by Jim Hallaux
“I cannot accept, Joe. This is too much.”
“As you’ve seen, I can afford it. Now go enjoy your pie.”
Her view of Cowboy Joe changed drastically that day. So did her outlook on life.
Joe stayed behind a minute. He watched as she talked to the man behind the front desk. Satisfied he had touched her life, Cowboy Joe stood up and walked to the door. As he passed Merri, he caught her attention.
“Pack your own chute, Merri.”
Merri scraped her fork across the paper plate catching every bit of the apple pie. As she savored the final bite, her eyes closed, and she allowed herself to fall back on the bed. Soft. Pampering. She fell asleep.
Rap. Rap.
The bellhop knocked on Merri’s door. As she opened it, the porter held out her suitcase.
“Joe?” she half stated, and half questioned.
The porter smiled, nodded, and left. Merri tossed the case on the bed and headed for the restroom.
Merri immersed herself in a hot shower. As the water washed away a week of dirt, Merri contemplated what Cowboy Joe had said. He got everything right but one. She towel-dried her hair as she rushed back to the bed. She threw open the case and reached inside.
Cowboy Joe was right. Nothing inside the suitcase had value… for Bengie, the doper. But for Merri, it held everything.
She opened an envelope and held up a ticket back to Astoria the Job Corps administrator had given her.
Suddenly she realized what truly mattered in her world.
38
December 20
The unrelenting rain-soaked Andre as he exited his car and retrieved his tool bag from the trunk. He crossed the street to the tunnels below Astoria. The wind howled and the chilled ocean air bit his skin. This dreary-ass place he mumbled.
Andre’s muttonchops dripped water as he peered between the cement supports at the entrance to the tunnels. The floors in this area of the underground were sand which made walking laborious for the lazy Andre. The cement ceilings in the area were low hung. Everything radiated coldness. He would have delegated this shit to someone else but that would mean bringing him in on the job. He had split too many jobs and ended with only piss money. Not this time. This would be his big score.
He had been here once before with the People’s Army guys. What a joke. They showed Andre where they `would stash the C-4 blocks before he placed them, and he analyzed the support structure for the hotel they wanted to blow.
His real goal was the First National Bank across the street. When built in the twenties, the bank was a modern marvel. The stately main floor featured large paned glass windows, polished granite floors, teller cages with etched glass and wrought iron façade. Sculpted wood banisters led to mezzanine offices. The focal point of the main floor was a grand staircase leading down to the deposit box section and the bank’s main vault.
Andre used his Delco flashlight through the tunnels, its light bouncing off cement beams and walls. At Fourteenth and Commercial Streets, he stopped. He stood directly below the entrance to the First National Bank. Andre stared at the tunnel wall in front of him. It was the only thing standing between him and the bank’s main vault; the source of his new fortune.
It was Thursday evening. Tomorrow it would go down. Today, he would plant the sticks strategically around the bank vault wall and the hotel but wait to attach the fuse until right before the event. Less possibility of being discovered by a chance wanderer.
The plan was good. Andre saw it in his mind’s eye. After lighting the fuse, he had seven minutes to get through the maze of tunnels and to safety. Then all hell would break loose. He found an ambulance in a junkyard in Portland, paid cash for it, and parked it three blocks from the bank. As chaos ensued, Andre, dressed as an ambulance driver, would head into the tunnels to the blown bank wall. No one will question me. I’m brilliant.
He would throw the money into a body bag and carry it to the truck. Nothing would look out of place. He did, however, need a second guy to carry out the “body” with him. He found his accomplice on the water’s edge living among the brush and arching trees. The homeless man was excited about his payment: a case of vodka. Andre hadn’t decided if he would trust the man after the job or not. If not, he would simply bludgeon him and leave him among the rubble of the hotel.
Satisfaction filled his thoughts. As he came back to reality, he walked to where the guys had stashed the C-4 in the tunnels. He told them what he needed to do today was dangerous work and it was best he worked alone. The guys were fine with that.
There, in an always-dark corner, Andre found the C-4 with an old brown bedspread draped over them. Perfect. He looked around, saw no one, and tossed the spread aside. He lifted the first M112 in a smooth sweep and headed for the hotel. There, he attached the C-4 to the dark, unseen side of the hotel posts. It took Andre forty-five minutes to finish that part of the job.
Next, Andre carried a M112 of C-4 to the bank. All he needed here was a door-sized hole to enter the vault, but he needed to be careful. Too little C-4 and he would not get into the vault. Too much and Andre would blow up the money.
Andre turned. Felt a presence. Movement. No one there. Shrugging his shoulders, he wrote it off to nerves.
In the damp, chilling atmosphere of the tunnels, Andre attached the final block to the bank wall. He stepped back analyzing his accomplishment. Was there a detail forgotten? He had one chance at this. Andre retraced his steps to the John Jacob Astor Hotel, deep in thought. He missed a shadowy figure approaching from the rear.
“What’s going on?”
