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Lucky Little

Houston City Jail. February 22, 1966. 7:00am. “Scott, Robert Steven!” the officer shouts out. Steve quickly snaps out of his daydream and hops off the top bunk of the holding cell bed. “Right here law man”, Steve replies waving his hand for his cell door to be opened. As the officer opens the door Steve wipes both hands down the front of pants as if to wipe off the entire cell from his person, straightens up his tallest five foot eight, pulls his shoulders back, runs his fingers through his hair once, cricks his neck to the right once making a sound like a bear stepping on a branch in the woods, and takes what will be his last step, out of that cell. Without making eye contact, Steve steps out of the cell, and shoulder to shoulder with the short term key holder, Steve says, “Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t be here long, law man?” The officer shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He sees this every day and night. He locks the cell door behind him and glances down the hall to see that there is nobody within ear shot, then says to Steve, “I don’t know how they do things in Kentucky, boy, but you’re in Texas now. Let’s hope we don’t see you down here again.” Steve is not phased at all by the warning. He doesn’t even take his gaze off the long hallway leading to his freedom. Next we see Steve at the well known jail house window where released cons get their stuff back but they're still behind bars. His ankle high boots and his thin black leather belt sit up on the counter as the jailer calls out for the record, “One black leather wallet. One thousand six hundred and eighty two dollars and seventeen cents,” and he hands the wallet and wad of cash over to Steve. The other soon to be released over night guests of the Houston City jail look around at each other in awe of the large amount of cash Steve was stuffing in his front pants pocket. Some of them wanted to rob him and some of them wanted to go to work for him. Only the hungry ones would do anything at all. There were none hungry enough to approach the mysterious soft spoken youth. Within five minutes he has his belongings back and he’s walking out of the police station’s front doors, lighting a cigarette and slipping into a waiting cab at curbside. The door is held open by a scantily clad blonde girl, of about 17 years of age, who looks around suspiciously and thoroughly with a last look over the top of her sunglasses at the police cruiser behind the cab, then she swiftly ducks into the car and slams the door shut.

Houston Heights area bungalow. 7:30am “Are you going to be okay Ginny?” A girl smoking a cigarette walks into the den where Virginia is folding her sheet and blanket from her night on the couch. “Baby I’m sorry, I should have let you use the bed. That was totally uncool.” She drops the cigarette into a glass but there is not enough liquid in the bottom to put it out so it keeps smoking. She shakes it a little bit then sets it back down on the dresser. Virginia places the pillow atop the neatly folded sheet and blanket. When she turned around you could see her full round belly. “It’s cool” she says. “I slept fine. My ride should be here any minute, I’ll go wait outside.” Virginia grabs hold of a small suitcase. “Thanks for letting me crash your place for a few days.” Virginia grabs a beer bottle from the bar and pours the remaining leftover into the now smoldering with smoke glass, extinguishing the cigarette. She waves her hand to clear the smoke from her path and walks out the front door. “Peace!” she throws out by habit as she closes the door behind her.

Auto Impound yard downtown Houston. 8:00am. Steve walks around a brand new black 1966 Chevelle. “Very nice, very nice.” He takes a last look under the opened hood and then unhooks the rod holding the hood up. He calculates the weight of the solid and strong hood and then slowly lowers it to within about fourteen inches, before allowing it to drop under its own weight, and slam shut with the perfect sound. Not too early, not too late. “What about my gas money?” Steve asks as he looks over at a uniformed police officer. The officer gives a quick nod of his head towards the back of the car. Steve takes a quick look at the keys to determine which one was the trunk key and opens the trunk. A big smile grows on Steve’s face showing the deep dimples he had inherited from his great grandfather. “Well now” he says, “I figure that should get me a few miles down the road.” He slams the trunk shut without thinking twice about the weight of it. As Steve climbs into the driver’s seat and closes the door the officer leans into the window, “The car is not yours, the product is not yours, the job is not yours. Nothing is yours. Do you understand me hot shot?” Steve stares straight ahead, gathers his thought, removes any contempt from his brow, looks out the window into the cops eyes and replies, “Oh I understand perfectly well, sir. Let’s remember, we’re playing on the same side here, hot shot.” The cop rolled back the heavily fortified gate and Steve cranked up the engine. He cracked a smile and put his head out the window as he revved the engine as though he knew it’s voice, then popped it in gear and kicked up rocks and dust as he took off. With the rocks hitting his boots and the dust engulfing him the now served police officer loses it, “Asshole!” He pulls his gun out and points it in the air. “I’ll take your ass out right now!” As another car passes by, he quickly recognizes the liability in his behavior so he holsters his gun and walks behind the gate.

The passing car was a 1965 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. One of the nicest automobiles on the road at the time, and in the back seat was Virginia. Beside her was a lady that had the look almost of a nanny for a family in England. Like a reprimanding school teacher she gets on Virginia, “Virginia you smell like smoke! I don’t know if its them cigarettes or some of that wacky tobaccky but it smells disgusting and it’s not good for the baby!” “I know, I know” Virginia says. “It wasn’t me this time. It’s the only place I could find to stay these last few days.” “I know darling” the lady comforts her. “You’ve done real good. You’ve done right by your baby.” Virginia flashes back in her memory to being with Steve at that dealer’s house. It was so big and so fancy and full of all the most expensive toys and gadgets, but it was also so cold, and lifeless. Everyone was too high! She and Steve were too high. Wouldn’t the heroine harm the baby? It was so soon after they had arrived in Houston. It wasn’t even really a baby yet, she had convinced herself. Things happened so fast. Within weeks Steve had them in all the right places with all the right people. Steve was making big bucks while his parents thought he was going to college. Her mind was racing over the last nine months that had gone by so fast. And her parents… well, they didn’t know she was pregnant all these months, which was a good thing. She had to focus on the best for the baby. The car stopped abruptly at a red light. The traffic was horrible in this part of Houston. Virginia looked out the window at what seemed to be the oddest thing. There was a little lady sitting in the back of a police car right next to them. The lady looked over at Virginia and locked in directly in her eyes. Virginia couldn’t turn away. Something seemed to have passed from the lady’s eyes right into Virginia’s soul. The police car flicked his lights on and chirped his siren enough for him to get past the traffic jam as the Cadillac sat motionless with no where to move. Virginia went back to brainstorming. He or she would be going to a well off doctor’s family where the wife is unable to have children. There is no way I can raise a child. There is no way I can go back to my parents in Kentucky and shame the church and my family. This is the best thing. “Where will we be dropping you off tomorrow?” the lady interrupts the vivid movie going on in Virginia’s head. As if at a loss for words Virginia says, “yes, that’s fine, you can drop me off at my friend’s house.” She sees in her head the final story just hours ahead of her. She will go into the hospital, she will have the baby, she will recuperate, then they will drop her off. That is what the final envelope of cash was for. That’s what all these months of pampering and running her back and forth to the doctor’s office was for. It’s best for the baby. He, or she, probably a she, but boys do seem to come first on my dad’s side, so maybe a he.. “We’re here ma’am” the driver announces. The front of the building reads Hermann Hospital.