Chapter 9
The O’Connor Hotel
Randy Bierly walked calmly over the few inches of freshly fallen snow on 5th Street in West Des Moines. The shovels scraping the pavement on the sidewalks could be heard in front of businesses as owners pushed away the snow for the day’s potential customers. Domino was making quick work of the snow in front of Valley Junction Pawn, his home, but had yet to cross the street and shovel the barber shop. Bierly stopped in front of the twisting red and blue-colored pole out front, looked through the store front window, and saw Poonrod sitting in his barber chair smoking a cigarette, reading the paper as he usually did if there was a lull in the action. He opened the door and greeted the mayor.
“Morning, Verne. I see you got Domino doing all the work around here.”
“The young man is good.”
“Yeah, he definitely grew into a man,” Bierly retrieved two magazines from the paper sack under his arm. “I have a surprise for you?”
“What do you have?”
“Check these out.” Bierly handed him the magazines that had just arrived in the mail.
“You got another dirty magazine?” Poonrod could see the flesh on the cover of one of the magazines already.
“I got two. They accepted both pictures I sent in this time, and they put them in different magazines. They were a couple of good ones too. Both of them took all their clothes off, full nude.”
Poonrod stared at the pages of flesh.“What? You gotta be kidding me?”
“Not at all. Look for yourself,” Bierly encouraged Poonrod to verify the evidence for himself. The magazine was titled Slut Hammer. It had a woman bent over a hay bale in what looked like a stall in a barn. The second was titled Tits. It showed a woman wearing a necklace standing topless at a bar with a cocktail glass in her hand. She was attractive and inviting. She was smiling with her bare breasts exposed to two sailors in their dress whites standing beside her at the bar. The two sailors looked ridiculous in the photo with haircuts that were not regulation and both needing shaves. Their mouths were agape holding on to their hats like they were facing a gale while staring at the young woman’s voluptuous boobs.
“The titles are ridiculous, but catchy,” replied Poonrod as he skimmed through the pages of Tits. It was the milder of the two periodicals from the same Sunset Publications out of Los Angeles, California. Most of the models were white women of reproductive age. The girl on the cover was the most attractive compared to the others within the pages. Poonrod even shook his head and winced at a couple of the pictures. He walked near the storefront window and looked over at Domino still toiling away with the shovel across the street. He then turned his attention back to Slut Hammer. These were much more graphic photos than Tits. There was a girl lying on a couch completely naked but turned on her side only revealing her back side but her hands were bound behind her with a cord. She was smiling. The following pages were filled with nude women tied up in various positions. Some you could see the woman’s face and others were covered with a pillowcase.
“Which girls are ours?” Poonrod asked.
“The one bent over the couch with the pillowcase on page 7.”
Poonrod flipped to page 7. “Jesus, Randy, she is fat.”
“Some guys like that.”
Poonrod looked him in the eye. “Really, Randy?”
“She was not that fat, well, maybe 150-160ish?” Bierly confessed.
“Sure, but she is five feet tall. She has a fat ass.”
“She had some pretty big melons and a hairy pussy too. You can see it there in the picture.”
Poonrod took his glasses off and pulled the magazine closed towards his face for a good look, then shook his head. “Yeah, I have seen enough of that. What about the other one?”
“The Mexican girl? She is on page 9 of the other one.”
“She is Mexican?” Poonrod said as he stared at the picture of the young woman.
“I think so, maybe not. Her skin is that color anyways.”
“Did she speak Spanish?"
“Not to me?”
Poonrod looked up and shook his head. It was no surprise Bierly was in the predicament he was in. “Of course she didn’t speak Spanish to you. You don’t speak Spanish, Randy.”
“Well, she might be an Indian for all I know. Whatever, she was better looking than the big white girl.”
“How much did you get for them?”
“$50 each.”
Poonrod shook his head. Women showing their privates in photos for a $50 bill. “Damn, that is pretty cheap.”
“I think it is a lot. They did too.”
“It is a lot for a single photo. It is a lot to a poor girl too. But those magazines will sell for $1 each all damn day long. Imagine some guy backing up a truck to an Army base with four hundred guys with hard-ons and paychecks? Guys would be buying them by the bundle.”
“I wonder where they sell them out there?”
