by Jim Hallaux
Andre – “What we did need was someone with an ounce of brains. I brought in Smithy & Gabe, who’d you bring in? A couple of space cadets that—”
Leonard – “I brought in kids that had money and a car and they were disposable.”
Andre – “Well you sure disposed of them didn’t you and the two bags of money they were supposed to drive away with. Nice work.”
Leonard - “And Gabe & Smithy? How’d that work out? How’d your planning work out for them? How’d your precious planning work out for any of us?”
It went on like that until midnight. By then, they were both tired and sick of each other. But it was too late to do anything but jam the money back in the duffle and throw it in the corner.
September 14
In the morning, hunger drove them out of the motel, into the car and to the back booth at a diner in Hilt, California; almost to the Oregon border. At the end of the late breakfast, they agreed to head North and lie low. They needed to take some time and decide where the next score would be.
The original plan was to drive to the commune outside of Eugene that the two in the getaway car had come from. By now, neither Leonard nor Andre remembered their names. Andre thought they could hang there for a couple of weeks and come up with their next move, but trusting anyone at the commune, about anything, seemed less and less like a good idea. Too many loose lips, too many blissed-out beings.
Little did they know, Sunshine was no more.
12
September 14
What Leonard and Andre needed was a place to ‘chill.’ From Hilt, they headed north on Interstate 5, Andre’s black Pontiac GTO eating up the miles. Out of California and into Oregon over the Siskiyou Mountain range. Down the long grade into Ashland then on through Medford, Grants Pass, and Roseburg. It was cooler now, the scenery greener.
Leonard had started the day shaving off his beard, a disguise he grew for the bank job. Slender, almost diminutive at 5’ 7” & 150 pounds, Leonard now thought the beard looked ridiculous. It had grown in thick and wooly, overpowering the rest of his face.
“So why the clean-shaven look?” Andre asked over the roar of the wind through his open driver’s side window.
“Don’t need it now. It was just a cover for the job.”
“Who could see the beard under the ski mask? You should have worn a wig too.”
There was no reply. These were the first words either had spoken in a hundred miles and if this was the way it would go, Leonard didn’t even want to start. He was wondering how he got involved with this arrogant ass in the first place.
They finally stopped in Cottage Grove for a late lunch and a badly needed clearing of the air.
“OK, we both agree the commune isn’t right for us,” said Leonard.
Andre’s terse reply, “Never was. OK, genius what is your idea now?”
“Glad you asked, Dip Shit. What we need to do is go for a deep chill. Get off I-5, head for the coast. Relax, spend a little of our money and after a couple of weeks, check out Eugene or Portland. Small jobs this time, no banks; too much trouble, too many guys needed. We go for jewelry stores, stuff like that, quick in and out.”
It was the longest Andre had ever heard the little guy speak.
“Leonard, that’s your grand plan? We turn into small-time stick-up guys. What the hell are you talking about? We’d have to do three or four jobs a month. All that risk and for what, pocket change? And the next time you call me Dip Shit, I’ll kick your ass into next week. I’m not kidding.”
“What I am talking about, Dip Shit, is a plan that doesn’t leave at least 6 people dead and the town police, state police and FBI looking for who did it. That’s the plan. If you don’t like it, let’s split up the money and go our own ways.”
And so it went for the next hour. They finally agreed they would head for the Oregon coast, relax and after a month or so, head to Portland doing small jobs while Andre planned the next big score.
Now that they had settled their differences (for the moment) they paid their check and walked on to the sidewalk and there it was, right across the street.
The Oregon Mutual Bank of Cottage Grove.
Waiting to be taken.
September 15
The planning to rob the bank in cottage Grove started the next day. The difference in strategies was apparent. Andre left first on a search for a raincoat, hat, sunglasses, and notepad. Everything but the raincoat was easy to find. He found one at JC Penny, two sizes too small. It was all they had.
“Hey, Andre it’s a perfect disguise for a guy casing a bank, you show up looking exactly like a guy casing a bank. Not a cloud in the sky and you show up in a raincoat. You look like a Dip Shit.”
