The Sweet Taste (Perry County)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Seeber's bank was surrounded by middle class housing, with open yards to escape through if he needed them. Nearby was an immense shopping mall whose parking lot held acres of cars. Behind the shopping center were rows of really big trash dumpsters and a pair of minor exit roads.

  The most direct route to Spider's bank was closed for major road rebuilding. Two full blocks were torn up and littered with heavy construction equipment. No police cars would arrive from that direction.

  Spider chose a Friday for his robbery. He reasoned that a bank should have lots of money on hand for cashing weekly paychecks.

  At noon, tellers would be off for lunch. Those remaining would be busy and perhaps too distracted to notice what was going on elsewhere in the bank.

  The trouble was, for a bank robbery to amount to anything, you needed to get all the tellers you could.

  Bankers did not leave big money lying around anymore. When a window accumulated more than a couple of thousand dollars, the excess was removed to the big vault. Unless the robber spent time in the bank, he would not get much.

  At least the word spread around claimed that was the way most banks worked. So, Spider planned to use extra minutes and do it right.

  Unshaven for four days, and wearing his false mustache, wig, and gloves, Spider Seeber entered his bank and held a teller at gunpoint until she had emptied her money drawer into his imitation leather attaché case. A second teller stood terrified until Spider got to her. The third window girl was aware of nothing until Seeber's gun made her look up. A pair of customers fled, but Seeber didn't care.

  One teller's offering contained a fatter stack of bills that made Spider's heart jump. It appeared that some big money was not being transferred to a vault.

  Spider had spoken few words other than, "Hurry up."

  He gave his pistol a final menacing flourish and walked swiftly from the bank. He heard no sirens and saw no flashing lights, but police cars were surely closing in silent approach. Spider broke into a run.

  To his victims, Seeber had probably appeared calm and sure. Spider knew better. He had sweat until he was drenched. His skinny body rarely perspired, so the strain had been great. Seeber's vision had stayed slightly out of focus the whole time, his hands had felt so weak and clumsy he feared his gun might fall. Spider had been scared nearly witless, and if anyone had screamed, he might have fled in pure panic.

  Seeber dumped the attaché case into a plastic milk box fastened behind the moped's seat. The machine started with a single kick, and Spider wound the small engine out through the back of the bank's parking lot and across a neighboring yard.

  He zoomed along an alley and shot into the middle of the road construction. Turning away from the bank he saw black and whites with flashing lights converging on the robbed bank. Spider opened the moped up and sped away among startled road workers.

  A block along, Spider again took to a yard, then out through another, and into a back access to the shopping mall.

  The moped was leaving a tremendous cloud of whitish smoke that again scared Spider half to death. He expected the machine to fail at any instant, but the engine ran perfectly, and the smoke had dissipated by the time he entered the mall lot.

  Spider pulled in behind one of the big open dumpsters. Then he saw that the smoke that had been following him still dribbled from his attaché case. Astonished, Seeber sniffed at the smoke. Tear gas, sure as hell. He had gotten some sort of bombs along with his money.

  Cursing, Spider set the still smoking case aside and with fear induced strength, muscled the moped into the air and dumped it unceremoniously into the dumpster. The bike crashed to the bottom of the trash container but there was no one nearby to hear.

  Seeber's old pickup was parked a few steps away. He flopped the money case into a cardboard box in the truck bed and dumped odds and ends from another box on top.

  In the cab, Spider ripped away the wig. A bit of skin went with the glued on mustache. He set his gloves aside and shrugged out of the whitish long-sleeve shirt he had worn to cover his tattoos. On went a blue work shirt and Seeber began to feel safer.

  He tooled the pickup to the front of the mall. His disguise went into a plastic garbage bag which he shoved into one of a few dozen handy trash containers.

  Seeber motored to the far end of the mall and parked his truck where he could see it from a coin-operated laundry. Leaving the truck he detected a whiff of tear gas. Damn, he hadn't thought of such a trap. If he had carried the money inside a car he would have gotten one hell of a blast.

