UPDATE: The Sheriff’s Office posts to its Facebook page that Mr. France is in Petaluma, and he’s fine.

###

Press release from the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office:

The Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office needs the public’s help to locate missing person Edward Everett France Jr, 75, of Eureka, CA. Edward has mobility issues, so he will most likely not travel far on foot.

Edward was reported missing on 12/19/2022 by his family. He was last seen at a residence in the South Eureka area on 12/06/2022.

Anyone with information for the Sheriff’s Office regarding Edward’s possible whereabouts should call the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office at (707) 445-7251.

Time for that very last ritual of the Christmas season: Scouts showing up at your door and hauling away your Christmas tree!

A media representative from Boy Scout Troop 15 and Cub Scout Pack 95 sends us the following info. Be nice and tip your scouts if you can.

Just a heads up to everyone that Boy Scout Troop 15 and Cub Scout Pack 95 will once again be picking up Christmas trees and hauling them to greenwaste for the community. We will be picking up trees in Eureka, Arcata and McKinleyville areas on Saturday December 31 and Saturday January 7th between 10 a.m.-4 p.m.

If you would like to schedule a pickup, you can call or text (707) 273-1997 or email arcatacubscouts@gmail.com with your name, address, phone number and preferred pick up day (12/31 or 1/7). This is a community service project for the Scouts and there is no fixed cost to pick up your tree - donations are accepted and appreciated but are not required. All donations will help fund camping and other outings and summer camp for the Scouts.

Please help spread the word any way you can so we can have a robust pick-up schedule - it’s lots of fun for the Scouts so the more trees the better. Thanks for your support!

The suspect, Russell Martin Albers, is at large.

Press release from the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office:

On Dec. 27, 2022, at about 12:12 a.m., Humboldt County Sheriff’s deputies were dispatched to a residence on the 4000 block of Crane Street, in Pine Hill area of Eureka, in response to a 9-1-1 call in which yelling, and a child screaming were heard in the background. While en route, deputies learned that there was a shooting at that location and at least one person was shot. 

Deputies arrived and located three persons with gunshot wounds at the residence.  Life-saving measures were attempted, however, an adult female victim and an adult male victim had succumbed to serious gunshot injuries. Emergency Medical personnel arrived and rendered aid to an adult female and she was subsequently transported to an area hospital where she underwent immediate emergency surgery. A 4-year-old child was on scene during this incident. That child was checked by EMS and determined to be uninjured. The child was subsequently turned over to Child Welfare Services. Upon further investigation, deputies learned that was an additional adult female victim that sustained a gunshot wound at the Crane Street residence. The suspect dropped the female victim off at an area hospital. That victim underwent surgery and is in stable condition.

The suspect has been identified as, 41-year-old Russell Martin Albers of McKinleyville, CA. Russell Albers has an arrest warrant for double homicide.

This case is still under investigation. More details will be released as soon as possible.

Albers location is currently not known. If you see the suspect, call 911 immediately to report his location. Anyone with information about this case or related criminal activity is encouraged to call the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office at (707) 445-7251 or the Sheriff’s Office Crime Tip line at (707) 268-2539.

Hey, how about that wind last night, eh? I can’t be the only person to have had earthquake flashbacks when their home caught those gusts like a big wooden sail, rattling windows and shivering timbers.

Yesterday was the first day of a week of real weather we’re due for. It’s currently scheduled to clear up around New Year’s Day. Until then, get ready for big wind and big rain, and all that comes with those things — power outages, bad roadway conditions, etc.

According to your friends at the National Weather Service’s Woodley Island office, yesterday set a rainfall record. No Dec. 26 has ever been so wet, so far as they are aware.

A record was set in Eureka, CA on Woodley Island for rainfall. 1.91 inches of rain fell breaking the old record was 1.68 inches set in 1983. #CAwx pic.twitter.com/tNHntWr1Bd

— NWS Eureka (@NWSEureka) December 27, 2022

Shockingly, though, we’re still in a dry year. Since October 1 we’ve received 12.06 inches of rain — not only less than the average (14.07 inches) but even less than last year (13.39 inches). This is especially troubling given that we’re in yet another La Niña year, during which the bulk of our moisture is frontloaded in the early winter months.

The biggest power outages at the moment are in Fieldbrook and around Weott/Myers Flat/Miranda. Apart from that, there are a bunch of spot outages around the county. Find yours here. 

All highways are currently open, though the CHP is reporting branches and rocks in the roadway all over the region. Follow those here.

Buckle up! And if the fallen branches and rising water come for you over the coming days, you have our sympathy. Let us know, and also please let the National Weather Service know. They’ve got a quick form you can fill out and it’ll help their forecasting.

We want your wind and flooding reports. Help us verify what is going/went on by answering our questions. You can fill out this form https://t.co/aLjxp0B5ja or post here. Pictures help a lot! pic.twitter.com/9EzAUx6a5o

— NWS Eureka (@NWSEureka) December 27, 2022

Robert Charles Gelder (“Sarge”) passed away peacefully at home in McKinleyville on November 30, 2022, at the age of 76, with loved ones by his side.