“You say that one more time, Leonard and you’re dead.” Andre walked out and slammed the motel door before Leonard could say it again.
After a leisurely breakfast, Leonard bought his disguise; a baseball cap and a pair of cheap sunglasses. The cap pulled low, Leonard entered the bank with a newspaper under his arm. He walked directly to the teller with the longest line.
As he waited, Leonard looked around and saw no sign of security cameras and no security guard. Gotta love small towns, Leonard thought. And there was Andre skulking around the edges of the bank lobby, making notes on a yellow pad. Leonard wondered why he didn’t just carry a sign ‘Robber’ and save everybody a lot of time.
Leonard saw the two teller stations, behind them the main vault, the assistant Manager’s desk to one side of the vault and the Manager’s office on the other side, behind a closed frosted glass door. He noticed that twice the teller in his line walked to a door next to the Manager’s office. She opened the door, closed it, and came out with cash.
The teller in the next line did the same thing. With only three people left in front of him, Leonard observed the Assistant Manager, money bag in hand, go to the same door. He left it open, knelt in front of a small safe, took money from the bag, and put it in. He closed the steel door with Cottage Grove Mutual stenciled in gold on it. The manager spun the dial, dusted off the knees of his suit pants and came back into the main area. As he closed the door, Leonard could see the small safe sat next to the back door of the bank.
The teller brought him back to reality.
“Can I help you?”
Fumbling in his back pocket, Leonard said, “darn it, I left my wallet in my car, I’ll be right back. Sorry.”
As he left the bank, Leonard walked over to Andre and handed him the newspaper, just to piss him off.
Leonard stood in the sunshine in front of the bank, thought a moment, then walked to the alley behind the bank. He stood there looking at the solid door with two locks and a padlocked bar across it. No signs of an alarm system. The bank had a lot of faith in that solid door.
A thought came to Leonard; I’m gonna need a flatbed truck, with a winch. He walked to the end of the alley, glanced to his right, and saw a sign, two blocks down that said ED’s TOWING. It turned out Ed had a flatbed truck with a winch on it setting beside the building. Leonard looked inside the truck window, no keys in the ignition. But you can’t get everything tied up in a bow.
Leonard walked back to the motel deep in thought. He knew what he needed next. He asked at the desk about a hardware store.
“A block off Main on Third, Cottage Hardware.”
Back in the room, Leonard made a small list and called Cottage Hardware. They had what he needed.
Andre burst into their room, slamming the door. He threw the car keys, hat, sunglasses, and raincoat on Leonard’s bed.
“Jesus, Leonard, do not ever approach me at a job site again, we have to remain separate. You know that.”
“OK.”
“We have to do all the planning steps. Work this out. Probably need a couple more guys. I know somebody in Astoria that could help us.”
“OK.”
“I have to make diagrams. We need to do surveillance, make a time chart and then —”
“OK.”<
br />
“There’s a lot to concentrate on. I need space, leave me alone for an—”
“OK.”
Andre looked at Leonard with a scowl that would scare the shit out of most people. Leonard just smiled. Andre hated the little creep. He was going to say more, decided against it, went into the tiny bathroom, and slammed that door too.
Leonard tossed Andre’s raincoat on the floor, found the car keys, and slipped out the door.
The GTO roared to life and Leonard drove to Cottage Hardware.
They had everything ready for Leonard; an acetylene torch set up, striker, welder’s helmet, apron and gloves, flashlights, a fire ax, rope, and steel cable. The total came to $284.00.
The duffle bag with the cash was in the trunk under a blanket. Leonard got the necessary $284 and replaced the bag under the blanket. Two of the guys from the hardware store helped Leonard load everything into the trunk.
The next stop was the Cottage Grove Library. The Library was a Carnegie Library, one of the hundreds the robber baron had funded across the USA. Glowing white columns in front, it was the nicest building in Cottage Grove.
