Gillemonster and His Dog-Poop Alibi

(Continued from 1/25/14) Chewbacca knelt over the dead body as tears lightly fell on the seared flesh that smell of burnt hair.  Crying, he mourned the loss of his friend.

Let's come back to the fatality left behind by the Great Fire of '69 and turn back to our list of possible arson suspects.

Out of the 16 or 17 on my original list, I have narrowed the suspects to a mere four:

1) Rita Nargie
2) Sea-Shell
3) Anti-War, Draft-card-burning, peace-loving hippies
4) The Owner

RITA HAD MOTIVE. She had been rejected by one of the "Frat - guys" and was holding a grudge. When my brothers and crew went down to the "Frat-House" in drag (dressed as women) and two were invited in - it only served to intensify her female hormonal angst against every man in the world. From the kitchen window of her house next door, she was allegedly heard screaming at the top of her Italian lungs that she would get even someday.  Unfortunately for Rita, the entire neighborhood heard her threats and this is why I felt she needed to be investigated. It does turn out that she had not come out of her room for more than a month, which I was able to verify by the dirty stack of surplus dinner plates left just outside her bedroom door.  Her mother had been in no mood to clean up after Rita, which the neighborhood also knew about.

I refer to that incident as "The Leaning Tower of  Stand-off Soufflé"   
 So Rita went off the list and the fire somehow brought closure to all the hurts she had suffered and had seemed to exact the vengeance she was looking for and the next week at church it was mentioned from the pulpit by the droning-monotone Irish accent of  Father Hoban as a miracle.  One lady said, "Hallelujah" and was promptly asked to leave the church.

I'm am now left with 1)  Sea-Shell, the 11 year-old-sister of the Frat-House President who had been
                                      dropped on her head.
                               2)  Hippies - other than my brothers
                               3)  Mr. Malon, the owner of the Property.

As for Johnny the Gillemonster...as I mentioned before he had motive!  He was a paperboy for the our local Herald Examiner newspaper. His route included the Harding Avenue Fraternity House. You can only imagine what a nightmare it must have been for the poor kid to collect the Newspaper fee from a bunch of transient squirrely irresponsible college-dropout types!  Every time Gillemonster knocked on the door, a different person answered and told him to come back tomorrow. After about 10 such visits 'O Gilly figured that they were running him around and that no one was ever going to pay.  He turned bright red and shook his fist at that house and said he's get payback. "You just wait and see!"  he yelled and spun dirt on the porch  from the back wheel of his customized Schwinn Sting-Ray (bicycle) as he spun out.  (Every kid in America had a Stingray bike).

Remember I told you about the lyrics that Four Eyes sent in to Creedence Clearwater Revival... about Do..do...do... looking out my back door... and all the other words the nuns told me when I interrogated them... well it wasn't "do...do...do"  It was literally "Dooh...Dooh...Dooh!"

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Lookin' out my Back Door

Johnny was so angry at feeling like he had been messed with... that he took the largest... stinkiest... warmest... pile of fresh-steaming dog dooh he could find early the next Sunday morning on a neighbors lawn and squished it between the sports section and the comics of the 50 pound Sunday Morning edition of the Los Angeles Herald Examiner.  "Gilly" left that "special" payback edition of the newspaper right on the welcome mat in front of the large entry door. He rang the bell, ran across the street, hid in a bush and watched in delight as those drunkards with hangover vomited their guts out.  Gillemonster told me, that was his alibi and as he spoke I carefully watch every indicator on his face and really believe that the Dog-Poop completely satisfied his desire for payback.  TRUE!

I would never accuse a Catholic Priest - that's why Father Hoban never made it on my list to begin with, but he was known to have quite a temper - and being raised in Belfast had plenty of training in making Molotov Cocktails.

Let's just leave it at that - for now!  I was too frightened about going into the Rectory so I wasn't about to interrogate the Father... I'd leave that investigation to the Fire Marshal.

I already had enough problems at Saint Marks and next year - my last and final year - was destined to be a living Purgatory, for I had to look forward to spending the year under Sister Shultz.

Meanwhile, the mellow and cuddly Chewbacca grieved over the death of the neighborhood cat as though the thing had been a close relative of his.  Before the fire, I'd have to admit, that the feral Calico cat did look like a miniature version of my hairy older brother.  My brother looked like a giant version of Cousin It  from the Addams Family TV Show.

In the midst of smoke and firemen and ambulances and Secret Service and the Crazy Vietnam War vet with a broom and the Zombie Holocaust, Chewbacca scooped the dead cat into a cardboard box and took it past the dreaded Veloci-Rooster into the the hippie sanctuary of "Wall Drug" in our Venice backyard.  If you think the Rita-thing was a miracle - wait until next time.