"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
In 1995, my mother, Mickey, moved back to California. She befriended H over the months that their home and business in Texas were up for sale. The last thing she wanted was for H to bolt and disappear, taking Sovay and me with him. She even paid for H’s eye examine and bought him two pairs of glasses.
I had finally reached the point where I was more afraid of H than I was of Mickey. Shortly after Mickey and Mike moved, H needed to borrow a lawnmower. So he asked to borrow hers. She came, but did not bring the mower. She brought their big truck and left with me and Sovay.
I hated playing the tranny card, but I had saved pictures of H in female garb with enough makeup to make a streetwalker look tame. H went to the American Bookseller’s convention looking like a whore. Everyone remarked on it and his agent, Bert Holtje told him to tone it down.
I made it clear to H that the state of California would not look kindly on that.
Now, if you have read all the way back, you will find me talking about a certain piece of paper that allegedly gave H full custody of Sovay. He had held Sovay hostage with it.
I was doing the research for one of H’s best-selling books, and I used that time to go to the courthouse to check records and I got a copy of the document I had signed, but been too out of it to know what I had signed. Here’s the serious irony. All the document did was forbid me to take Sovay out of California.
With a copy of that document in hand and those photos, I fled to Mickey’s home with Sovay and there was not a damned thing that H could to to stop me.