They too had what Leonard needed. Shown to the map section, Leonard lifted the huge county map book onto a table. He took an hour to find the location he needed. Coughing loudly, Leonard tore the appropriate section map out of the book. Stuck it in the back of his pants, with his shirt covering. He replaced the book to the shelf and left the library. Drove back to the motel.
When Leonard got back to the motel room, Andre was silent for at least five minutes, glowering, face red and getting redder. Finally:
“You took the car, no, you took my car! It’s my car, not yours, not something we share. I don’t want you driving it and now I don’t want you even riding in it. My car!”
“Yes, I took your car. I needed to pick up some things,” Leonard replied evenly.
“I don’t give a shit what you needed to do. You don’t take my car.” Andre was furious. “What things? What did you need to pick up and what the hell did you use for money?”
“I needed things to rob the bank with. I took $284 from the duffle bag.” Leonard’s voice rose louder, but still under control.
“First the GTO and now you’re stealing my money?” Andre’s control was gone.
“Actually, our money.”
“Whatever. We are weeks away from doing the bank. We need at least two more people, another getaway, better guns. And a much better plan. So, tell me Leonard, my little mastermind, when were you planning to rob the bank?”
“Tonight. You’ll need another guy when you re-rob the bank 6 months from now. I’ll pull the job myself tonight & be long gone by tomorrow.”
It took Andre an hour to calm down. Leonard carefully laid out the plan. Andre listened, argued, cussed, shouted, and eventually accepted. It wasn’t so much that he agreed, he just wanted to be rid of Leonard. If they got a few bucks out of the safe fine, but he and Leonard were done. What bothered Andre the most, really bothered him, was Leonard taking the ‘leader’ role.
Cottage Grove was pretty much dead after 8 pm, but Leonard and Andre waited until 1 am. Andre drove Leonard to Ed’s Towing and waited in the GTO a block away, with the motor running. The black GTO looked like a panther crouched in the darkness and sounded like a wild animal ready to pounce. Leonard had to walk back and tell Andre to shut the damn thing off.
Leonard hotwired the tow truck, backed out and drove down to pick up Andre. The two of them drove in silence to the alley behind the bank. Leonard backed the truck up as close to the back door as possible. Andre pulled the steel cable from the winch, fastened the hook to the steel bar across the door.
Leonard leaped out of the idling tow truck, they had to move quickly now. He flipped on the winch switch and the cable slowly tightened, lifted off the ground in a straight horizontal line and pulled on the bar. The bar came off with a horrible screech. Next were the two locks on the door. Andre grabbed the fire ax and after several vicious blows made a hole above the locks, big enough for the winch hook to fit. The winch tore the locks off the door, and it swung open. A dog barked a couple blocks away.
The tension mounted. Someone must have heard the noise. Andre & Leonard manhandled the small safe away from the wall and got the Cottage Hardware cable wrapped around it. They secured the winch hook onto the cable and turned the winch back on. Andre & Leonard couldn’t get the safe lined up in front of the door. Time was running out. They watched as the safe made its slow and clumsy way out of the bank, taking a surprisingly large chunk of the wall beside the doorway with it.
The safe made its way down the three concrete steps and jammed against a dumpster. Andre and Leonard, trying to maneuver the damn thing, swore and snarled all the way. The dumpster had to be rolled out into the alley where it slammed into Miller’s Drugstore. All this made a horrendous noise, the surrounding downtown dead silent. Finally, the safe made it up onto the bed of the truck.
A circus parade would have made less racket.
With the safe securely on the flatbed, Leonard hot-wired the truck again and pulled out of the alley onto Main Street. He dropped off Andre at the GTO. Leonard and the flatbed were in the lead with Andre following. The two-car caravan headed west out of town on Gowdyville Road. After 10 miles or so, Leonard slowed to a crawl, looking for the logging road he had marked on the section map. After what seemed like an eternity to Andre, who had been watching the rearview mirror nervously, Leonard pulled off Gowdyville and onto a rough track that followed Tucker Creek.