“That is a good point. I can’t believe these are on the rack next to Life Magazine. This is some pretty high-quality printing too.” Poonrod looked closely at another woman with his glasses off. He raised his eyebrows and turned the page. “These were meant to sell on the rack or behind the counter by the hundreds or thousands. I wonder how long it takes to make copies?”
“I can develop a photo in a couple of hours. Printing like this, in a magazine, I am not sure. It is surely a commercial-grade printing press.”
“This is a money maker here. Once they have the photo, they can use it over and over simply by changing the name of the magazine. The name? Slut Hammer? That is ridiculously smart. Every nineteen-year-old pulling on his cock in the military thinks he is, Slut Hammer. Tits?”
“Yeah, name a guy that is not interested in a nice set of knockers in their face.”
“How much money did you give these girls?”
“$20 each,” replied Bierly with a smile.
“Did they ask about the contest?”
“The big white girl did. But then I started that pitch about the lingerie modeling. She had a glass of whiskey, then another. Then the clothes came off.”
“Did you fuck her?” Poonrod cut to the chase.
“I wanted to.” Bierly paused for a moment. “No, but she probably would have let me. She kind of stank though.”
“She is fat too, Randy. Let’s be honest.” Poonrod confirmed the obvious.
“Compared to the other girl, she is fat.”
“No, compared to most girls, Randy.”
Bierly shrugged his shoulders. “She still took her dress off and let me take a picture for $20.”
“That is true. The Mexican girl is definitely better looking. How did she hear about the ad?”
“I have no idea.”
Poonrod pulled another page close to his face. “Wow, that one is a good picture too, Randy. I mean it is nice and clear. You can see the nipples and her belly button too,” replied Poonrod as he extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on his barber’s desk behind the chair.
“It is the lighting. It would actually be better if we put some money into a studio. You have most of the stuff probably in the pawn shop already. The furniture we could position like some of those other photos. The girls could wear some of the jewelry you have under the counter. Put some of those fancy pictures up on the walls behind them,” Bierly explained his artistic vision.
“I see what you are saying about the setting, but, Jesus, no one is looking at the drapes when this girl here is spreading her ass cheeks bent over on the couch.” Poonrod stared back at the woman in the photo in the magazine.
“There is a bunch of weird shit in there. I think that is what they are after. Most of the girls are not that cute, or their faces are hidden if you notice.”
“I noticed that.”
“Not all of them, but if you see their faces, they all appear to be willing to pose. Even a couple of the girls tied up are smiling.”
“The other ones with hidden faces might be ugly.”
“They might be the girl next door or a kinky wife,” suggested Bierly.
“How the hell would you know, Randy? You’ve been married for twenty years.”
“I’ve seen other magazines than these.”
Poonrod chuckled, “Hey, big surprise there. Some of this is so weird though. The girl with the long hair covering her face here towards the back with the pool cue? She has a nice shape. The one girl is wearing a mask with half a cock in her mouth on the page on the opposite page is pretty graphic.”
“I saw that one.”
“I wonder who the hell that lady is? Maybe a hooker? That is just a hell of a pose. It is left up to your imagination to…..”
“Hey, Pappy. Hey, Bierly.” Domino said as he closed the door behind him.
“Domino, how are you doing?” Bierly said anxiously as Poonrod slid the magazines back into the paper bag.
“The usual, working and making my rounds. What do you have in the bag, Pappy?”
“Well, you kind of caught us, Domino.”
“What?
“I’ll be straight with you. I bought Randy’s business from him recently. He ran into some tough times, and I helped him out. I was looking at some photos he had taken.”
Domino looked back at Bierly. “Didn’t you take a big one in the shorts on the Hawkeyes?"
“Thanks for reminding me, Domino. I gotta get going, fellas. I’ll catch you later, Verne.” Bierly escaped with a smile and the magazines before Domino got a chance to view what was in the bag.
“I always thought he was a little strange, Pappy, to be honest with you,” confessed Domino.
“You would be accurate.”
“I’m glad he left. We need to talk about Cohen,” Domino said with a serious look in his face.
“The Jew?”
“Yeah, the son of a bitch. He has always been cold and rude to me, but he never called me a nigger before. He just did.”
Poonrod was surprised Domino kept his composure in front of Bierly. He was clearly angry.
“What did he say specifically, Domino?”