  Inside the laundry, Spider shaved with a cordless electric razor. The last of his disguise quickly disappeared. His long hair had been tucked under the wig. Its pig-tail also made him look different.

  Seeber’s picture was in the bank's security cameras, and there was no way to disguise his lanky frame. As soon as the chase cooled a little, Spider would leave Temple, Texas forever.

  A police car cruised swiftly through the mall parking lot, the driver's head twisting constantly. Seeber experienced a wriggle of satisfaction. The moped was tossed. Even if it were found, the trail died right there.

  The dumpster was too high to casually look into. Most likely, a ton or two of trash would land on top of the machine. The entire load would become part of a refuse truck's cargo. At the landfill or incinerator, someone might notice the new-looking cycle. If they did, they would salvage the moped and keep it. Case closed!

  +++

  The gas bomb had been part of what Seeber had thought was a thick money pack. Neat trick. Spider cursed the perpetrators.

  Less successful had been the dye included in the bomb. Intended to mark any nearby money, the dye had barely dribbled. Spider figured he could safely pass the bills in stores somewhere across the country. He would be careful to get rid of all the dyed money in one large city, so he would not leave a trail. In a city, his face would not be remembered among the many thousands.

  He had stolen a bit over fifteen thousand dollars. Not a big haul, but also not chopped liver. He could buy a brand new Harley and have thousands to spare.

  +++

  For a third night, Spider Seeber woke up sweating. His dreaming had kept him fleeing, barely ahead of searching police. In his nightmares he repeatedly relived the tensions of the robbery. Suppose a clerk had come up with a gun, or what if the moped had failed to start? What other tricks like the tear gas did banks have, perhaps tracer bugs hidden in a bill bundle that could lead straight to him?

  Seeber began to believe that bank jobs were not for him. He resolved never again, unless it was a really big one, of course.

  +++

  Because the idea for the big score came to him, Spider did not buy another motorcycle. He had been heading north, maybe to Chicago, a place he had never seen. When his plan began taking form, Seeber instinctively turned northeast. By the time everything jelled, he was already on his way to Perry County.

  Had he known he would come back, deep inside somewhere? The rest of his clan had not returned.

  Even when he had been poking through Publix and IGA store dumpsters for worthwhile edibles, Spider had not considered the easy money of selling out in Perry County. Something had kept him from peddling the old Seeber place. Spider considered his hanging onto the house a good omen.

  To make his scheme work, Seeber needed Jello Gorse. Gorse could recruit men who would not listen to a stranger.

  Spider wanted someone else out front anyway. This time, he would remain in the shadows until everything was set and the plan began to unfold.

  Spider chose an evening, a time when Jello would be relaxed. He picked the neutral ground of a public barroom.

  At their first meeting, Spider only outlined his plan. He emphasized the profits and their own safety. He did not point out that until the grand finale, his participation would be known only to Gorse. If things went so wrong that Jello talked to police, it would be only his word against Spider's.

  Neither he nor Jello would do the hard part. Others wo
uld take the big risks. Jello's main task would be to recruit five of his fellow bikers. In the end, Seeber explained, he and Jello would split a wad of dough that could take a lot of pain out of life for a very long time.

  Until Seeber got to the last of it, Jello didn't seem overly interested. But, when Spider explained how the two of them would manage to walk away clean, Gorse's eyes glittered, his tongue flicked his thick lips, and he sat back to look at Spider Seeber with what was obviously a new respect.

  Jello said. "That's the most underhanded, outrageous, disloyal thing I ever heard of."

  Spider smiled thinly. "But it'll work, Jello."

  "My God. You're colder than an iceberg, Seeber."

  "Too cold for you. Jello?"

  Gorse's mouth opened in broken-toothed laughter.

  'Nope. It's Just about right for me."

  Then Jello's eyes got dead looking and rattlesnake mean.

