Harvey Porter Does Dallas (11 page)

“I get tired of talkin' about the gang bullshit,” said Harvey. “Besides, I thought you'd disrespect me.”

“Shhhhhh! Keep your voice down.”

“Oh, you worried about Professor Meel? He's
basking
. He's in a zone all his own. We don't have to whisper.”

She whispered anyway: “You know Carlos then.”

“Oh yeah. We've got a little history.”

“What's that s'posed to mean?”

“It just means what it means.”

Carmelita frowned. “I need a favor; I need some advice on what to do. You're the only person I can turn to on this.”

“Carmelita, dearest, you know I'd do anything for you.”

“Yes, yes.” She was still whispering. “But it's real private and I can't tell you here, even if you think Meel is in some kind of a zone.”

“He's deep in, I guarantee it.”

“Maybe so, but I'm not going to take the chance. It's too private and too scary.”

Harvey smiled. “You know, Carmelita, my interest in you goes beyond friendship. It's kinda moved into the romantic area, if you know what I mean.”

“Well I like you too. But I'm not ready for a relationship right now. I just got out of a pretty bad one. I'm pretty down on boys and men right now.” She wasn't whispering anymore.

“That's cool, it'll happen if it happens. I can promise I'll never dog you about it.”

“Okay, but I think I've got something figured out.”

“What's that?”

“Your scar. You got that from being in Carlos' gang, am I right?”

Harvey sighed, but said, “That's true. I just don't wanta get into any of the details right now.”

“Sometime I want you to tell me the details about the scar.” She stood up.

“Okay, sometime I will.”

“And talk to me soon, okay? I don't want to wait too long.”

“You got it.”

Carmelita left, headed back for the building, moving just as fast as before.

Harvey decided he'd been polite long enough. He jostled Oboe Meel's shoulder. Meel burped. He jostled Oboe again. This time his eyes opened, first in tiny slits, then all the way.

Oboe looked at him and said, “Porter.”

“Yeah, it's me. I need a favor.”

“You realize of course that I was deep in. I was in a field of blue.”

“A field of flowers? Crops?”

“No not
that
kind of field. I mean ‘field' as in a blank screen.”

“Was it maybe like one of those blue screen savers on computers?”

“Not really, but that comes closer. Now what is it you want?” He made no effort to hide his irritation.

“It's real important.”

“It better be. I don't like being disturbed when I'm deep in.”

“I think it's important enough,” said Harvey. He took out his wallet and reached into one of the hidden compartments. Out came the yellow legal page. No more tennis can. “I'd like you to take a look at this to see if you can tell me what it might mean.”

Oboe tried several times to hoist himself into an upright position, then finally gave up. “I'm going to need my glasses for this,” he said. “They're in the side pocket of my overalls. Can you please get them for me?”

He can't even reach into his own pockets
. “Sure,” said Harvey. He reached into the side pocket of Oboe's overalls and got the glasses out. Professor Meel put them on slowly, then started reading while frowning. Very slowly, he read it through two times.

“This isn't hard,” he said, as he folded Harvey's paper up and returned it.

Harvey immediately felt excitement bubbling up. “It's not hard? What do you mean?”

Meel yawned. “This is a list of places where Lee Harvey Oswald lived. Or where his mother and brother lived.”

Harvey couldn't believe his ears. “But what about somethin' like Yokosuma?”

“That's the name of a Marine base in Japan where Oswald was stationed at one time. Where did you find this?”

“I think it was just in some dumpster somewhere. How do you know so much about it?”

“When I was younger and not this heavy I got involved in researching the Kennedy assassination. I could climb stairs, as in libraries or newspaper archives.”

“Do you think Oswald wrote this list himself?”

“I can't answer that. But if it's in his handwriting, you are in possession of something that's worth a lot of money.”

“I am? Even if it's just a list?”

“There are thousands of collectors out there. Anything written by Oswald himself is a valuable find. If you put this on eBay, you might get yourself a nice fat check.”

“You mean like online?”

“Yes,” answered Oboe impatiently. “That's where you find eBay or lots of other online auction outlets. Are we done now?”

“Just one more thing: Did you read the back?”

“It's safe,” said Meel. “It's in the bank. That's the part that leaves me clueless. Can't help you there.”

“Well, thanks anyway, for clearing up the meaning of the list.”

“You're welcome. But Porter, don't disturb me again when I'm deep in.”

“Fair enough.”

Harvey didn't know how to maneuver on eBay, but Victor Vice sure did. “I do a lot of online surfing,” he said. They were using one of the computers in the computer center The computers were supposed to be blocked from Internet use but Victor got on eBay and made his proposal.

They got an answer which said, “What materials do you have that would authenticate?”

“What does authenticate mean?” Harvey asked.

Victor read the message again and frowned. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

“How?”

“eBay wants to know if you can
prove
that it was written by Oswald.”

“How do I do that?”

“I really don't know. This part is over my head. Sorry.”

13. CARLOS VILLANUEVA

Carmelita got back to him the very next day, in the cafeteria. She was finished eating. Lichtenstein and Vice had just left, so they had the table to themselves.

But there were still lots of people eating and lots of noise. She was whispering again. “I've got this problem, Harvey. I need your help on it.”

“Sure. Anything you want,” he replied while chewing on French fries.

She glanced around the cafeteria. “But I can't tell you here. It needs to be in private.”

“Why are you whispering?

She returned to her normal voice. “I said, I need to talk to you someplace that's private. There. Was that clear enough for you?”

“As clear as an unmuddied lake,” Harvey replied, grinning and chewing.

“Where does that come from?” Carmelita frowned.

“It comes from my favorite movie,
A Clockwork Orange
.”

“Don't be talking movies at me. I'm serious.”