“He said there ain’t no nigger like a hard-working one, right, Domino? Then he asked if I would like to shovel the sidewalk in front of the hotel when I was done. I would have knocked his ass out right there, Pappy, but right behind him was some lady looking in the front window. That coward knew it too when he said it. He knew she heard it and that I would not do anything because she was a potential customer.”
“Who was the woman?”
“I have no idea.”
Poonrod shook his head and sighed. “Cohen is a son of a bitch and always has been.”
“I never did like him.”
“Where did he go?”
“He went into the hotel. I want to go down there and throw him in a trash can in the alley, Pappy.”
“Domino, I understand. There are a lot of people who don’t like the guy. He’s annoying as hell. But, as far as the word nigger, Domino? I am not sure how to say this but you’ve heard it before and you will again. One day you will be on your own, and not in West Des Moines too. Someone will say it and you will want to respond. But your response depends on who is saying it. If another negro said it you probably would not be so offended would you?”
“I have been called that by some of the other blacks lingering around the rail yard,” replied Domino, thinking of the few encounters he had with other negroes in his life since he showed up in Valley Junction. He did remember they called each other nigger in a friendly tone. It was confusing. He ignored it.
“What did you say to them?"
Domino shook his head.“Nothing?”
“What if it were Maurice Hawkins who said that to you instead of the Jew? Would you be as pissed off then?”
Domino rolled his eyes. “Maurice Hawkins? No.”
“Why?” Poonrod continued.
“Hawkins? There is something wrong with that guy. He says ridiculous stuff to everyone. I don’t think he can help himself, Pappy. The Jew doesn’t do that. The way he said it was an intentional insult.”
Poonrod concurred, “Correct, Domino. Hawkins just happens to be a negro. He is about one comic book smart enough to remain out of the asylum. He is too dumb to employ. But he is not violent. He is not a thief either. People pay him to do odd jobs and he spends all the money on liquor. He gets shit-faced drunk and passes out in the alley or a park bench when the weather permits.”
“I will raise your one Hawkins with both Skeeter and Willie.” Domino joked.
Poonrod burst out laughing. “I think you get the point, Domino. It is about intelligence. It comes in many different forms; unfortunately, so does stupidity. You have a good head on your shoulders. You are a stout young man now too. You are also carrying a gun. I have no doubt you could damage Cohen, and he deserves it too. In West Des Moines, you might even get away with it. Anywhere else? That means prison for decades, Domino. Is the Jew really worth it? The prison in Anamosa is already full of idiots.”
“I still want to knock him out.”
“I understand, but honestly, I would let it go, Domino. Fight the good fight. Don’t waste your time with losers like Cohen. Guys like him always get what they deserve in the end. Don’t take it personally. He is an asshole. He didn’t get drafted because half the women in town could probably beat his ass in a fight. There are also lots of folks in the world like Cohen. Get used to it. It is just awful when you are the one dealing with them.”
“Cohen is not dumb though, Pappy.”
“I agree. He is ignorant. The difference is ignorance means you are unaware of the consequences or circumstances. Cohen?”
“What does that have to do with a Jew calling me a nigger?”
“Remember when we saw Gone With the Wind across the street at the theater when you were in school?”
“It was terrible. I fell asleep.”
“Maybe so. But it was a famous movie. The negro actors in the movie that played the servants, Mammy and Pork, I think it was, they were trusted. That is what is required to get along, to build a neighborhood and a community, trust. My father told me when I was a kid after the Civil War some of the negroes took after their former owners with their customs and Christian beliefs. They learned to read, write, and do arithmetic and obey the law. The men took what jobs they could find and the families showed up to church on Sunday; they raised God-fearing children. That is the kind of negroes in Gone With the Wind. The rest of the free slaves? They kind of went their own way. They hated the white man for slavery and tried to figure out their own way forward. I understand this too. However, that strategy has failed on every level in every city in this country. Go to any town in America, and the worst side of town is where the negroes live. This is unfortunate, but three generations later? Half of our free negroes still can’t read and write, but you can.”
“There are a lot of white boys who can’t read too, Pappy.”
“That is a fact and a great observation, Domino. They were probably orphans.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“It is sad you never knew your father. The honest truth is that half of negro men never stay around to raise their children. If they refuse school, they end up with no job skills to create a wage, so they resort to crime.”