  "Just be sure you don't plan any surprises for old Jello Gorse along about the end of things, Seeber." His massive shoulders hunched and his giant fists bunched aggressively.

  Spider let his eyes pop. "Hey, wait a minute, Jello. This is a partnership. I can't do it alone. Neither can you. We need each other. No tricks, no dirty dealing between us. Agreed?"

  They shook hands on it, each disguising his own reservations, each inwardly vowing to make sure the other didn't pull anything fancy on him.

  The plan was to meet only when they had to. Jello would pick his five and tell them what they needed to know and nothing more. It was essential that Spider's existence not be leaked to buddies or girlfriends outside the plot. Such a revelation to outsiders could, in the end, ruin everything.

  When all the details were right and conditions were perfect, the Gorse-Seeber gang would make its move. Afterwards, Spider and Jello would go right on living normal lives. No one would tie them to the crimes.

  Spider was the detailer. How and when was his department. Gorse was the recruiter. He had to choose men who would act hard, quick, and smart. Men who would keep their mouths closed until it was all over.

  The most important point they agreed on. If Spider Seeber was ever associated with the incidents, the whole scheme could come unglued, with the very worst kind of result for both of them.

  +++

  Gene Perry returned right in the middle of Spider Seeber's planning and preparation. Perry had been about the farthest thing from Spider's mind, and the coincidence of Gene's reappearance was unsettling.

  Perry was never good news for Spider. Though the chances of Gene interfering were miniscule, Perry was nosey. Probably Gene was back in his cabin for only a week or two. Spider hoped he left even sooner.

  Gene Perry did not leave. Every time Spider drove a road, he seemed to encounter Perry bumbling along in his old Japanese car. He couldn't go to the restaurant without seeing Perry at a table.

  What did Gene do all day? He didn't work. According to mutual acquaintances, Perry was loafing between jobs. Did he sneak around when Spider wasn't home? It was the kind of thing Seeber might do, so he could suspect it of others.

  If Perry did go through Spider's house, he wouldn't find anything. Seeber had traded off the .38 caliber revolver for a .357 magnum. The new gun and the bank money were hidden in the family's secret place behind woodwork in the dining room. As long as the house didn't burn down, those things were safe, but the idea of Gene Perry poking through his things rasped Seeber's guts.

  If Perry came over to spy, he would use the ridge trail. It was the only sensible route. Spider laid out some traps that would tell if Gene crossed over.

  Though Perry never sprung a trip wire, Seeber still found himself watching his woods line and studying his path for strange tracks. That Perry was a sneaky cuss.

  Twice, Spider had slipped across the ridge and spied on Perry's activities. Once Lori Shoop had been there. Her kid's roaming had kept Spider too deep in the woods to see much.

  The other time he had gotten close, but Perry just milled around, doing nothing significant. Seeber decided there wasn't anything to see anyway.

  The big plan was set to go when the cycle club bikes got burned out. That suddenly, everything went to hell. Confusion reigned. Bikers who hadn't been burned felt guilty at their good luck. Those who lost bikes angrily blamed everybody else. Worst of all, police were involved. They were everywhere, taking names and asking questions. For a while at least, the Bikers' Club would be prominent in state troopers' minds.

  A few of the bikers Jello had recruited agitated to get on with it. They needed money for new cycles. Jello cooled them. The last thing they needed, he pointed out, was a bunch of guys flashing money and new bikes. Cops would put it together. They weren't all stupid, despite what riders liked to think.

  With the planned ending, it probably wouldn't matter, but to be safe. Spider decided to wait a month. They had at least that much time to spare.

  Their only real limit lay in getting the job done before winter turned the roads bad and made motorcycle riders stick out like coals in a snowbank.

  A month would put the Bikers' Club fire on a back burner. As for the riders showing money, Seeber's smile was cynical. That wasn't likely to happen.

  Because of Gene Perry, Spider uprooted the marijuana plants he had deep on Gene's land. Perry might stumble across them and call in police.