“Jesus!” Andre yelled. His spine shivered. His mind processed his worse fears. He was found out. All his work for nothing. But as Andre turned, he recognized a friendly face. Bill.
Bill looked up the cement hotel wall with C-4 taped to its dark crevices.
“Looks good. You’ve been hard at work.”
Andre was unsure how much Bill had seen. Adrenaline raced through Mr. X’s blood.
“God damn, Bill. You about gave me a heart attack.”
Bill said nothing. Andre could not read him. Bill saw the two M112s gone.
“Used all the C-4 did you?” Bill tapped an empty case with his toe.
Andre hesitated. Did he know something? Was he setting him up?
“It’s a big structure. Takes a lot to bring it down. But we will tomorrow.” He looked up at his work sure of his declaration.
“What about the C-4 at the bank?” Bill had seen Andre set C-4 next to the bank wall on the other side of the street.
“Well… I want to bring down the street structure between the buildings to be sure the hotel is razed, and our mission fulfilled.” That sounded good to Andre. He hoped it satisfied Bill.
“Why don’t you take me over to the bank?” Bill walked through the tunnel to the bank wall. Andre followed, anger building, wary of Bill’s interest in his work.
The C-4 at the bank was placed differently than for the hotel. Lower. Not so much of it. Bill’s instincts kicked in. He knew from years of being in the tunnels that on the other side of the wall was the bank’s vault. “Seems odd, Andre.” Bill never liked the man. “If you want to weaken the street structure, why no C-4 on the street side?”
“It’s held up by the wall you are looking at.” Was Bill suspicious? Andre wanted no loose ends. “Take down the wall and you take down the street.”
“Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“The guys need to see this, Andre. Something smells.”
“What do you mean?” Andre knew Bill was going to create problems for him. Perhaps blow the whole gig. Unacceptable.
Bill turned away from Andre to face the bank again. “This wall. The guys need to see what you’ve been doing. I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like people who second-guess my plans.” Andre had retrieved a hammer from his bag and swung it as hard as he could at Bill’s skull. The concussion sent Bill slamming into the wall. He dropped to the sand. Bi
ll started to reach up for help, but life ebbed from him first.
Andre wiped off his hammer on Bill’s shirt. Stuck it in Bill’s belt.
No feeling of remorse.
Grabbing Bill at his armpits, Andre pulled him to a nearby cement rail wall meant to keep a rising tide from advancing. He laid Bill on the rail’s top and grabbed his hammer before pushing him over. No one will find him for days. I’ll be long gone by then. Let the crabs have a feast.
He had finished his work… for the People’s Army. He smiled. The Army of Idiots.
39
December 21
The knock on Tom’s door broke his slumber. On the other side of the door was Fred, a casual friend at Job Corps.
“Hey, Tom. Sorry. Had no way of knowing you were taking a nap. It’s the weekend, but it’s afternoon already.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
“I was at the office waiting for Larry. When he came in, the receptionist told him she got a call last night. Merri. She’s coming back.”
“Incredible. When?”
“That’s all I know, man.”
“I’ve got to see Larry. Thanks, Fred.”
“Good luck.”
“Yeah, man.”
Tom entered the Job Corps lobby, his shirt buttons not matching their holes and his hair only hand-combed.
The receptionist looked at the disheveled young man. “Hi, Tom. The winter solstice is today. The shortest day of the year. I guess it makes getting up hard.”
Tom ran a hand through his hair.
“I need to talk to Larry. Now. Is he in?”
“He is. I’ll let him know you are here.” She started to call him on her Teledex machine, but Tom barged into Larry’s office.
“Good afternoon, Tom. You’re energetic today.”
“We need to talk, sir.”
“It would be better if you allowed my receptionist to announce you… as you’ve been taught.”
“I understand, sir. But this is important.”
“So is protocol—”
“Okay. You’re right. I apologize.”
“Accepted. Now, what is so urgent?”
“I hear Merri is coming back to the Corp?”
“Good news travels fast. She will have an interview with the board. See if she is ready to return. It’s possible. That’s all I can say.”
“Come on, Larry. You know the score. I haven’t seen her forever. I miss her. How is she? She okay?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
Tom looked at him frustrated.
“Look. I know you like this girl, Tom. I do too. She is coming this afternoon from Portland. Meeting with us tomorrow. We’ll go from there.”
“Wait. What did you say? She’s coming into town this afternoon? On the bus?”
“Yes. Why? Are you thinking of meeting her? You might be too late. She’s coming in on the 5:20 it says here.”
Tom glanced at the clock on the wall. Five to five. I’ll never make it in time taking the bus. And the station is part of the John Jacob Astor Hotel! The guys will blow it up as Merri is arriving.
“Larry. I need your help. Merri and everyone on that bus is in grave danger. I need to get to the bus station. Now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No time for details. Call the depot. Please. Is the bus on time?”
“But, Tom.”
“Trust me.” Tom looked into Larry’s eyes. Larry knew he was serious. He found the depot’s number in the phone book and confirmed the buses’ arrival.
