by Jim Hallaux
“Sir, get everyone out of the hotel. Now. It’s going to explode.”
The officer turned.
“And how would you know?”
“I’ll explain later, sir. But we don’t have time. Please.”
“You have a lot of explaining to do. Right now.”
COUNTDOWN: 0:38 seconds
Tom ignored the officer and ran past him.
“The hotel is going to blow!” Tom yelled at anyone whose attention he could get.
“Hey, you! Stop. Turn around,” the officer demanded. He caught up to Tom, huffing; his too many doughnuts at Home Bakery slowing him down. “Step back. I have a couple questions for you.” The officer grabbed Tom’s arm and led him back away from the hotel.
“But we—”
“Don’t move. Stay right here. You can tell your story to the FBI. He’s coming over here right now.”
“But—” Tom glanced down Commercial and noticed Andre’s GTO parked in front of Loop Jacobsen Jewelers.
Oh, shit.
Tom ignored the officer. He ran across the intersection to Loop Jacobsen’s and stood at the door. He could hear someone inside. With trepidation, Tom put his key in the lock and eased the door open. He squeezed through the gap without ringing the bell that set on top of the door.
The curtain that separated the workshop from the rest of the store was closed. He parted the curtain. Hunched in front of the store’s safe, knelt Andre working on the hinges with an acetylene torch.
The asshole is going through with his fallback plan!
Tom moved into the workshop space. Between Tom and Andre was a jumble of tools and a burlap sack. Mixed in with the tools, Tom saw a gun. He bent down, picked it up and using both hands, aimed the gun at Andre.
“WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
Intent on his work, with a welding mask on and the sound of the torch, Andre hadn’t heard or noticed anything behind him. Tom’s shout almost caused him to drop the torch. Andre turned to confront Tom. He looked him in the eyes. The gun shook in Tom’s hands. Andre turned the flame up on the torch, stood up and waved it at Tom.
“You won’t use the gun, Tom. You’re crapping your pants just thinking about it. I’ve stared down a gun before. I’ve killed before. Your boy Bill? You can find him across the street behind a chair wall. Dead. You don’t have the... “
Tom pulled the trigger.
“Jeesus, you shot me . . . I’m hit . . . I’m hit.”
Tom shot him again.
“Stop . . . stop . . . don’t kill me. My arm’s burning!”
“I was aiming for your head. Shut up or I’ll shoot you again.”
COUNTDOWN: 0:00
Peter and Joe sat on the hillside waiting for the hotel to go down. It did not. They waited. Nothing. Peter hit Joe on the arm.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Damn it,” Peter said. “I was a fool to get Andre involved in our plan to blow up the hotel. We are the People’s Army. Not him.”
Peter stood staring at the hotel. Its failure to blow. His failure.
“Thank you for standing,” a dark-suited man said behind Peter. He grabbed Peter’s arms slapping cold metal cuffs around both wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law; you have the right to consult with an attorney and to have that attorney present during questioning, and, if you are indigent, an attorney will be provided at no cost to represent you. Do you understand these rights?”
Peter looked at the man. Begrudgingly, he said, “Yes.”
“Good.”
A second FBI agent cuffed Joe. He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and read Joe his rights. This was new for the agents. Only three years earlier, the Supreme Court found Ernesto Arturo Miranda’s Fifth and Sixth Amendment rights had been violated.
“What’s the charge?” Joe asked.
“Oh, I believe we have a lot on you two. We heard Peter here confess moments ago. Don’t plan on going on any trips soon, men. Except for the one to prison.” He smiled at his partner as they led Peter and Joe to their waiting car.
“Get in boys, watch your heads and I’ll explain conspiracy to you.”
PART EIGHT
Wind with Rain
41
Tom’s call to the FBI made the difference. They had been following the trail of burnt money up the coast and, with his call, they had tied it to the People’s Army and Andre Demico.
The FBI coordinated with the Astoria PD & Fire, Clatsop County Sheriff, and the Oregon State Patrol. The agencies worked well together on the biggest operation to hit Clatsop County in decades.
They evacuated the John Jacob Astor Hotel first. Then buildings within a five-block area. All downtown streets blocked, and ferry service halted.
An FBI agent had watched in the darkness of the tunnels as Andre lit the fuses under the hotel and bank. He let him escape knowing other agents awaited Andre at the ambulance. The agent walked to the C-4 sites and removed the detonators.
Unseen by the FBI agent, Andre headed down a different tunnel away from the ambulance and the other agents waiting for him. His real destination: Loop Jacobsen Jewelers and his GTO getaway.
Andre’s accomplice, the homeless man from 8th Street, was turned over to local authorities. He would be processed and released.