Bob didn’t just live life with gusto; he devoured it and brought the party with him wherever he went. He was a kind and generous man who expressed his appreciation in a profound manner, all the while not realizing the impact he had on people. To him, he was just being himself and doing what comes naturally. He thrived on lifting people’s spirits and making them smile.

Born in Torrance, California, on July 11, 1946, Bob grew up in Redondo Beach and Palos Verdes, becoming the typical surfer of the era, with blonde hair to match. His childhood was unusual, as he was born with ADHD - Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder - but his parents made sure he had the latest cutting-edge medical treatment. Most children in that time were institutionalized, as was pointed out by a V.A. psychiatrist decades later, giving Bob even more respect for his parents’ efforts to provide him the best opportunities while living at home. He went to private school for “special” kids until the sixth grade and then joined public school. In 1967 Bob enlisted in the army during the Vietnam War and spent three years in the 4th Armored Division in Schwabach, Germany, as a medic. While in Germany, Russia invaded Czechoslovakia as part of the “Prague Spring” and his division was activated with the 2nd Squadron being given highest priority as a reconnaissance unit.

After returning from Germany, Bob ran into a friend in Southern California who had discovered a town up north called Fortuna and urged him to visit. So he packed his stuff into his wood- paneled truck, and when Bob saw the Eel River Valley he knew he’d never leave. He worked on ranches and did some logging. He was also a custodian at the Humboldt County courthouse for ten years where he played some mischief on the County Veterans Service Officer at that time, Stephen Gallant, and placed everything on his desk in the opposite direction from seating.

Bob continued his military service for 21 years as a combat engineer with the California Army National Guard, 579th Engineers in Eureka, 12 Bravo, retiring in 1999. As far as working with explosives, he said “it’s the most fun you can have with your pants on; you build shit and blow it up.” His evaluation reports say it all: “A real go-get-em attitude. Truly concerned about people in the unit. Always there for any mission.”

The Kinetic Sculpture Race will no longer be seeing Sarge’s truck with the iconic rubber chicken tied to the front grille. He was a “peon” with June Moxon’s team and did logistics, helping to move their bicycles from place to place during the race and assisting in whatever way he could. His involvement initially came about in 1996 when KHUM needed help for their radio coverage of the race and the National Guard was called. They sent out Bob in what thereafter came to be known as the KHUM-V. He introduced himself and said, “Call me Sarge.” And the name has stuck ever since. His special cookies had quite a reputation within the kinetic family.

Another of Bob’s passions was being involved with the North Coast Stand Down, a three-day event for veterans. In 2006 he started out as a volunteer in pet services where veterans could bring their dogs and cats for veterinarian checkups and supplies. The Stand Down benefitted from Bob’s role as lead coordinator, pet services advisor, and eventually board member. To say he will be sorely missed is an understatement.Music was a big driver in Bob’s life. He enjoyed bluegrass, rock and roll, classic country western, and most any soulful expression. The Blues by the Bay festival was definite party time. He played the trumpet growing up and also sang in the church choir. Bob liked working the land, gardening, and feeding the LFB’s - little fat birds. He gave wonderful foot massages. Kitty cats were a nurturing presence in his life and never ceased to amuse him. He created “Sarge’s Salve” that relieved many a sore muscle. This he gifted to those in need who appreciated its magical powers.

Bob met his partner of the last 17 years, Rebecca (“Reevee”) Rimson, through a mutual friend’s matchmaking, and both their lives were forever enriched. He was capable of unbelievable quantities of affection and love. Bob encouraged Reevee in every facet of her life, always pushing to a higher level.

A great blessing in Bob’s life was Noble Cumming. For many years Bob lived with Lilli Sommer, Noble’s mother, in Eureka. Noble was a young lad of seven and Bob was privileged to see him develop into the fine man he is today. When Noble moved to the east coast, their conversations were a highlight of the week and Bob was so proud of him.

We also want to acknowledge the numerous friends too many to list whom Bob considered family. He held you near and dear to his heart. Please know that you were important to him. Bob was preceded in death by his father, Robert Tolman Gelder; his mother, Mary Bernice Williams; and cousin Janet Harrison.

He is survived by his partner, Reevee Rimson; Reevee’s brother and sister-in-law, Jack and Gina Rimson of McKinleyville, and their children; cousin Judi Scott of Laguna Hills, CA; uncle Bob Williams of Huntington Beach, CA; and Noble Cumming and spouse Nancy Rivera of Brooklyn, NY, and their children.

The family is grateful for the superb teamwork and invaluable care of Hospice of Humboldt and V.A. Home Based Primary Care. We also appreciate our caregiver, Lia, for being on hand and lending a hand.

There will be a Wang Dang Doodle of a celebration of Bob’s life in the warmer days of 2023. If you listen to Koko Taylor’s rendition of the song, you’ll get the flavor.