“C’mon, Pappy. What we do is crime.”
“A crime happens only when you are proven to have committed one. We have never been charged with anything. The majority of our activities take place right here in town where I am the mayor.”
Domino smirked. “That is true.”
“I raised you as my own son, Domino. You have made me very happy. I am very proud of you. You should know that. You got a good head on your shoulders, and people genuinely like you. That’s more than can be said for the Jew. The woman that heard the comment? She has already got the Jew figured out. She won’t be doing business with him, like most. She’s standing over there now with some guy holding a picture, actually. Poonrod said as he looked out the storefront window across the street.
“Yeah, it is her again.” Domino replied as he too looked out the window across the street. “ Well, thanks for the talk, Pappy. Food for thought. I’ll go open up the pawn shop.”
“Just leave the shovel. Go take care of them, and I will get the snow over here.”
“OK, Pappy,” Domino replied, and he headed back across 5th Street to open up the pawn shop less angry after the talk.
The door closed behind Domino, and Poonrod returned to the desk behind his barber’s chair. Domino’s information just connected the dots. He withdrew his revolver from one of the side drawers and placed it in his waistline. He opened the other drawer and withdrew a camera he had acquired from the pawn shop. He looked out the window across the street, and Domino was now talking with the woman and man carrying the painting. Domino opened the door for the couple, and they entered the store. It would be enough time. It was still early in the morning. Poonrod locked the front door of the barber shop, donned his jacket and cap, and headed out the back door into the alley between 5th and 6th Street.
It all made sense. The reason Cohen used the epithet was that he felt confident, emboldened, and protected. Never in years, even though he was known for being a social misfit, would he think to say such a comment to the much more physically capable Domino. He knew Domino carried a gun too, everyone did. There was only one person who could give Cohen that kind of confidence. There was only one person that came to mind who Cohen would perceive as stronger than Domino and the operation in West Des Moines, The Geek. The Jew set up the meeting or accepted it when The Geek was previously in Valley Junction. He must have made an offer on the old hotel or the Jew agreed to be a business partner in some arrangement. It didn’t matter. A weasel that gets a little power always tries to exploit it because they’ve never had it before. The remark to Domino would not go unanswered, and the maneuver with The Geek was sneaky and unacceptable. It was obvious what The Geek wanted: a new location, ground zero to the rail yard. Poonrod made an executive decision as the town’s mayor. Valley Junction was not going to become another Little Italy.
Poonrod walked quickly down the empty alley. He looked over his shoulder and saw no cars coming or going and no one taking out their trash. He reached the intersection of Railroad Avenue and turned the corner back towards 5th Street. He entered the O’Connor Hotel from the side entrance. He looked around the empty parlor but there was no Hymen Cohen. He heard some shuffling on the floor above him.
“I’ll be there in a second,” Cohen yelled from the upstairs restroom.
Poonrod locked the side door and walked briskly across the parlor to lock the front door and turn the open sign to closed. The bar behind him was empty but Poonrod walked behind the counter and pulled a beer from the ice box. He heard the water tank in the toilet empty above. He popped open the beer and took a healthy swig.
“I am sorry. I was taking care of….” Cohen paused after coming down the stairs when he saw Poonrod drinking a beer on the other side of the bar. “What are you doing?"
Poonrod ignored the question. He looked the Jew up and down and took another swig off the beer bottle. “So, I heard you banged that fat, drunk girl from Iowa Falls that played the piano.”
“That is quite rude and none of your business, Mayor. Will you kindly get out from behind my bar? You may hand out beers at your ‘headquarters’ but they are a dime each here,” an annoyed Hymen Cohen replied firmly.
