August 25-26, 1969 - Shea Beginning
Note: The exact date for Shorty Shea's murder is not known. It occurred sometime between August 19-28, 1969. The Family was arrested for GTA, Grand Theft Auto, in a raid on the 16th, and released the 19th. Biker Danny DeCarlo stated it was soon after their release they killed Shorty. Prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi deemed it to be the 25th or 26th. I concur. As a leaned guess for this recreation, I've chosen the wee hours on the 25th heading into the 26th.
It was after 9 a.m., August 25, 1969.
Sadie flicked on the Spahn Ranch saloon transistor radio. It was playing Donovan's Hurdy Gurdy Man. As everyone else slept, Sadie swayed to the haunting tune. It was never too early for a party in old Sadie's spaced-out head.
Some Family members slept in longer than usual, as they were exhausted from their clean and sanitary stay in the LA County Sheriff's Office jail, arrested and booked, but never charged with Grand Theft Auto — the reason for the impromptu raid.
"For God's sake, Sadie, shut off that radio! Go back to sleep or get the fuck out!" yelled Clem. Others nodded and grumbled in agreement, throwing balled up socks and shoes at her to get out.
Poor, happy-go-lucky Sadie.
She shrugged, flicked off the radio, and strolled out into the sunshine, placing her hands above her eyes to shade her from the glare. Chatsworth desert mornings were always so frightfully clear and sunny.
Today, like all other days, the Family held no plans. But that's how Sadie liked it. She lived for the unpredictable from Charlie — even accepted the occasional beating when she got on his nerves — as that's what living in the Now is like. Embracing the Unknown. Each and every day.
Slowly, one by one, Family members awoke in the back-house and in the caves down by the creek, making their way up to the boardwalk. They looked for something to eat or to take that first drag from a shared cigarette. Times were tight, man. They shared everything, not because of daisy-chain-making, Cumbaya Slippie love, but because they had no choice.
Sadie propped her butt on a wooden rail and saw Squeaky running towards her. Squeaky was not acting in her normal laid-back way. Something was up. Sadie's eyes sparked in anticipation.
"Did you guys hear what Shorty said to that cop when we were all busted? He said for the pig to call him anytime! That motherfucker is a goddamned big mouth!" Squeaky's rage made the freckles on her face glow a bright red.
"No, I didn't hear that. I was busy handing Zezozose [Zezozose Zadfrack Glutz, baby named by Manson, father unknown] off to that dyke of a female cop, like she had any right to take my baby from me. I hope Charlie gets him back. I miss him." Sadie's vacuous smile momentarily turned upside down.
Squeaky leaned in, whispering to Sadie, lest there were curious ears around. "Yeah, the Fuzz just shows up on trumped-up charges, over-turns everything, and takes our kids away. The nerve! And now I know who's behind it. It's Shorty, man. I'll bet he was behind the raid. That dude will do anything to get us off this ranch. He's even bad-mouthed me and the Family to old George. Is Charlie up yet?"
"Haven't seen him or Stephanie. Geez, Charlie is really into this chick. He's calling her his 'Intellectual Princess.' Shit! What the hell is that? She'll get too old for him, eventually. Just like the rest of us. He doesn't even make her cook or nothin' like we have to." Sadie furrowed her brow and crossed her arms.
Squeaky chuckled.
"Morning everyone! Anyone seen Bruce up yet? I wanna go to the hardware store for some shit Charlie put me in charge of, and he's got all the dough." Clem joined the others on the wooden walk. He finger-combed his messy mop of hair and hooked up his overalls.
"Nope, still sleepin' in the bunk-house, I think." Lulu rubbed her eyes and brushed her long, lustrous hair in the warm sunshine.
Squeaky called out. "Listen, anyone sees Charlie. Tell him to come to the porch. I need to talk to him." Manson's head girl stamped off, as huffy as when she arrived.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," the gang chorused.
As the morning drew on, the kids came and went. Dune buggies roared up and down the frontage road. Tunes wafted out from the transistor radio, like Lawrence Wagner's Don't Bogart That Joint and the theme song from the year's hit movie, Easy Rider, Fraternity of Man, by Bob Dylan.
Leslie and Brenda were hard at work, feeding everyone. Linda and Katie hung out the wash on a hap-hazard clothes line the boys had strung up near the creek, the cool water softly rippling in the background.
Yep, just another sunny day at Spahn's…
In the kitchen, Charlie sauntered up to Lulu, leaned over the counter, and slurped his coffee. "Where the Hell is everybody? I sleep in one day and everyone takes off."
"I think the guys took the buggies for a trial ride to the back of the ranch. Squeaky came lookin' for ya early this morning. She was giving off some pretty bad vibes."
