The Sweet Taste (Perry County)

by Roy F. Chandler

  This rider too was all black in appearance. If time had allowed, he could have been the first one, going by again. An instant later, the Newport police car whipped under the railroad pass and hit the bridge almost as fast as the cyclist.

  The police car screeched to a halt, and the driver yelled at the gas station attendant. A finger pointed, and the Newport car took off past me, obviously in hot pursuit of the second motorcyclist.

  Unless there was a roadblock, I didn't give the police a chance. The cyclist would probably turn off before Amity Hall. He could go off at Midway or Watts exits, or he could just cut across lanes, where a police car could not follow and double back on the new highway.

  The chase held my attention, and Spider Seeber was part way down the hill before I saw him. I was again excited. Surely there was a connection. Spider's departure so soon after the hot pursuit suggested that his task had ended. Spider got in his truck and headed for Liverpool; I followed.

  Seeber turned onto new 22, and we headed toward home. Man, was this all there was going to be?

  Sure enough, Spider took our exit. He drove the miles and passed my lane without slowing. I hesitated for a moment at my entrance wondering, now what? Without an answer, I drove in and settled onto my porch to think about it.

  +++

  There I sat, with knowledge of murder, worrying over what Spider Seeber's mysterious activities meant. I had been fortunate in my nosing around the Bikers’ Club. That kind of luck wouldn't happen twice. Whatever Seeber and Jello were up to would probably remain their secret.

  I heard a motorcycle working its way over rough country. The bike was over the ridge around Spider's and it soon shut down. It seemed as though every biker in the world got my ear this day.

  I forgot the motorcycle because over at Spider's a machine fired up. I guessed it was the backhoe. It sounded the same. Spider was making quick transitions today. The backhoe only worked for a few minutes before cutting off. I milled around, kidding myself that I was doing things, but I knew that I really wanted to get a look at what Spider was up to.

  What I ought to be doing was popping to a pay phone and making an anonymous call to the state police, describing the murder, who had witnessed it, and where the body could be found. The cops would take it from there, including whatever Seeber was currently up to.

  I ducked into my Datsun and spun a few leaves into the air departing. I had seen and heard too much not to want to know more, but duty first—I supposed.

  Halfway to Route 22, Jello Gorse passed me in the old van. Jello had someone with him. I slowed despite myself, then I stopped.

  I grinned inside, who was I kidding? Jello's return was too much. I "U" turned, but stayed well back of Gorse until my lane turn in.

  I parked in my usual place, headed for the ridge, then suffered renewed doubts. Sneaking around peering down on some petty smuggling or something was small potatoes compared with the knowledge I already had. Maybe I should get back in the car, report what I knew, and just quit fiddling around.

  Naturally, I chose to fiddle some more. I went to the well and drew water. I went inside and used my bathroom. I even combed my hair.

  Then I said, “The hell with it," and started for the ridge—just as I had known I would all along.

  I would avoid Spider's trip wires and sand trap. From my previous spying spot I would look over Seeber's operation whatever that would turn out to be.

  +++

  Chapter 12

  The time was right. Even the weather was cooperating with a turn to cool and dry—weather that allowed motorcycles to get a road grip and to run cool and fast.

  To worry through Spider's entire scheme could cause fear of its complexity, but only Seeber had to know it all. Everyone else would handle only a simple act or two. From a hundred run-throughs, he had the details down cold.

  Timing was essential, but again, each individual had only his small coordinating to worry about.

  There was a single weakness. Six others were involved, but Spider did not worry. He had been very careful to remain in the shadows. If Jello's men did not get caught in the act, no clues would lead to Spider Seeber.

  Jello came on time. He parked his Harley along Spider's porch and, with only a few words, got in the van and drove off. The van held an assortment of brightly colored T shirts, trousers, a few hats, and two black, off-road motorcycles.

  Spider cranked his pickup and left close behind Jello. He intended to loiter In Newport until It was time for his part. He would have witnesses to prove he was not involved.

  For Spider, time passed a trifle out of sync. In the restaurant he talked without listening, even to his own words. His mind kept flitting to what would be happening here and there across the county. Even during these moments of greatest doubt and tension, Seeber knew it would succeed. He had planned thoroughly and ruthlessly. Even the Numbheads doing the work couldn't mess this up.

  From his Texas bank job. Spider had reached certain conclusions. The first was that most of a bank robbery's success depended on a carefully planned and unexpectedly clever get away.

  Taking a bank was easy. Bank employees were trained not to resist. No one whipped out a six gun and swapped shots with robbers. Most banks didn't even have a gun in place.

  Recruiting robbers would have been a lot tougher if there was a chance that every teller, loan officer, manager - and maybe a few customers - might come up shooting.

  These days it was all TV cameras, tricky gadgets like the tear gas money packet, and silent police alarms. Those, good planning could work around, and low grade thugs were willing to try.

  The second point Seeber had absorbed was that individual bank windows would not have much money behind them. To make a robbery worthwhile, you had to get all the tellers' drawers and whatever was laid out in or around the bank vault. Any bank held enough money; the problem was to get it all in the few moments available. Spider Seeber believed he had everything worked out.

