Chapter 1
Introduction
Growing up, I was fascinated by a song from Jim Croce. Actually, he wrote many melodies that enthralled me. “Roller Derby Queen” and “Workin’ at the Car Wash Blues” spring immediately to mind. But it was a song about a dirt track demon that got my imagination racing.
“Rapid Roy (the Stock Car Boy)” was about the best driver in the land. He runs moonshine in a ’57 Chevy, has honeys all along the way, and proves how fast he was on a local dirt track every Sunday afternoon. As an impressionable young boy, I loved the imagery of that song.
But I think it was Roy’s nickname that kept me coming back. You see, I didn’t have one, and I really wanted one. Oh, my dad gave me one. And a girlfriend did, too. Yet I never had a moniker that the world would know me as.
I don’t think I’m alone with this problem, though. Most of us will never have a super cool nickname.
Unless we’re a bad guy.
Bad Guys Get the Best Nicknames.
Harry Alonzo Longabaugh started his criminal career in Wyoming when he stole a gun, a horse, and a saddle. It wasn’t a lucrative robbery as he was arrested for it and tossed into jail for eighteen months. Upon his release, Longabaugh bounced around for a bit before participating in a bank robbery along with several other men.
This crew became very adept at knocking over trains and financial institutions. In fact, the group was so effective that their string of heists was the most successful in American history. Longabaugh fled south with his woman and a friend when the heat became too much.
Due to his crimes, Longabaugh became nationally well-known. Wanted Dead or Alive posters carried his name and those of his criminal partners.
Hardly anyone knows of Harry Alonzo Longabaugh, but we all know him by his nickname—“the Sundance Kid.”
***
Israel Alderman was a Las Vegas casino investor and manager. Before that rise to legitimacy, he was a mob enforcer in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Alderman owned a speakeasy where it’s suspected that he murdered eleven people by stabbing them in the ear with an ice pick.
The victim would slump over on the bar as if drunk, then Alderman would carry them outside like he was helping a friend. Bada bing. Bada boom. Bada dead.
But Israel Alderman isn’t a scary name—he sounds like the guy you call to fix your taxes.
“Ice Pick Willie,” on the other hand, seems like someone you wouldn’t want to get in an elevator with.
***
Joseph Ball was such a terrible man that he earned three monikers—“Alligator Man,” the “Butcher of Elmendorf,” and the “Bluebeard of Texas.” After returning home from World War I, Ball started his criminal career as a bootlegger during Prohibition, selling alcohol from the back of his truck. When Congress repealed the law, Joe turned legitimate and opened the Sociable Inn, a saloon in Elmendorf, Texas.
Ball built a fenced pond behind the bar that contained six alligators. He charged patrons to view the gators during feeding when the food mainly consisted of live cats and dogs.
Women that Ball knew soon began missing in the area, including his wife, former girlfriends, and barmaids. When a couple of deputies showed up to confront him, Ball shot himself in the heart. An informant led the police to a couple of women that Ball killed. It’s not known if Ball fed any women to the alligators, but the legend has grown over the years that he did.
Bad Guys Can Also Get Horrible Monikers
A quick look at three Josephs will show that the nickname game isn’t always fair.
Joseph Bonanno was the boss of the Bonanno crime family from 1931 to 1968. A newspaper supposedly slapped the nickname of “Joe Bananas” on him, and it was one he reportedly hated.
Joseph Carna worked for the Colombo crime family for more than thirty years. His father owned a Brooklyn restaurant known as “Lolly’s.” Joseph’s father was known around town as “Senior Lollipop,” which earned the younger Joe the truly terrible nickname of “Junior Lollipops.”
Joseph Ambrosino received his nickname after fleeing a cop through Brooklyn. The officer pursued Ambrosino right through a local mob hangout. This led Ambrosino’s fellow mobsters to call him, “Joey Brains.” And it wasn’t because they thought bringing the law to their spot was a good idea.
The Birth of Back Road Bobby
“When we were in high school,” my friend said, “we used to pull a Back Road Bobby.”
“The hell is that?” I asked.
It was a summer Friday night. My friend and I had consumed a couple of beers while listening to some classic rock & roll—the good stuff—the type of music that makes you feel alive and happy to be on this earth.
Even though we lived less than two miles apart, my friend waved off another beer. We must cross a highway that is frequently traveled by the state patrol and the county sheriff. Deputies are cool, but troopers—ugh. Everyone hates the staties. I blame the Smokey Bear hats. If they wore baseball caps, they’d be so much happier. We’d all be.
“Back Road Bobby,” my friend said, “is when you’ve had too much to drink. You avoid all the main roads to get home. Nothing but side streets. You’ve never done that?”
I hadn’t. I’d never been smart enough to avoid the main drag. And it wasn’t like I didn’t do my share of drinking; I’d simply been lucky enough to avoid trouble.
After my friend left that night, Back Road Bobby stuck around.
He seemed like a character I’d like to do something with.
***
Ideas for anthologies are like ideas for stories. They either burst through in a moment of inspiration, or they take careful planning. Regardless, once the idea germinates, the story or anthology can go anywhere.
When I first developed the idea of a 509 Crime Anthology, I thought it would be a one-shot deal. Bring in some friends, let them write in my fictional world, and have some fun. One concept immediately sprang to mind—the Hope Apartments. It came together so wonderfully that I couldn’t wait to try it again.
That’s when I started brainstorming, and Back Road Bobby reappeared.
In truth, he’d never gone away. I just couldn’t find the right spot to use him in the main series.
I loved saying ‘Back Road Bobby.’ So much so that a character formed in my head. I knew what he was going to drive and how he would behave. That name stuck with me.
Correction—the nickname stuck with me.
Like the Sundance Kid, I never knew Back Road Bobby’s real name.
***
You hold in your hands the third 509 Crime Anthology. Each of these collections is an expression of my love for not only the short story genre but my home base of Eastern Washington.
As you dig deeper into this anthology, I hope you’ll find a story to love. If you do, please check out more of that author’s work. To me, that’s what a collection like this is—it’s a story buffet. You get to sample work from a bunch of different writers. When you find something you like, go back for seconds.
Thanks for reading!
Colin Conway
Spring 2022