“Okay, how 'bout this? We go up to sixth floor one more time.”

“Oh no. Why?”

“There's this one thing I need to check out. About that list we found. But no trapdoors this time, no jumping in hidden chambers, no climbing. Just looking.”

“You know how scared I am to go up there. We could get in trouble.”

“Were you scared once we got up there the last time?”

“I guess not.”

“Did we get in any trouble?”

“No, but maybe we were just lucky.”

Harvey wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his tray aside. He looked her straight in the eye and said, “Can you think of anyplace more private?”

She frowned for awhile, then finally shook her head and said, “No. I can't.”

They went there that afternoon during free time. Harvey stopped Lichtenstein in the hall and said, “I think you've got a flashlight, right?”

“Yeah, I do. I keep it in my hutch.”

“Let's go get it. I need to borrow it.”

“Why?”

“Don't ask. I just need to borrow the flashlight.”

“Okay, but you have to promise to bring it back.”

Harvey sighed. He gripped Lichtenstein by the shoulders. He noticed that Alberto had some fresh new pimples. Looking him straight in the eye, Harvey said, “Are you tellin' me what I
have
to do?”

“No, no Harv,” said the pimply, Adam's apple bobbing geek.

Harvey let go of his shoulders. “That's good, because I tend to lose my cool when people tell me I
have
to do somethin'. Besides, why would I steal &
flashlight
, for chrissakes?”

They went to Alberto's hutch and he handed over the flashlight.

Carmelita stood watch in the fifth floor hallway, while Harvey used his paper clip to pick the lock. It worked, just like the other time. They closed the door quietly behind themselves, and started up the old, dusty, wooden staircase. “Why do you want the flashlight?” she asked him.

“Because Professor Meel told me the page was a list of places Oswald used to live.”

“You actually talk to him?”

“Oh yeah. Me 'n' Meel are buddies. He said if the list was in Oswald's handwriting it could be worth lots of money.” They were now standing on sixth floor. It was very quiet and very mysterious.

“How much money?”

“I don't know. He just said a lot. Vice and I went on eBay but they wanted to know how I could authenticate my material. Do you know what
authenticate
means?” he asked her.

“Of course. Who doesn't?”

“Damn. Why is it everybody knows big words but me?”

Carmelita answered sarcastically, “Maybe because you've hardly ever gone to school.”

“That must be it.” By this time he had removed the yellow paper from his pocket and was shining the light on some of the materials behind glass. He finally found the exhibit he wanted, the one that had some of Oswald's letters to mail-order gun dealers and the Marines. He put the paper up against the glass and turned the flashlight back and forth.

“Whattaya think?” he asked Carmelita.

“What do you mean, what do I think?”

“Just look at the handwriting. Is it the same?”

Carmelita squinted at the letters behind the glass and then at Harvey's list. She kept looking, back and forth. She finally said, “It looks like the same handwriting to me.”

“Yess!” said Harvey loudly and with great enthusiasm. “That's exactly what I was thinkin'.”

“Of course,” she reminded him, “my two cents wouldn't be worth much to the people at eBay. Eventually, you'll have to find a handwriting expert.”

“Yeah, I'll have to work on that. But it sure as hell looks like the same handwriting to me.” Then he turned the flashlight off. They sat in the same broad windowsill Oswald had used to shoot Kennedy. “What's the favor?” he asked her.

She frowned and gathered her thoughts. She said, without whispering. “I found something out on Monday that I think could get Carlos into a whole lot more trouble than he's ever had before.”

“What's that?”

“A white bread gang is meeting them on the weekend to sell them a briefcase full of grass.”

A marijuana drop-off
, Harvey thought. “What gang?”

“They call themselves the
Klu Klux
. I've never heard of them.”

“I have though,” said Harvey. “I know a little bit about 'em.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. So what's the trouble with the drop-off?”

“There's supposed to be an undercover cop with the Klus.”

“How'd you find out about this?”

“It was real weird,” said Carmeilta. “I was sitting on one of the benches in Dealey Plaza Monday when this colored guy comes over and sits next to me. He lights up a smoke and then tells me about the undercover cop.”

“Did you know this guy? Did you ever see him before?”

“Never. Why would he know who I am even, or where to find me?”

“That's how the gang network works, dearest. That's why the cops were always interested in checkin' you out to see if you knew anything.”

Carmelita shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. “I'm not ready for ‘dearest'. But don't you see how ironic this is?”

“What's
ironic
mean?”

“I mean it's just weird. I go through all of those hassles with the cops just because I'm Carlos's sister, but like I told them, I never had any information about his gang or anybody else's.”

“So?”

“Well that's why the school system sent me to SAS. Now that I'm here I actually
do
have gang information.”

“Yeah, I get your point. That's really ironic.”

“You said the colored guy told me this stuff because it's part of the
network
. Why would he want to tell me?”

“You said he's colored, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what went down was probably somethin' like this. He might be a member of a black bread gang. That would mean he hates the Klu's. Not just him, but his whole gang. They probably figure if they tip you off, you'll tell Carlos, so the Klu's'll get chopped off right at the knee.”

“But how can I tell him that? I still don't think I understand.”

“But I do,” Harvey reminded her. “Why don't you let me tell Carlos what's goin' down?”

“But you told me you and Carlos are like enemies.”

“Not enemies. We've had a few issues, I won't deny that. But that's one of the reasons I'd like to meet with him, tip him off, and see if we can get more friendly.”

“But Harv, he contacted me, not you.”

“That's another reason it makes sense for me to talk to him, not you. If you contacted Carlos, you couldn't talk to him on the phone. Not about this. He'd be too jittery about that.”

“And then what?”

“Then you'd have to meet him in some public place like the plaza. If you do, scumbags from other gangs will know about it. So will the cops.”