Best Served Cold

PART I

RICKY

Chapter 1

Heidi and Ricky

Oil was discovered in Amarillo, Texas, in the early 1920s. Oil wealth fueled the early growth of the city and region and attracted rough and tumble oilmen and their women. Cristal St. Pierre was one of Amarillo’s more attractive women and a three-time loser where men were concerned. Maybe it was because she always had a wandering eye or just plain liked men – individually and serially. She lived with her daughter, Heidi, her latest husband, Floyd, and his three sons in a ramshackle cottage on the outskirts of town. There was junk all over the front yard, and the skeletons of ten or more junked cars out back. Old tires were stacked against the garage, which leaned at a precarious angle. Cristal earned money by doing some waitressing, stripping and lap dancing at a men’s club not too far away.

Heidi St. Pierre’s current stepfather was wheezing and pumping on top of her – again. His breath stunk of whiskey, cigarettes and garlic, but the sort of heavenly look on his face as he climaxed taught Heidi a lot about the power that sex could give her over men. She had plenty of time to think about sex – she was only 12. Her mother never knew about her stepfather’s actions and probably would not have cared anyway.

Heidi honed her skills with men when her stepbrothers took their turns with her. She also found that she actually could enjoy sex, especially when she did it with Charlie, her youngest stepbrother, whom she really liked. Later, in her teens, she exploited the power that her sexual favors had over men in order to gain cash, cigarettes and eventually drugs.

If Heidi St. Pierre had been around in the 1920s and 1930s, she would have been called a floozie. Or, she might have been termed a loose woman – or tramp or woman of easy virtue. By the time she was 20, her hair had been bleached so many times, it hung about her face like straw from a scarecrow’s hat. Her eyes were made up with so much shadow, she resembled a raccoon. She was vaguely pretty in that gamine-waif look. She smelled of too much cheap perfume.

She waited on tables during the day and hung around at a bar at night that was frequented by local oilfield workers. There were usually no fewer than 20 vans and campers parked in the lot outside, and it was well known that Heidi would peddle her favors in one of the campers for a couple of drinks or a $10 bill, or both. She often forgot or could not afford birth control pills, so, when it came to pass that Heidi found out she was pregnant, she did not know who the father of her child might be. It was nearly impossible in those days to get an abortion, legal or otherwise, in Amarillo so Heidi eventually delivered a baby boy. She named the boy Richard after her daddy and gave him the middle name of LaMarr after a Texas hero she had heard about in school. She never stopped drinking or smoking during her pregnancy, or even screwing around. She found that being pregnant was a big turn-on for some men. In fact, she spent time in one of the parked campers the night before she delivered.

Ricky, as she called him, lagged developmentally. He was slow to walk and talk. Some of his problems the doctors blamed on what they called fetal alcohol syndrome. Heidi hated Ricky and saw him as an instrument of her torture. She blamed Ricky for preventing her from having a good time and ruining an otherwise fun life. She seldom talked to him – other than yelling criticism, and her language was foul. When another unplanned pregnancy happened two years later, she often left Ricky and Linda Sue, his new sister, to entertain each other. Occasionally, Heidi was able to get one or the other of the waitresses with whom she worked to baby-sit while she went out for a night on the town. Times with a baby-sitter accounted for most of the affection the two enjoyed as infants. There were no grandparents around, Cristal’s mother having run off to California with a man years before.

After the age of six, Heidi felt it was OK to leave Ricky in charge of his sister. He learned to make breakfast, use the microwave and heat food for the two of them. By age eight, Ricky and six-year-old Linda Sue were independent children. They were extremely close, and Ricky fought many battles with Heidi when she tried to physically discipline his sister. Ricky’s backside showed the marks of Heidi’s frustration, but he bore his burden well. Ricky and Linda Sue did not do well in school. One or the other – or both – was often in trouble and Heidi spent a lot of time in the principal’s office. When Heidi and the children came home, more beatings ensued, contributing to the vicious cycle.

Physically, Ricky was a big, good-looking boy, and he used his size to bully others. He was a schemer and thought of ways to pry lunch money from smaller pupils in a sort of protection racket. More than once, his behavior landed him in the principal’s office – and more beatings at home. The principal was certain Ricky was evil and would wind up as a ne’er-do-well.

