Harvey Porter Does Dallas Page 8
Victor raised his hand. “Mrs. Bert, I’d like to hear more about Harvey’s dodger when he was livin’ on the street.”
“What about it, Harvey?”
He shrugged. “He was an old guy who watched out for me and taught me a lot of street smarts. Of course, I don’t need to say that, because everybody knows that’s what dodgers do. Anyway, when I was younger, ten maybe, he taught me my first scam.”
“Which was?” asked Mrs. Bert.
“I would go to the convenience store and put two quarters in the USA TODAY newspaper box. When the door opened up, I took all the copies they had. It could be as many as 12 or 15 copies. ’Course you had to do this early in the morning before other customers bought them. Then Harvey would put me on a busy downtown street corner during heavy traffic. I sold the papers for a dollar apiece. Most all of ’em got sold, too, I guess people decided it was worth it since they didn’t have to get out of their cars.”
“Do you understand that this was criminal?”
“Maybe just a little. A drop in the ocean.”
Victor raised his hand again and Mrs. Bert gave him permission to speak. “I think I heard Harvey say that Harvey was the name of his dodger. What’s up with that?”
“Well, when he finally died last year, I just decided to take on his name. I really respected him because of all those years he watched over me. His name was Harvey Porter, so I decided that would be my name too.”
Mrs. Bert got irritated. “You’re saying you adopted the name of an old burned-out junkie street guy?”
Harvey shrugged again. He was pissed but he only said, “That’s one way of puttin’ it I guess.”
“Why?” she wanted to know.
“Because I don’t know what my real name is. I never knew who my parents were. I still don’t know what my real name is. I just did it out of honor and respect for Harvey. I think the only serious crimes I did was when I was a member of this brown bread street gang.”
“What street gang?” asked the teacher.
“Los Rebeldes,” Harvey answered, and the room went so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Carmelita’s head snapped so quickly in his direction it was almost like she had a pivot built inside her neck.
“Are you still in Los Rebeldes?”
“No. I got out.”
“How’d you do that?” asked Lichtenstein.
“It was pretty messy. I really don’t wanta talk about it.”
“Harvey,” asked Mrs. Bert, “if that is indeed your name, what criminal activities were you involved in as a member of the street gang?”
“Just your basic stuff like robbin’ liquor stores or convenience stores.”
“Armed robbery?”
“Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes it’s the only choice you get. You run into the clerks who won’t cooperate. They want to be like heroes or somethin’.”
Mrs. Bert sighed while closing her eyes. “I don’t want to try and untangle any more of your history, Harvey. Class dismissed.”
Later that afternoon, Harvey found himself gabbing with Victor Vice down in the lounge. Harvey asked him, “Mrs. Bert said somethin’ about detentions. What’s a detention in this place?”
“They take away your afternoon free time,” Victor answered. “They put you in this one classroom upstairs that has a surveillance camera. You have to be reading from one of the books on the reading list.”
“But they wouldn’t really know,” Harvey said. “You could just be sittin’ there turnin’ pages or something.”
“No, they would know. They have a computerized program that tracks what you actually read. It’s real advanced software.”
Harvey felt irritated. “You know, this high-tech shit is really gettin’ out of hand.”
“You mean more so than robbin’ liquor stores?”
Harvey looked at the broad smile on his face, and then couldn’t help laughing. Then they were both laughing out loud.
“Besides Harv, without high-tech computer stuff we couldn’t have like e-mail or Playstation.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ve got somethin’ I wanta show you.”
“Okay, show me.”
“I have to go up to the dorm to get it.”
“I’ll be right here,” said Vice, still grinning.
Harvey went up to his hutch and got out the tennis ball can.
When he got back down, Victor said, “Tennis?”
“No, not tennis. I’m gonna show you what’s inside, but you never saw it, okay?”
“My lips are sealed,” his friend replied, while making a motion like zipping his mouth shut.
Lichtenstein was approaching them. “Not now, Lichtenstein.”
“How’s come?”
“Because I’m havin’ a private talk with my man here. Now get lost.”
Lichtenstein got lost, and wasted no time doing it.
When he was out of sight Harvey said, “I’m gonna show you this piece of paper inside, but it’s just between you ’n’ me, right?”
“We’ve already agreed about that.”
“Okay.” Harvey looked around cautiously to see if there might be anybody, sitting close. There wasn’t. He pulled out the scrolled piece of yellow pad and flattened it out so Victor could read it.
Victor read it carefully, with a frown on his face. He finally asked, “What is this?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“I don’t know, maybe out of a dumpster somewhere. I just wanta know if you can interpret it.”
“It’s just a list of places, Harv.”
“I know. But what kind of a list?”
“I have no idea. These are just street addresses and towns.”
“I thought it might be a criminal’s list of places he was gonna knock over. Or maybe he already knocked them over.”
“But what is Klaus Kirka? It sounds like Russian or something. And what about Yokosuka? That sounds like it’s Chinese or something.”
“Yeah I know.”
“Besides, Harv, some of these are just addresses of houses or apartments in residential neighborhoods. It doesn’t sound like a knock-over list to me. Who wrote it?”
“I don’t know. Look on the back.”
Victor turned the letter over and read the back. “It’s safe. It’s in the bank.” What does that mean?”
“I got no idea. I was hopin’ you had a theory.”
“Nah, Harvey, this could mean anything. Whoever wrote the list might have had some cash for somebody. Or he could have put something secret in a safety deposit box. It could be anything.”
Harvey rolled up the paper again so it would fit back in the can. “I’m sorry I can’t help you out,” Victor apologized.
“It’s okay, bro. At least you tried.”
12. THE LIST
Harvey decided to take his list to Professor Meel. On Thursday morning, he found him on the park bench, but he was basking. Harvey looked him over. I bet he weights about 450 pounds. That’s probably why his shoes are always untied. He couldn’t reach down and tie them even if he wanted to.
Harvey had the list in his pocket, but he didn’t think it would be right to jostle him out of his “zone.” He waited at least half an hour before he worked up jostling him out of it.
It turned out he had no time to kill at all; Carmelita was striding in his direction and she was moving fast. She had a determined look on her face. She took a seat next to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in Los Rebeldes?” she whispered.
“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?”
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’.”