“Skeeter was in the barber shop the other day. He said she sucked his cock and let him fuck her in the back seat of your car in the alley.” Poonrod took another swig. The flabbergasted Cohen’s brow furled, but he hesitated. He didn’t know whether to play stupid or feel pissed at the revelation if it were true. The expression in his face said it all. His confidence ran down his pencil-thick thigh. How humiliating, the skank lied and fucked the bullshitting retard, Skeeter. He thought for a moment there may have actually been a spark between them. He swore she had an orgasm when they had sex in the wee hours of the morning after her terrible musical performance. She surely was never being booked again now. Unbeknownst to Cohen, she let a lot of guys in Iowa Falls and other towns fuck her for money, too. She traveled with condoms. It was an oddity that she could play the piano. She booked herself as a talent and then would notoriously get drunk and start selling her pussy to guys for $10 a poke. Cohen did not do his homework on his latest booking. Initially, he thought she was a budding talent from out of town who found him attractive, unlike the uppity skanks hanging around Valley Junction who would not go out with a Jew. She had said nothing about his pasty white skin and weakling physique when the clothes came off. She was drunk, and the room was part of the booking. Cohen had been insecure most of his life about his lack of masculinity. He was short and skinny, but he was a respected business owner in his own mind. He licked her sweaty pussy too. The idea of Skeeter throwing his cock in her beforehand made him almost want to cry and vomit at the same time. The thought was too graphic to keep a straight face in front of Poonrod.
“What are you talking about?” replied Cohen as he picked up a rag lying on the bar and began wiping down the counter as he looked away.
“Maybe not,” replied Poonrod, as he took another sip of beer and belched. “I do know that she liked black cock though. She sucked Domino’s dick in the office in the pawn shop maybe twenty minutes before she came in here for her audition.” Poonrod’s insult made Cohen hesitate again. He closed his eyes and shook his head at the thought. He had kissed her with an open mouth. Their tongues were intertwined in passion when they had sex. Yet, the filthy tramp had her lips around the negro’s cock in the same day. Was this after she fucked Skeeter? It was all he could do to keep a straight face and try and shake off the disgusting thoughts in his head.
“Mayor, is there something you need? I have other business to attend to,” said Cohen sternly.
Poonrod closed one set of blinds while he took another sip of beer. “Actually, there is something you sly Jew bastard.”
“What did you just say?” Cohen was offended.
“Really?” Poonrod belched and moved towards the other window. He looked through the blinds out into the street and noticed very light traffic. No one was walking towards the hotel. He noticed only Cobine and another officer standing on the arrival platform with an undesirable in handcuffs, another deadbeat being escorted out of town on the next departure. Poonrod closed the other blinds, took a sip of beer, and sat the bottle on the table.
“Hey, I am not going to ……” Cohen stopped when Poonrod pulled out the gun and pointed it in his face.
“No, Hymen, what you are going to do is come out from behind the bar and have a seat on the bar stool,” Poonrod commanded.
Cohen was confused. “What is this a robbery?”
“Do what you are told, Jew boy, or I’ll shoot your ass right here.”
Cohen reached for the phone.“This is how you do business, Poonrod? You are going to jail. I am calling the…”
“Shut up, asshole, and set the phone down.” Poonrod barked and cocked the trigger on the revolver. Cohen hung up the phone and walked around the bar with his hands in the air and sat on a bar stool. “Good, now take all your clothes off.”
“What are you talking about?” Cohen was confused. Poonrod fired the gun into the floor. The loud sound filled the room, and gun smoke filled the air. Poonrod peeked out through the blinds and noticed Cohen and the other officer looking around anxiously, trying to identify where the shot came from.
“Last chance, shit bag,” Poonrod yelled as he pointed the gun directly at Cohen. Cohen squirmed and began unbuttoning his shirt and trying to think of an immediate plan in silence. He was terrified and began to quiver. There was no one to help him, and he was at the hands of a lunatic. He continued until he stood bare-naked, standing in front of Poonrod. “Impressive stature. I am sure that fat piano bitch got all hot and bothered when she saw you strip down. You got a little dick too. What a surprise. Smile.” Poonrod withdrew the camera from his jacket and took a picture of him. “Now bend over the bar stool!” yelled Poonrod.
“What are you…?” Cohen was stopped by the pistol crashing up against the side of his head. He fell to the floor, agonizing in pain. “You are going to hell!” he yelled.
Poonrod stood over him. “Shut up, stand up, and bend over the goddamn stool, Hymen.”
“I can’t believe this,” Cohen lay muttering naked on the ground, holding his face.
Poonrod grabbed him by the ear, forcefully yanking him to his feet. “Believe it.” Poonrod grabbed the beer bottle on the table and handed it to Cohen while pointing the gun at him with his other hand. “Now take this bottle of Schlitz and stick it up your ass.”
“What are you talking about? I am not…” Cohen was cut off by another whack from the pistol on the head that dropped him again to the floor. He began to cry.