  Perry County covered a lot of square miles. There were also a lot of banks. Finally, there weren't many cops. When a Perry bank was robbed, state police came from the Newport substation. Once they were committed, there wasn't much left in the way of law enforcement. Marysville had a police car and so did Newport, but Rye Township was too distant for Spider to include in his plan, and he knew how to handle the Newport police.

  Spider's scheme was to just rob the hell out of Perry County. Banks in six towns would be hit. Escapes would be whistle clean, and everyone would meet at Spider's place to settle up.

  Six towns! It was audacious; the concept was a thriller; it was brazen and outrageous. Seeber imagined himself reading about it at work with none of his associates suspecting a thing.

  He would whistle in pretended awe, while secretly luxuriating in everybody else's amazement of such a feat. Spider supposed that would also be his annoyance with the whole thing. He would never be able to tell anyone.

  +++

  For simplicity, Spider had numbered his holdup men. Numbers one and two had the most difficult tasks. They were, of course, promised appropriate divisions of the loot.

  Two minutes before noon, they would rob the Landisburg bank. They would take their time, one holding his shotgun on all occupants, the other collecting every loose bill in the place. Spider's planning allowed them seven full minutes, but it should not take that long.

  Clad in black, with black motorcycle helmets and visors, the robbers would be hard to identify. They would get away on a pair of black cycles. They would head straight west for Loysville.

  En route, they would hurl their Landisburg loot into Jello's van. Jello would then leave the direct route and take a position along the mountain, where a logging trail came out. A good spot had been picked, and the van's presence would not be noticed.

  Numbers one and two would then hold up the Loysville bank. Again there would be no rush. They were not in the bank for adventure. Seeber wanted all the money. Spider's planning allowed a full ten minutes for the
robbery, but expected it to be finished in five.

  This time the robbers would race along the mountain roads. They had practiced and knew the turns. When they met Jello, they would heave the motorcycles back into the van and pile in themselves. Jello would head for New Bloomfield, while the holdup men got their wind back and calmed down for the next action.

  Spider guessed the state police would be out and running within a minute after the first gun was pointed. Roadblocks would go up and cars would head for the crime scene. At best, the police would be fifteen minutes behind. More likely, they would be twenty long minutes away.

  Seeber had invested in VHF radios. CB's did not have the range he wanted. Jello's van had a radio, so did the trail bikes. If police closed in, radio contact could change the escape plans. It could also warn all others involved to break off and head for the barn.

  From his lookout above the Newport bridge, Spider would radio what he saw. Another part of the plan made his calls important.

  If the state police went by on schedule, Spider expected them to reach Loysville about the time Jello and the robbers were cruising toward New Bloomfield in the van. Seeber wanted that separation because numbers one and two would next rob a Bloomfield bank.

  A total of three banks within an hour, police lured away, what a rush it would be. Spider almost wished he was with the robbers. Just thinking about the smooth, unhurried ease of it made Seeber wriggle.

  No charging about was needed; Jello and numbers one and two would unload outside Bloomfield on a little used dirt road that joined Adams Corner with Clouser Hollow. There were three banks in Bloomfield, but the bank on the square would be their target.

  Once out of the bank, the bikers would blast clear of Bloomfield heading south on Route 34. They would burn rubber on the turn onto Jericho Road and dump their bikes in the deep woods a mile or so along.

  Of course Jello would be waiting. Into the van would go the loot and the robbers. Clothes would be changed and the money packed behind the battered plywood insulating the van's walls. When the road was clear, the garbage-bagged black clothing, including the shotgun, would be heaved into the brush.

  Innocent as Dillman sheep, the three would motor back toward town, use the cut off that bypassed the square, and pull into The Curve for a snack—and to let the chase pass by.

  That was only one half of Spider's plan. As soon as the state police answered the Landisburg call, Seeber's radio would crackle. In Millerstown, robber number three would strike, and in Liverpool, number four would enter that town's bank. In Newport, number five would be waiting.

  +++

  Spider listened on his radio as it all worked out. Jello reported the first money dumped into his van, and each bank exit was announced. Each step was part of Spider's make-certain planning. If they had carried with them the loot from two or even three banks, robbers number one and two might have chanced making a run for it on their own. With Jello holding the take, they were likely to stay with the original plan. Gorse would not take off with the loot because he expected a much larger split later on.

  The Millerstown robber came a'helling down old Route 22. Spider made sure the Newport police car was beyond sight and radioed an all clear to the rider. No police car, and no traffic entered the blind intersection. The motorcycle rider shot through, wide open.

  Then Seeber called number five. Seeber saw the black bike pull into the square, and he watched with nervous trepidation for a premature appearance by the local police car.

  The vehicle should be with the chief at lunch, but all the emergency traffic on the police channels could have gotten the Newport police edgy. They could be out and looking.

  Spider's watch seemed to crawl. Yet, in only four minutes, the motorcycle did a wheelie out of the square and went through the underpass like a rocket. The VHF antenna on the rider's helmet glinted in the sun. The police car was still out of sight.

