misery and actually enables them to maintain their life style.”

  Bill stopped on the landing. They were on the outside of the door.

  “They don’t have a life style,” the major said. “You talk as if they plan their lives. This isn’t a plan, this is the failure to plan….”

  “I understand your feelings, but big cities have tried it and sleep-off places simply remove the misery from the street life. They eat here, then they go on the street and beg the price of a bottle, get drunk, show up here in a warm place, spend the night, and start out again after breakfast. We think it ought to be closed down.”

  “Do you think this is a good place to spend a night? Have you ever been down there with them? I can’t believe you and the committee think it’s enabling them. If you saw it….”

  Bill opened the door and they both stared at him. Major Russell looked distressed. The other man in suit and tie had a hand on his hip and was pointing at the major, about to say something.

  “Hello Bill,” the major said.

  Bill nodded and walked toward the kitchen. There was no food on the tables, and someone he didn’t know was putting down paper plates and napkins. He went into the lounge, collapsed into a chair, and stared out the window into the street. He had to get something in his stomach pretty soon.