  Even wholesaling, Spider could have made five hundred dollars from each plant. Seeber held that loss against Gene Perry. Damn, he wished Perry would take off for wherever it was he usually went.

  As soon as he had returned from Texas, Spider had reopened his hole in the highway fence. This time he had done it right. Almost beside a fencepost, Spider had placed another. He transferred the existing wire to his new post, leaving a gap just large enough for a motorcycle to pass through. Some dead brush strategically placed disguised the passage from all but careful investigation. Spider did not ride a motorcycle, so the illegal opening was not used. It was there for later, when it would be needed.

  For the big score, Spider had put out time and money. He had gone out of state to pick up five dependable dirt bikes. Fast and tough motorcycles, each was tuned, ready to go, and equipped with lights to make it road legal.

  The license plates were almost a joke. He picked them from junked cycles. They were out of state and out of date, but they would suffice for a fast, a very fast, run or two.

  Finally, Spider prepared his celebratory drink. When the game was finished, they would all need a few stiff shots for steadying down and saluting a job well done.

  Vodka mixed with one hundred proof whiskey and a few specially chosen spicer-uppers would sting the palates of even the hardiest. Seeber mixed a half gallon and set it aside to blend, until it too was needed.

  +++

  Chapter 8 - LORI

  Lori Shoop liked the way Gene Perry smelled—not, of course, the stench of pain, blood, and muddy river he had reeked of when she helped him stumble from the Juniata.

  Gene had a clean-skin, well-scrubbed maleness about him, unlike some men who wore socks too long and perhaps underwear as well. Their scents tended to be a bit pungent, not the best for being around.

  How he smelled was, of course, only one of the measures a woman used to judge a man. Female vanity could allow a man's good looks primary importance.

  That common misjudgment led to serious mistakes in dating and marriage. Handsome features and a thick mane of hair were not to be scoffed at, but too many males with those attributes failed other tests.

  It was probably the same with men or women. Physical beauty made things too easy, and the gorgeous featured were rarely challenged to develop the sensitivities needed by those less blessed.

  Well, Gene Perry was no matinee idol. His nose was bent and his skin wore the weathered look of an outdoorsman. But, he was also the kind of man that shaved every day and brushed his teeth without fail.

  Each morning Gene combed his hair, but thereafter, only fingers controlled his unruly mop.

>   Hair styling held little importance for men like Perry. They usually discovered the need for a haircut a week late and were content with whatever hacking and slashing the barber administered. Such men never visited hair stylists. They dropped into barber shops. If they were married, wives often did the trimming. As long as their hair stayed out of their eyes and off their ears, Gene Perry types were content.

  Lack of hair interest should not be an important measure of a man's value either. Lori Shoop liked Gene's lack of vanity.

  Her husband had been a great hair adjuster, with a comb in his pocket for constant touching up and a rear view mirror tilted for regular rechecking. At eighteen, girls found such care titillating. Lori, for one, wished she had looked a lot deeper, the way she was now studying Gene Perry.

  Lori had been brought up right. She did not drink or smoke. She had married in a deserved white dress and had made her husband and son the center of her life.

  Many Duncannon girls did the same. They wedded local boys and dropped, indistinguishable from hundreds of other couples, into the good life of small-town America.

  Barely a year after her marriage, disasters weakened then destroyed Lori's tranquil acceptance of young adulthood. Her husband's restlessness and increasing dissatisfaction triggered uncertainty. Then, at night, on a sharp curve, Lori's father and mother went through a guard rail and over a cliff. Their elderly Buick crashed upside down into a deep hole in Sherman's Creek. Neither survived.

  Shattered, Lori turned to her man for security and support. Her chosen failed to respond. A month later, with no explanations, he threw personal belongings into the family car, pocketed the household cash, and drove away.

  A friend said he had gone to California. Lori never heard directly. Within months, she no longer cared.