Ricky began to mature sexually at age 12, developing facial hair and a deeper voice. He felt protective toward his sister. At home, he began to cuddle and fondle her, which she encouraged. Eventually it led to her deflowering at age ten. Starved from maternal affection, Linda Sue thrived on her brother’s attention, and their coupling became a regular event on their mother’s frequent overnight absences from home. Ricky began to notice other girls, but liked the younger ones because they were flattered by the attention of an older boy. Girls of his own age rejected him because they thought he was too weird.

By the time Ricky was a freshman in high school, he had developed an obsession with prepubertal girls. One day, he sneaked into the girls’ bathroom at the adjacent elementary school and exposed himself to a girl who ran from the bathroom to the school office. The juvenile authorities were called and 14-year-old Ricky had his first brush with the law. A year’s suspension from school and a term of probation did little to treat his deep psychological disturbance. His life patterns had been determined.

Ricky could grasp schoolwork, but had a limited attention span. If he had a strong point, it was arithmetic. At age 16, he dropped out of school. Heidi did not care. She got him a low-paying job cleaning up at a local gin mill before it opened at noon. He spent his few dollars on beer and weed. He fell in with motorcycle types and committed petty robberies. The local police knew he was involved, but could not prove it, although they arrested him a few times.

Finally, one night when he was nearly 18, Ricky was caught red-handed in a house break-in. He was trying to get away with valuable jewelry and a camera from one of Amarillo’s better homes that had been bought with oil money. The owner was well-connected politically and Ricky received a two-year sentence at Sugarland prison on the other side of Texas. Heidi did not even attend the trial. But Ricky was sorriest about being sent so far away from Linda Sue.

Ricky did not actually mind prison. He was big enough not to be victimized, and a robbery conviction was a badge of honor and an admission ticket to an inner group of experienced criminals. He tried to stay clear of the gangs, but sometimes he was jumped by one of the Hispanic or African-American prisoners. He held his own in a fight, however.

Sugarland was like a post-graduate crime course for Ricky. He learned all about criminal justice from the wrong side. He was taught many tips about breaking and entering without being caught, as well as ins and outs of probation, phony IDs, fences, etc. Several tattoos were souvenirs of his stay. He was released to a halfway house in Houston where he spent time dreaming about some of the big scores the guys in Sugarland had bragged about.

While waiting for his probation officer one time, he ran into a former fellow con named Horton Callaway. Over the next few weeks, he and Callaway spent a lot of time together drinking beer, sharing joints and planning robberies.

Callaway had staked out a warehouse few people knew about, in an industrial area just north of downtown Houston. The warehouse held catalogue goods – stereos, cameras and TVs. He said it was never guarded and he could gain access through a rear window. The one thing he did not know about was how to turn off the alarm, but they both knew a former inmate from Sugarland who was supposed to be a good electrician.

Look, Callaway, I’m interested, but we gotta get this alarm thing straightened out before I go further, Ricky said. Where can we find that guy Dempsey, his name was?

Callaway shrugged. I thought you mighta known. I’ll see what I can come up with. I’ll talk to you next week when we have to see our probation officers again.

Back at the halfway house, Ricky racked his brain to try to come up with a way to locate Dempsey. A few nights later, he went to a bar where a musician was playing his bass guitar when his amp blew. A couple of would-be musicians gathered around to offer advice on how to get the amp going again when one of them said he knew someone who could fix anything electrical. The friend’s name was Pat Dempsey, he said. He would ask him to come the next night to have a look at the amp.

Dempsey appeared the next night and quickly repaired the amp. Ricky spoke with him afterward. Dempsey remembered Callaway and was interested in hearing about the proposed job. Ricky told him that it would be a couple of weeks until he and Callaway would be out of their halfway houses and free to drive around to some of the promising locations for upcoming break-ins. Dempsey gave Ricky his cell phone number.

When Callaway and Ricky were let out of their halfway facilities, they took a flop room together at a fleabag hotel in Houston’s downtown. That night, Dempsey picked them up at a nearby hamburger place, and they cruised the warehouse area. They parked in a dark spot and observed the scene. It was very quiet with no traffic, and they saw no police patrols. It was the same on the following two nights. On Sunday night, Dempsey got out of the car and checked the utility connections to the warehouse, as well as the windows and doors. He came back to the car and gave a thumbs-up, saying the alarm protection was rudimentary at best.