“It’s on time, Tom.”
“I have to go.”
Larry reached in his pocket and tossed Tom his car keys. “Have more respect for my car than you have for me.”
Tom smiled, amazed. “Not possible, sir.”
40
December 21
Andre hurried into the tunnel entrance. Practically ran to the charges he had placed around John Jacob Astor Hotel. Out of breath. Tension sky high, Andre thought of what was about to happen... his big score. All of it planned and executed by him. He didn’t need anyone. This would prove it. As soon as he lit the fuse at the hotel and next at the bank, it would all start. No turning back.
Andre’s hand shook as he lit the first seven-minute fuse.
COUNTDOWN: 7:00 minutes
Larry called ahead to the guard gate. As Larry’s beat-up Ford Falcon approached, the guard raised the rail to let him pass. Tom never slowed down. Shocks bottomed out as he took the speed bump full throttle. The guard scratched his head, a million questions he’d have to ask Larry about later.
Winding past the old Naval shipyard, the road from Job Corps led up the hill to Leif Erickson Boulevard eating away time. At the intersection, Tom looked both ways for the Greyhound bus carrying his Merri. It was ahead of him on its way downtown. I’ve got to catch the bus before it gets to the hotel.
Shit.
He pulled out in front of an old truck causing the driver to brake. It was the least of Tom’s worries. He sped up pulling behind the bus. Now what?
He honked. Honked again.
A couple people sitting in the buses’ last row looked around. The bus kept going.
Shit.
Tom had no other choice. He rode the center line looking to pass the Greyhound. A logging truck bore down on him from the oncoming lane and he returned to safety behind the bus.
He was burning time.
Shit.
As the logging truck passed, he moved over the center line again. The road took an arching left turn near 39th Street.
Two cars approached. He was forced to wait until they passed. Tom checked his watch. The bus would arrive just as the hotel blew up.
Shit.
COUNTDOWN: 6:08 minutes
“Where’s Bill?” Peter asked as he looked at Bill’s mattress on the floor.
“Didn’t come home last night,” Joe said.
Peter shook his head. “Should be here. This is big. He should be here, damn it.”
The two remaining members of the People’s Army stumbled outside their basement squat. They had the perfect vantage point, a view of downtown, the river, and the John Jacob Astor Hotel.
Still no Bill.
COUNTDOWN: 5:54 minutes
Andre didn’t bother to check that no one had disturbed the site where he had left Bill’s body. After he killed him, Andre hadn’t given Bill Nikula another thought. He ran through the tunnel under Fourteenth Street and lit the fuse at the bank vault wall.
COUNTDOWN: 5:17 minutes
One hand on the horn, the other with a death grip on the steering wheel, Tom pushed the gas pedal to the floor and turned into the oncoming lane. An approaching car swerved viciously right to avoid Tom and went through the front window of Home Bakery.
The Falcon came even to the bus driver’s window. Tom honked. Honked again. The driver looked at him but shook his head at the crazy driver next to him. A Dodge pickup truck was approaching Tom. He needed to drop back out of its way or…
Tom gave the Falcon all it had. He gained on the bus. Tom swerved in front. The bus clipped Larry’s car and it spun around. The bus driver hit his brakes, the bus coming to a stop inches from Larry’s Falcon.
COUNTDOWN: 3:22 minutes
Peter and Joe gazed over downtown Astoria, its homes, and the hotel.
“Too bad,” Joe said, “Bill isn’t here to see this.”
“He should be here, damn it,” Peter barked.
“Hope he at least got laid.”
“Joe, life is a series of priorities.”
“For Bill,” Joe said, “it’s getting laid.”
Peter shook his head and checked his watch.
Still no Bill.
COUNTDOWN: 3:03 minutes
Tom ran to the bus door, banging on it. The terrified bus driver refused to let him in. Tom yelled, “Don’t go to the depot right now. It’s dangerous,” Tom said. “I know. I sound crazy.”
The driver nodded. He was crazy al
l right. But he might be telling the truth.
The bus doors opened. Tom rushed past the driver and frightened passengers looking for Merri. He found her near the back. She stood. Confused. Amazed. Happy to see Tom.
Tom ran down the aisle and Merri was in his arms again.
COUNTDOWN: 2:18 minutes
The bus filled with flashing red light. Sirens wailed.
An Astoria police car shot past the bus. Before Tom and Merri could assimilate things, three black on black FBI Dodge Monacos flew by.
“My god,” Tom said.
“What?”
“Merri, no time to explain. Do not go to the station. Please. Stay here. I promise. I’ll be back.”
“But I—”
“I promise.”
She watched Tom leave. Going into danger. She did not understand but trusted him.
COUNTDOWN: 1:48 minutes
Tom ran down Marine Drive toward the John Jacob Astor Hotel.
It’s too late.
Astoria police and county sheriff cars were already there. Five FBI Monacos arrived circling to predetermined locations.
They’re going to die. Gotta stop them.
Tom ran to an officer standing next to his vehicle talking on his radio.