  Although the biker's lane had the right of way. Spider encouraged him with an all clear. The rider slid expertly through the turn and disappeared downriver on the old road.

  Now the local police car came. Not quick enough, however. The police car would be too far behind.

  Before the Watts exit, both cyclists would zip across lanes and slide through Spider's personal motorcycle exit. Two minutes later, they would be at Spider's, and the bikes would be ready for dumping into Seeber's big hole for burying.

  Now the Liverpool bandit struck. Within minutes, he would come from his swift escape down Route 11 and 15, then by the back roads, and finally dirt trails, into Spider's place. His bike would also end up in Spider's burial pit.

  Spider radioed Jello how it was all going and slid from his lookout. He would be next to arrive home, but he wanted to make sure no police poked around his secret highway exit. If they did, he would warn the riders waiting at his house. They would take their bikes into the woods and wait to be told if it was necessary to ride like hell for other parts. Seeber was sure it wouldn't be. No one would be looking for secret highway exits.

  Spider saw nothing unusual. Even looking closely he couldn't see marks or crushed crown vetch that looked suspicious.

  Seeber drove within a satisfied glow. Jello reported his successes and disposal of everything incriminating. Only a few loose ends to tie up.

  For an instant, Spider's stomach knotted, but he regained control. It would be brutal, but he could do it, and then . . . then a new Spider Seeber would emerge. Man, the good times were about to appear, far away from Perry County, of course.

  +++

  At The Curve, Jello decided not to linger. They bought take out ice cream and drove on. Jello's route turned them right at the big oak tree near the electric plant and brought the van out on Duncannon's High Street.

  Jello did not chance an inquisitive roadblock at Clark's Ferry. He drove back through Duncannon and got on 11 and 15 then 22 to the Watts exit.

  A piece of cake. None of them had hardly raised a sweat. They had packed a lot of money within the van's walls. A money pack had popped gas and dye on one motorcycle, but who cared, they had a real haul.

  The next thing was to get to Seeber's where the other half of the take would be waiting. Then the thieves would share their celebratory drink.

  After that, Jello resolved, he would watch Spider Seeber like a hawk. A guy that could do what Seeber planned wasn't above trying for Jello's share.

  Gorse's lips thinned. More probable was that he would end up with Seeber's cut. All it would take would be a friendly handshake when they were alone. He would hold Spider real close. A few solid whacks and the only witness to the girl's death would be gone. Jello Gorse would have his handsome motorcycle shop.

  +++

  When the van rolled in, three of the black bikes were already dumped into the big hole Spider had dug in his yard. There was room for a lot more.

  Spider and numbers three, four, and five tumbled out to greet Jello's arrival. Seeber stilled the spontaneous whoopings, but let the backslapping and exultant gabble go on as the van's plywood was ripped away and the money transferred to Seeber's dining room table.

  With a powerful shove, they dumped the van in on top of the motorcycles. Its rear end protruded, but Spider shrugged it off. With his backhoe he would flatten the van and skid it around until it was deep in the hole.

  They trooped into Spider's dining room, and the backslapping and story swapping resumed, until Seeber suggested they look over the haul.

  The money lay in a breathtaking pile on the rickety old table. The sight of so much sobered them for a moment.

  Spider exhaled sharply. "OK, guys, we did it. Unless somebody took a glove off and rolled a fingerprint, there isn't a lead to any of us." Loud denials guaranteed no one was that dumb. Spider believed them.

  "All right then, first a drink all around to salute one hell of a good job and the good times coming up fast. Then we'll divide up.

  "Jello can take one of you home behind his bike and I'll ferry the rest in my pickup. We'
ll go home the long way, which is up to the bridge at Sunbury and down the other side of the river. It'd be stupid to risk questions at a roadblock, and men, there'll be roadblocks.

  "What we've done today is the biggest thing that'll ever hit old Perry County." Seeber held up to let their cheers die.

  Spider turned to Gorse. "You stay sober, Jello, and I'll do the same. It'd be a hell of a note to get pulled over and searched with all the money you people will be carrying." Hoots of agreement arose.

  Seeber distributed water glasses and turned to his liquor supply. He held aloft an almost full bottle of whiskey and squinted at the label.

  "Hey, just right. A special blend so strong it'll numb your eyeballs and make hair fall out of your armpits."

  He flourished the bottle. "Only one drink per customer, and wait till I make the toast."

  Spider poured three fingers into each glass. Then he made a point of issuing numbers one and two an extra dollop. "That's for doing three banks. Man, I can't wait to hear the details."

  Jello said, "I'm driving, so I'm only drinking beer. That stuff'll hit your gut like dynamite."

  The bunch hooted friendly derision, and one said, "Come on, explosion!"

  Jello snapped the cap on his beer, and Spider held his drink aloft for the toast.

  Seeber said soberly, "To good men, who know how to spend quietly and keep their mouths shut." There were solemn nods and Spider added, "Bottoms up, you bunch of pantywaists. Anybody breathes till it's all gone loses fifty bucks of his take."

  Jello touched his can to a glass and poured beer down his throat. Spider went around tapping his glass to others. The riders drank, sucking in a breath before going at it.