The trials for Joe, Peter and Tom went quickly. The grand jury did not indict Tom, ruling his actions self-defense. The acetylene torch being used as a weapon.
Joe and Peter got 24 months state prison time, plus 5 years probation. Their lawyer said, “If being stupid was a crime, they could have got life.”
Andre’s trial took longer. After his wounds healed, he was indicted for conspiracy (attempted bombing of the John Jacob Astor Hotel,) murder (he confessed to killing Bill,) attempted murder (using the welding torch as the weapon); breaking and entering, and attempted robbery.
Andre was found guilty on all charges.
Then the Feds got involved. He was charged in federal court with the bank robbery in San Jose and Cottage Grove, the attempted First National Bank robbery, and the murder of Leonard Henderson.
Again, Andre found guilty on all counts. On the fourth year of his federal time, a cellmate stabbed Andre to death with a Bic pen.
42
Frank Van Winkle was placing the jewelry from the new safe in the display cases and storefront windows. As he set the rose-pink ring box in the window, he had an idea.
“Hey, Dad. Tom asked us to hold his wages, right?”
“Of course. He wants the money put towards the ring.”
“Exactly. And he single-handedly saved our you-know-what during the burglary, right?”
“Right. And?”
“And I’m thinking we need to reward him and get the young couple off to a good start.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, they’re great together, and he’s worked hard here. Why don’t we waive the remaining balance he owes… as a wedding gift?”
“Waive the balance? Give it to him? This is why I’m in charge of finances.”
“Dad, have a heart.”
“I have a heart, son, and a head. But you’re right. Let’s give them the ring.”
43
Wind with Rain
The path, over-grown with morning glory vines and blackberry bushes, stretched from Job Corps north through an undeveloped forest to the tip of Tongue Point. Tom and Merri Sue walked together along the meandering trail. The air crisp on the bare-sky day, rich with oxygen. The moss flooring lemon-yellow in the bright sunlight.
This Saturday, they had the afternoon to themselves. All afternoon. Just them. Tom planned to make the most of it.
“Ouch!” Merri cried out. Tom looked down to see Merri’s bellbottoms wrapped in a blackberry branch. She moved to release her leg, but it became more entwined as if the bush was coming after her.
“Stop m
oving. You’re making it worse.” Merri stood still. Tom worked to set her free.
“Ouch,” Tom said. As he untangled her, he stood. She grabbed his hand noticing a drop of blood.
“You’re wounded. Let me make it better. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the wound. Tom put his hand under her chin lifting her face upward to his mouth. They kissed, gently at first, then passionately, as if they would never stop. They looked into one another’s eyes, deeper than ever before.
As they continued their trek, Tom’s mind wandered to the importance of the day. Tom put his arm around Merri pulling her tight against his chest. She looked up, her sparkling eyes in bliss. The path continued, though not as foot-worn, until they had reached Tom’s goal.
They stood on the cliffs at the tip of the Point, looking over the Columbia River below and, four miles away, the gray-blue Washington State mountains. Wispy clouds shrouded the peaks. Majestic. Magical. Like the day.
“I have a surprise for you,” Tom said as he stepped away from Merri, and headed for a large fern at the edge of the clearing. He pulled a burlap sack from behind it and set it down on the moss-covered floor of the clearing.
“You’ve been busy, I see,” Merri said.
Tom nodded. He had brought the sack earlier that day. As he pulled a heavy blanket from the bag, Merri offered her help, and they laid it flat together. He pulled a cardboard box out next.
“Not exactly a romantic picnic basket but…”
“Romantic in its own way,” Merri answered.
“Thank you. I try.”
“Good point.”
In the box, Tom pulled out several kinds of cheese, crackers, and grapes, all put together by Penny from the Job Corps kitchen and arranged them in front of Merri.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re quite the cook.”
“Hours of labor and sweat,” Tom said.
They smiled.
Tom reached in and retrieved two wine glasses. Merri looked at him challenging the wisdom of drinking wine considering her history at JC.
“Non-alcoholic cider,” Tom declared.
They smiled again. The afternoon past quickly and the sun began to set. A light breeze chilled them, so Tom wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. Now was the time.
“We make a good team, don’t you think?” Tom questioned.
Merri looked into his eyes. “The best.”
Tom reached again into the sack. In his hand, he retrieved a small pink box. Tom rolled onto his knees in front of Merri. Her eyes lit up.
“Merri, you mean so much to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you will have me.” He took a deep breath; not sure he would make it as he planned. He opened the box, a star-sparkling engagement ring inside. “I told you I would always be there for you. Now, I want to make that promise real.
“Merri Sue Morrison, will you marry me?”
Merri believed his promise. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