"Ah, shit, that broad is always up in my face about something. Everything's a goddamned emergency with her." Charlie left the kitchen, determined to smoke some weed with the guys before he had to face Squeaky.
He released the brake and hit the throttle. The buggy took off up the frontage road and onto Santa Susana Pass Road, spewing sand and gravel in its wake. Charlie roared down the highway, headed for the back entrance to Spahn's, in search of the guys and to hide from Squeaky.
"Hey Charlie! Where ya been, man? Everyone's been lookin' for ya, me included." Clem slowly rose and stretched from his crouching position. Clem and Bruce had been tinkering with one of the buggy's kaput engines.
"Been lookin' for you, that's where. Why didn't ya come wake me up, man? I woulda gone ridin' with you guys." Charlie yelled over his revving engine.
"Hey, we know you and your new lady are tight. We ain't gonna mess with that. We knew you'd find us." Bruce crawled out from under the chassis and walked over to Charlie's buggy, wiping his greasy hands on his weather-beaten jeans.
Bruce said in that oh, so satiny Louisiana drawl. "I was talkin' to Sandy and Squeaky. They got some news about old Shorty, Charlie. He may be the dude who called in the raid on us. Squeaky says she heard him spouting off to the cops when we was gettin' on the jail bus. Somethin' about 'Call me anytime,' like he was tight with them guys." He rubbed his chin. "You know, Charlie, it kinda figures. Shorty has always been a thorn in our backsides since the beginning. He'd love any reason to see us hauled outta here."
"Hey, man, this is news to me. But I took off before Red could find me. I thought she was gonna shake me down for money or cry about another beef with George about back rent. Damn if that old coot hasn't always got his hand out where we're concerned. So, I just split."
Charlie sat there for a moment, taking in Bruce's news. He shut off his engine. Silence to think.
Charlie pulled on his chin. "You guys agree with Red on this, or is she just telling tall tales again?"
Clem lowered his head and scratched his messy mop of hair. "Dunno. But I know Shorty has a hard-on for this place. Red's been saying how if he don't make it big in some movie western real soon, he'd like to wrangle a partnership deal outta old Spahn. There'd go our chances of getting George to sign over the deed to Red, for us, ya know."
"Ah shit. We can't have nobody snitchin' on us, not after everything that's gone down. What ya think we do about old Shorty?" Charlie stared straight ahead, the wheels in his devious brain undoubtedly turning.
A pregnant pause. More time to think. Charlie rubbed his chin.
Charlie's eyes finally focused on the men. "Hey, what's one more, right? What you guys think?" Charlie's beady eyes sparkled in the desert sun, his Grinch grin returning for a repeat performance.
"Ah, hell, Charlie. Maybe we don't have no choice, ya know. But we'd better do it fast and get the hell outta here right after ‘cause it's one more notch on that leather belt of ours. We can't keep bein' so lucky." Bruce's voice and look oozed a dead serious tone.
"Clem, you agree? God, I wish Cupid was here. He probably could convince the SS to do it for us." Charlie's grin melted into a thin-lipped frown.
"Charlie, I don't think we can wait on Bob or anyone else. I think it's likely Shorty is our snitch. And we don't need no more raids on our ass. We've just been really lucky that GTA charge didn't stick."
Bruce and Charlie nodded.
"Hey, when I was hiking through the hills, investigating the caves and the land beside them tracks, I found a perfect dump site if we was ever in need of one, ya know. We wait 'til the rest of the family are asleep. We hit him in the dark. Nobody would know Shorty was gone 'til it was too late. And even then, with the place I have in mind, nobody would find the guy." Clem chuckled, scratching his dirty scalp once more.
"Okay. We do this thing right away. Tonight, even. Yeah, heck, what's wrong with tonight?" Charlie's voice rose to a squeak, as it often did when he got excited.
Bruce's usually slow southern drawl quickened its pace. "Uh, nothin's wrong with tonight. It would be ideal ‘cause the other ranch hand, Flynn, is out of town, and tomorrow is Shorty's day off. So, nobody here will miss him. And Spook, his old lady, would think he was on another one of his benders. Yeah, tonight, man, tonight!"
As the three huddled around Charlie's dune buggy, going over the logistics — when, where, and weapons needed — a mini dirt devil whipped up and surrounded the would-be killers, drowning any ability to hear their evil plans.
The minutes passed. Their conversation drew to a close. The three men rode their buggies back to the front entrance at Spahn's and parked in front of the boardwalk.
As the amber sun set slowly over the rocky hills, Charlie would have a reason to whisper, "And that makes ten."
Music wafted from the saloon radio, lyrical strains from Bob Dylan's A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall.
Bob's haunting words… blood dripping, hammers bleeding, guns and swords in children's hands…
Makes you wonder if he ever met the Family.
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