Active planning began two nights later. They decided to steal a truck from an unprotected lot they had spotted nearby. Dempsey would release the alarm, and then wait with the truck while Callaway and Ricky passed goods through the window. They would work for only one hour, taking as much high-end stuff as they could. Dempsey would store the merchandise in the garage of a friend until they were sure the heat was off. They would abandon the truck well north of the city.

Ricky was nervous. He did not want to go back to prison, but he needed money to carry through some of his schemes. Acting as leader, he said, OK, let’s get these gloves on. Callaway, we’ll let you off at the truck lot. You hot-wire the van and meet us at the warehouse. Dempsey and me’ll park the car a coupla blocks away. If you’re not at the warehouse in fifteen minutes, we’ll swing back for you.

The whole plan went off as planned. They got away with boxes of expensive stereos, TVs and cameras. They all sat around at Dempsey’s friend’s garage and had a beer. Their eyes were glistening and they were excited by what they had pulled off.

OK, so far so good, said Ricky. Dempsey, you’re a genius. Now we lay low for a coupla weeks. Then we fence the stuff if there are no cops on our tails. Dempsey, you said the guy who owns this garage will get rid of the stuff for us; can we trust him?

I known him since we were kids – he’s OK.

Ricky said, Do you guys want to do some more jobs together? Both Callaway and Dempsey nodded approval. Good, let’s be on the lookout for more things to do. Dempsey, you know where to find us.

Dempsey showed up at the flophouse a few weeks later. He gave Callaway and Ricky each $7,200 as their share of the loot, saying, The fence gave us twenty-five Gs. I gave a couple of thou to my buddy with the garage and split the rest.

Over the next few months, Ricky, Callaway and Dempsey successfully pulled off three more jobs. They were very careful and did not use an established MO and were careful with fingerprints and fencing. The police could find no evidence, and eventually lost interest in the robberies.

Ricky decided to get out of Houston as soon as he could. He totaled about $75,000 for his share of the loot. This was more money than he had ever seen in his life, and he spent some time dreaming about what he was going to do with it. He found out through old buddies in Amarillo that his sister had married and moved to Charleston, South Carolina. He decided to visit her and stash the money there so she could get to it if he could not. He bought a cheap but serviceable Chevrolet with 37,000 miles on the odometer. It was black and dented, but was unremarkable and looked like any other Chevy. He drove East. He arrived at a park near the harbor and spent some time watching the children’s playground. His old urges and fantasies about young girls began to eat at his thoughts. He resisted for the time being and rented a motel room. He wanted to spend some time finding out about where Linda Sue lived and about her husband. His first order of business, however, was to do something with the money.

The next day, he booked an hour harbor tour. Charleston is one of the east coast’s busiest ports, and the Ashley and Cooper rivers form an extensive delta with myriad creeks, inlets and islands. Ricky scoped out the islands from the tour boat. The next day he bought a small dingy from one of the marinas off Folly Brook Road. He discovered a small sand hummock off one of the streams that he could easily find again. There he buried his cash in an old valise he had bought at a thrift shop. He kept several thousand dollars out for immediate expenses, but still had no idea as to what he was going to do with the buried money. He hid the dingy among shore vegetation and walked back to his Chevy.

The following day, Ricky was drawn to the park at the harbor where he had seen the young girls. He walked around and focused his attention on a group of three girls about ten or 11 years old. He caught up to them as they were exiting the girls’ bathroom. He could not resist his impulses, and he opened his pants zipper. The girls screamed and ran.

A nearby policeman caught and roughly cuffed Ricky, then called for reinforcements. Ricky was taken to the station house and literally thrown into a cell. Over the next several weeks, he was tried, convicted, sentenced to two years and bussed to MacDougall prison at Ridgeville. Ricky’s public defender hated pedophiles and made that clear to him. He did not put up any defense. Ricky never saw Linda Sue.

Chapter 2

Ricky

It started pouring almost the second the prison bus let him off in downtown Charleston. The miserable weather had not let up by the time he arrived at the Beaufort bus station a couple of hours later. After two years at MacDougall, he was ready for some whiskey, a steak and a woman. He slogged his way to a trailer park on the edge of town and banged on the door of the ramshackle double-wide where Linda Sue lived. It was 2 a.m. It took plenty of banging and time before the door opened. A sleepy woman in a Carolina Hurricanes T-shirt and boxers regarded the dripping intruder.

Who the fuck are you? What do you want at this time of night? Her eyes opened wider and she smiled a big grin. "Richard LaMarr St. Pierre! When did you get out? Come on in, Ricky, grab