Poonrod grabbed him by the ear again, forcing him to his feet. “Now get up, retard, and hold this goddamn bottle between your ass cheeks!” Cohen was sobbing but picked up the bottle, bent over the counter, and stuck it between his ass cheeks. Poonrod approached him, grabbed the bottle, and shoved it in his ass. Cohen yelled out in pain from the bottle penetrating him. “Now hold the goddamn bottle in there while I take a picture!” Poonrod screamed as Cohen reached around and held the bottle between his ass cheeks. “Now, turn this way, Jew boy. Look at the camera and say I love nigger cock,” barked Poonrod.
“I…I… Love….” Cohen wept in humiliation. He now understood what prompted the assault. Domino told Poonrod about the comment.
“Say it!”
“I love nigger cock.” Cohen muttered. As soon as he said it, Poonrod took a couple of pictures. “There we go, Hymen. Smile, I wanna send one to your mom too.” Poonrod clicked a couple more pictures as the blood streamed down Cohen’s face into small drops on the floor.
“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Poonrod suggested as he put the pistol to the back of Cohen’s head and pulled the trigger immediately killing him in cold blood at point-blank range. His body crashed to the ground and the beer bottle ricocheted noisily across the wooden floor.
Moments after the second shot, Cobine was the first on the scene with his gun drawn. The other officer remained with the vagrant on the depot platform. Cobine wasn’t the only one startled into commotion as a few early morning pedestrians also heard the gunshots. They could be seen gathering on the other side of 5th Street. Cobine stood out front of the hotel for a moment as people looked on to see if it was indeed gunshots. There was no driver in a getaway car out front of the hotel, indicating a potential robbery. Cobine looked through a crack in the blinds and saw a naked body on the floor and Verne Poonrod standing next to it holding a gun. Poonrod noticed Cobine in the window. He nodded his head and pulled out his handkerchief and began wiping the gun down. He then laid it on the ground beside the body as Cobine watched through the gap between the window blinds. Poonrod then walked across the parlor and unlocked the door. Cobine entered the hotel as a few onlookers eagerly watched him enter. “Stay back! No one come near the building. He’s got a weapon.” Cobine said as he closed the door behind him. He saw the naked body on the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Verne. What in the hell is going on?”
“I took care of it.” Poonrod replied confidently.
Cobine shook his head, confused. “Took care of what? Why is Cohen naked lying on the floor?”
“I shot him in self-defense.”
“Why is he goddamn naked, Verne?”
“It was the craziest shit, officer.” Poonrod paused as he began the official story with Cobine. “I always knew Cohen was weird. I never liked the guy, to be honest. He was a cheap son of a bitch who called Domino a nigger to his face a few minutes ago. After all these years, why would he say that now?”
“Domino told you he said that?”
“He just did. The reason Cohen said it is because he was feeling cocky. He knew Domino could easily beat his ass. He also knew Domino carries a gun. So why say it?” Poonrod queried his longtime friend in law enforcement.
“I don’t know.”
“The goddamn Geek, officer. It explains exactly why The Geek was strolling down the sidewalk after his haircut too. He came down here and made a deal with the Jew. Cohen is the exact scumbag who would react like that too. Exactly why no one respected that guy. He was a weasel. He was just stupid enough to think he had mafia protection, because he had a sit-down with The Geek. This entitled him to insult Domino in Valley Junction. He’s lucky Domino didn’t kill him right there.”
“The Italians? You think he was really making a move?” Cobine turned away from Cohen and looked back at Poonrod.
“Over my dead body, well, his.” Poonrod paused to look down at Cohen. “However, the strangest thing happened, officer. I was testing out a new camera this morning that someone pawned the other day just to make sure it was functional and all. I was walking by the hotel, and ol’ Hymen saw me walking with it. He asked if I would take his picture inside the hotel. I thought it was going to be a couple of pictures behind his counter, signing a ledger or serving a beer or something one would expect from a proprietor. However, when he said he wanted to change he went into his office and took all of his clothes off and came out naked.” Poonrod paused as Cobine was already shaking his head no. “He told me he wanted some nude photographs of himself. I was shocked. I told him no and started for the door. He pulled out that gun, and I heard him cock it. I was scared. I told him I would do it. He wanted to be in front of the bar for his pose. He stood there, and I took a picture. He said he wanted an action shot too. He sat the gun down just out of the picture frame and then grabbed that bottle of beer over there on the floor and stuck it up his ass. I took that photo for him too. I almost vomited. I told him he was a scumbag. I couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his gun again, and there was a struggle. He pulled the trigger, and it went off, twice. It was crazy.”
