Chapter 29
Skip Shares What’s Bothering Him With Rocky
Leaving Norman, Oklahoma, our next stop was a late addition to the list. “It’s on the way,” Rocky said. “There’s this hotel, The Arlington, in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Before there was a Las Vegas, there was a Hot Springs. Once the best place in the United States to gamble, Hot Springs still has all the things a town needs for fun times – and The Arlington, famous for being Al Capone’s hangout – well, wait ‘til ya see it.”
From the second we arrived, we saw what Rocky meant about The Arlington. Coming from the west it’s the last place on “Bathhouse Row.” From the east it’s the first place on Central Avenue, the main road into town. One reason Al Capone used to stay there – he could post sentries on the front veranda and make any needed escape into the hills out the back way. Topping it off, the “world’s greatest” swimming pool, eight floors up tucked into the mountain side.
The lobby was exquisite, gold chandeliers dangled from 75-feet up, inch-thick carpeting all around. Before paying, Sally suggested, “Let’s go see the rooms.”
“No, first the pool,” Rocky said. “You won’t mind the price once you’ve seen the pool.” (Rocky had stayed there before during a poker tournament.) Eleven of us crammed into the all-mirrored (floor to ceiling, including the ceiling) elevators. Whoa, not like any other swimming pool in the world. First, yes, an Olympic-sized pool with chaise lounges (not too many takers in November). Then a walk up a circular stairway to a huge hot tub built into the side of the mountain with a view of the entire town, with real honest-to-goodness thermal waters – not just a pool, it was a hot-springs with a slide that goes into the pool.
“OK!” we all agreed and started figuring out rooms: Jack and Sally in one. Skip, Rocky, Max and Big Sam in a suite. Patty was okay sharing a room with Huck and Steve – that is, until Huck invited Sunshine and Peaches to share the room. Kicking him in the shins, Patty said, “No Huck, go stay with them in their RV – you’ve all gotten to be such good friends.”
The next morning, Skip got up early and bought all the newspapers in the lobby, the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the New York Times and yesterday’s L.A. Times, but there was nothing new to learn about the bombing at Dodger Stadium. There were still no arrests or new leads, just a note found in the women’s bathroom at the ballpark with words cut out from a magazine saying “Release Political Prisoner Proud Boys or Face Greater Wrath from the Islamic State.”
When Rocky found Skip in the coffee shop, Rocky suggested they check out the hot tub. They did. The sun was just coming up. It was way too cold for swimming, but a perfect morning for a hot tub. They were the first early risers enjoying the thermal waters, gazing at the radiant early purple-orange sky. Robin had rolled Rocky a couple “j’s” for the road and lit one up. “So what’s got you so down, man?” Rocky asked. “You haven’t seemed yourself since you got back from L.A.”
After taking a long hit, holding it in, looking off to the sunrise, Skip exhaled saying, “Oh, for crissake, I guess I got to get this off my chest, that fucking brother-in-law of Max’s and his SLA buddy are involved in the L.A. bombing.” And there it was – it just came out – marijuana will do that to you.
“SLA buddy, who’s that?”
“Oh, I never told you, but I didn’t want any one on the bus to know how close Max’s brother-in-law was to the SLA. The guy I stayed with in Sacramento, the guy Ken put me up with, Gordy, was an original SLA member and did five years for that Sacramento bank robbery, the one with Patty Hearst. I couldn’t fucking believe it when Patty came up with that Patty Hearst skit. And I really couldn’t fucking believe it when Ken told me that he and Gordy were in on the bombing.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“God damn not kidding one bit. And so I tell Ken I’m going to the cops – can you believe that – me going to the cops – but this is some serious shit. And then Ken tells me Gordy is now a CIA operative, approached by the government and given early release to become a sorta double agent. With his past history, he was easily able to get the confidence of some terrorist group; infiltrate it – and this you’re not going to fucking believe – some terrorist group operating out of Vancouver . . . The Charlie Furbush connection!”
“No Shit! What are you going to do?”
“Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me. Really doubt our gigolo buddy Ken is telling the truth about the CIA. All I know for sure is that the guy I stayed with in Sacramento, Gordy, knew the bomb was going to go off, and when Gordy heard Ken was going to the ball game, he warned Ken off. Probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. If Ken tells him I’m clued in on all this, they might come lookin’ for me. I’m looking over my shoulder every friggin’ minute . . .”
“Jesus Christ. This is deep shit, man. Deeper than we’ve ever been. Guess that explains no leads, no arrests . . . until they find you,” Rocky tried laughing.
“ . . . but I don’t think Ken has told Gordy that I know anything. I’m pretty sure Ken wants to stay tight with all of us. Just happens to have Gordy for a good friend too. Un-fucking-believable.” Skip finished.
“So tell me what happened on the way to the Dodgers game – and how Vancouver came up,” Rocky said, looking down the stairs and seeing their roomie, Big Sam, coming to join them.
“Yeah, I want to keep talking. Let’s tell Big Sam we got to race off to do something.”
“Toppa da mornin’ gentlemen,” Big Sam said, bounding up the last stairs and throwing himself into the hot springs, setting off a humongous wave, “I hafta tell ya, this – is – the – life! How’s that Rompers thing goin’? Whacha up here schemin’?”
Pretty quickly everybody was up enjoying the hot springs, and Rocky and Skip postponed their ongoing private conversation. Sally wanted to know where’s next after Hot Springs, “Not that I’m anxious to leave – this is a great place, Rock.”
Patty said she had a friend in Daphne, Alabama, next on the list, “but Jack, Big Sam, one of you must know somebody in New Orleans, no?”
All smiles, Big Sam was quick with, “Arn’t ya glad I’m along – I nose a gaahh–rate bar we oughta hit in Louise-e-anna – hafta time it jus right tho – it’s a SAT-UR-DAY MORNIN bar, a dance hall. Place called Fred’s Lounge in Mamou.”
Sally tried steering the conversation back to politics, “I could use help pushing the Rump idea. It’s looking cradle to grave without a life in-between. Jack here, all he wants to do is….” she trailed off blowing him a big kiss.
Patty wondered, “What are you thinking, Skip?”
Before Skip could answer, Rocky tried ending the conversation: “I’m checking out the bath houses. Scotch, you comin’ with? There’s still things called bath houses.”
Skip ignored the cue to leave, “Yeah, maybe a spa will be good later, but everybody’s here now. Let’s think this through a minute. What connections have we made with Trump Nation types? How can we build on crossing the political divide? Max, now that Eloise’s election is over, maybe those Montana cowboys want more action, more fun. Are we really Facebook friends with them? And Steve, how ‘bout those guys you all met at the RV park in Arizona? Maybe find common cause in fighting terrorism together.”
Big Sam broke-in: “Yah, yur on ta sumpin’ – I voted for Trump. I know, I feared tellin’ ya . . . but I’m not really a right winger . . . sure as hell not a left-wing nut job, like you guys, either. Just kiddin’ . . . I voted fer Trump cuz he was diff’rent . . . more like a Pirate. Ya gotta stay wit dat. Dats why yer so loved in L.A. Why I wanted to hang with ya. Dats why I got on board.”
“Yah, what is fun?” Rocky said. “I’m off to the bathhouses.”
Skip followed Rocky down the slide, “Meet tomorrow morning, same time, same place, and we’ll make a plan?”