The low-slung GTO didn’t make it far. Andre got into the tow truck with Leonard and they crept along the dark, creepy, graveled road. Leonard found the spot he was looking for. The road rose on a slight ridge above the creek and Leonard backed off the road as far as he dared. They managed to push the safe off the truck then covered it with brush. Leonard pulled back on the logging road, stopped to let off Andre at the GTO, and the two headed back to Cottage Grove.
Leonard pulled the flatbed into its space at Ed’s Towing. It had performed brilliantly, and the engine would be cold by the time Ed’s opened in the morning. He got into the GTO with Andre and they drove back to the motel.
“We should have cut the safe open tonight,” Andre snarled.
“In the dark, tired, working on rough ground? Hell, the most we would have done is started a brush fire,” was Leonard’s weary response.
“What if someone finds it?”
“Come on, Andre, we didn’t see a car going out or coming in. We’ll be back at sunrise. Nobody’s gonna find it. Be lucky if we can find it again.” Leonard regretted saying the last part.
The arguing only lasted 20 minutes in the motel room. They were too tired to get into it.
September 16
At first light the next morning, Andre and Leonard were at the safe. The ride up Tucker Creek logging road had been hard on the GTO and harder on Andre. The ‘Goat’ was dusty, dinged and scratched. It took three hours for Leonard to get the safe open. He had used an acetylene torch plenty of times at his Uncle’s auto body shop in Lodi. In the time it took Leonard to get into the safe, Andre had smoked two packs of unfiltered Camels.
After the lock and its mechanism had been cut through, they used a tire iron to lever the door open. There was a strong burnt odor. The heat of the acetylene burned some of the money and scorched more.
“Great, how are we going to pass these burnt bills? You should have been way more careful, Leonard.”
“I was careful, and you should have taken welding in shop class. Stop your damn whining, open another pack of Camels and help me count the money.” Leonard was taking the money trays out of the safe and carefully laying them on the ground.
A quick count showed $23,000, some of it singed. They did not count the burnt money.
“So, Leonard, not even as much as Sacramento.”
“You’re right Andre. Five grand less and nobody died, and no month-long planning delay. Planned and pulled it off in one day a
nd best of all, only one day of your endless bullshit. Now help me push the safe off the cliff into the creek.”
“I’m not doing a damn thing. You were the one that said nobody could find it. Leave it and let’s go.”
“Andre, we need to do this right, cover our tracks. Don’t be a Dip Shit about everything.”
Andre did help Leonard push the safe into the creek. As they watched the safe tumble down the cliff and into the water, Andre pulled a pistol out of this jacket pocket and shot Leonard twice in the back of the head. Once would have been enough.
“I told you not to call me that again,” Andre said as he picked up the money and walked to his GTO.
September 17
Jim Olesan had fished ‘his’ spot on Tucker Creek forever. His Dad had taken him here when he was a little kid. Having no kids of his own, Jim had kept the spot a secret. Most people thought the water in Tucker Creek, a tributary of the south fork of the Siuslaw River, was too low for fish, but there was a giant spruce that had fallen into the river 75 years ago and it made a deep pool that trout loved. The spot was hard to get to. The trick was to watch carefully from the logging road, just before it went up the rise, for a well-hidden trail that followed the creek. Under the steep cliff was the spot.
Sliding into his mid-seventies, Jim was getting to an age where the trail was harder to navigate. Since his wife Ester passed away the year before, Jim hadn’t been to Tucker Creek much. Hadn’t done much of anything. After almost a year, Jim got sick & tired of his own behavior. It was time to live again. If the dear Lord thought it was time to take Ester and leave Jim, there had to be a reason.
Fishing on Tucker Creek seemed like a good way to find out what that reason was.
Jim thought he carried too damn much gear, but every time he tried to lighten his load, he left behind something he needed. He carried two poles, a creech, a tackle box with more flies & lures than he would ever need, a sack lunch and two bottles of Olympia beer. Trudging along the narrow trail, the brush and blackberry bushes tearing at his jacket, Jim stopped more often than he wanted to catch his breath and rearrange his gear. Sweating now and getting a little grumpy, Jim had to tell himself to;