Cobine shook his head and smirked, trying to understand what actually had transpired. “You gotta be kidding me, Verne. No one is going to believe that. He is going to require an autopsy, you know.”
“I don’t give a shit. He is dead. He was a fucking fruitcake, and that is my story. I got pictures to prove it,” said Penrod as he lit a cigarette and held his camera in the other hand.
Cobine looked around the empty hotel lobby and then back to Cohen’s dead body on the floor. He peeked through the blinds at the small crowd still standing outside. His officer was still posted on the platform as the arriving train was pulling in. He could hear the wail of an oncoming squad car’s siren. “OK. I am going to call an ambulance and get the area cordoned off. You are going to have to go down to the station and fill out an official statement.”
“That is fine. It is his word against mine. Not a word to Domino either,” replied Poonrod as he blew a large puff of smoke into the air. He looked down at the dead Jew and shook his head. He turned and walked over to the cash register behind the counter and opened it. He took the money out of the till and put it in his pocket. “Or, you could say the Jew got robbed and the robber escaped out the side door. He could have jumped the train that just pulled in and gotten out of town too.”
“Or, you shot him because he called Domino a nigger,” replied Cobine.
“Would you rather have a busload of Chicago Italians move into this fucking hotel after they whacked the Jew themselves?”
Cobine captured the thought for a brief moment. “Hell, no. But you still didn’t have to kill Cohen, Verne.”
Poonrod disagreed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“I still would not have killed him.”
“Don’t worry about his ass, he’s dead.” Poonrod said as Cobine kneeled down to the motionless corpse and removed his billfold. “Here, take his cash too. It was a robbery.”
“You keep it. I got enough. You know where to find me.” Poonrod said as he grabbed his camera off the table and exited out the side door to Railroad Avenue. He took a few steps, turned the corner, and stepped back into the shadow of the alley. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and no one was responding to the gunshots via the alley.
Poonrod walked the additional steps to the back door of the barber shop. He removed his jacket and placed it on the coat rack underneath a different-colored jacket already hanging just in case someone saw him that he was unaware of. He removed the camera from the coat pocket and replaced it in his drawer. It would be given to Bieler to develop the photos and submit them to the magazine publisher in California. It was a test. If they published those pictures in a magazine, it meant the publisher was not fearing arrest under indecency laws or had the money to fight in court. Cohen’s lewd photos were the furthest reach of freedom of expression in art Poonrod could imagine. He wondered how many people had actually paid money for a copy of Slut Hammer and Tits. He walked to his sink behind the chair and washed his hands. Poonrod heard the siren of the ambulance coming down Railroad Avenue. He looked across the street and noticed Domino step out of the shop to see where the ambulance was destined. Poonrod smirked as he lit up a cigarette and puffed on it. The ambulance drove past the barber shop. “Thanks for the building, Hymen, you fucker.”
Two hours later, in the West Des Moines Police Department, Cohen began typing out the report with no other witnesses. The official police report was changed to delete Poonrod entirely. The evidence was still on the scene upon his arrival: the body on the floor and the gun with only Cohen’s fingerprints. No one saw Poonrod leaving via the side door into the alley. Even if they did see him in the alley, he had a reason to be there because of his barber shop. The entire story, however, had to be redacted. The camera and photos were stricken from the evidence. Instead, the story was changed to: Cohen was opening the empty hotel for the morning when a masked man walked in the side and robbed him and the hotel. The Tribune ran the official story on the third page as a homicide investigation with no description of the assailant. Hymen Cohen had no wife, kids, or any next of kin to claim his body. He was buried a week later in Jordan Creek Cemetery without a ceremony. His accounts were liquidated, and the proceeds donated to the local VFW. The following week, Verne Poonrod purchased the property in a closed auction orchestrated within the operation. The Italians would find out the hard way that any previous arrangement with Cohen was null and void when they saw the Permanently Closed sign with a clipping of the obituary taped in the storefront window. The operation was expanding, and the acquisition of the O’Connor Hotel could not have come at a better time.