All Bob asks is, “Remember me with my grin and my hat!”

###

The obituary above was submitted on behalf of Bob Gelder’s loved ones. The Lost Coast Outpost runs obituaries of Humboldt County residents at no charge. See guidelines here. Email news@lostcoastoutpost.com.

[Just discovering this LoCO feature?
Find the beginning by clicking here.] 

CLEAN BREAK

by

Lionel White

CHAPTER FOUR

1

She lay there on the bed, curled up like a kitten. Irrelevantly, he wondered how the hell did George ever rate anything this pretty.

There were other things on his mind, plenty of other things. But for the moment all he could do was think of George Peatty and this dark, sulky girl who was his wife. It was easy enough to understand what Peatty saw in her; but what had she seen in him?

He shrugged. The hell with it.

She had stopped laughing now and was watching his face, wide-eyed.

“You have an interesting breath,” she said, suddenly. “Is there any more of it around?”

“You’re not only nosy—you’re a comedian.”

She didn’t smile.

“No,” she said, “I just feel like a drink. The way you all are acting, I could use one. Where’s George?”

“George went out for a walk,” he said. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”

“I talk better with a drink in me,” she said.

He stared at her for a minute.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll get you a drink. Stay just where you are.”

“Why should I move,” she said. “I like beds. Make it a straight shot with a water chaser.”

He turned and left the room. When he came back with the bottle and the glasses, she hadn’t moved. He poured two stiff shots, then went back for a couple of glasses of water. He handed her the drink and the chaser.

She gulped it in two swallows and held out the empty glasses after sipping the water. Her small face, puckered in distaste, made her look like a little girl who had just taken some unpleasant medicine.

Johnny Clay barely touched his own drink. He put the glasses on the floor, then went over and closed the bedroom door. He pulled a straight backed chair along side the bed and sat astride it, leaning his arms over the back.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s have it. What did George tell you—what are you doing here?” His eyes were bleak as he looked at her.

“He told me he was going out on business. I didn’t believe him and so I followed him to this place. I was outside the door, trying to listen, when you opened it.”

“And what did you hear?”

“Nothing.”

He stood up then, kicked the chair back so that it fell over. He reached down and took her by both arms, half pulling her from the bed to her feet. He shook her as he would have shaken a rag doll.

“You lie,” he said. “What did he tell you? What did you hear?”

She stood straight then, directly in front of him, staring into his face.

“Stop shaking me,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Stop shaking me and maybe I can talk.”

He still held her by the arms, his fingers making deep marks in her soft flesh. He looked at her without expression. For a brief second they held the tableau.

The movement was so swift he had no time to prepare himself. Her right leg bent and she brought it up, catching him in the groin.

He suddenly freed her arms, bent double.

She stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t manhandle me, you bastard,” she said.

Gradually he straightened himself. His face was white with pain and anger.

“You bitch! You bitch, I could…”

“You could sit down and listen to me,” she said. “And keep your hands off of me until I want you to touch me. I haven’t done anything. It’s like I told you, I followed George here. I was listening outside the door, but I couldn’t hear anything. You think I’m lying, go outside and try it. You won’t hear anything.”

“Do you always follow your husband around?” Johnny asked.

She smiled.

“God no. He never, usually, goes anywhere. But he said it was business and I just wanted to know what kind of business. So maybe now that we’re friends again, you can tell me.” 

“We’re not friends,” Johnny said.

“We could be. Very good friends.” She stood up and walked toward him. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Aren’t I your type?”

He stared at her. She’s any man’s type, he thought. He also realized he was getting nowhere. She wasn’t the kind of girl to frighten. He suddenly knew that he’d never learn anything, trying to bully it out of her. It was an effort, because he was still in pain, but he smiled. It was the old Johnny smile, the smile which had always charmed them.

“Jesus,” he said, “old George really took the jackpot.”

She liked it.

“Think so?” she asked. “Maybe you’re right—only I don’t like that word pot.”

“Come here,” he said.

“Men come to me.”

He took a step then and reached for her.

This time his hands didn’t stop at her arms. He reached around her slender, trim waist, pulled her to him. One hand cupped in back of the tight dark curls as she lifted her small face.

She leaned close to him and her own hand went behind his head, pulling his face to her own.

Her mouth was moist and her lips half parted. She clung to him then and he felt the fire of her tongue.

He’d started it as a trick, a technique designed toward a definite end. It didn’t stay that way.

He half carried her over to the bed.

In that next moment he tried to tell himself that this was business, strictly business. He had to find out what she knew and this was the best way to do it.

But he knew different. He knew that it was more than business; a lot more. He thought, then, in a flashing moment, of Fay, with whom he had shared this same bed just a few hours previously. Instinctively he hesitated, but just as instinctively, his muscles again tightened. And then, for the next few moments he was unable to think clearly of anything.

One hand was fumbling with the catch of her brassiere when it happened.

She was like an eel; one second she was in his arms, pushing against him, her lips still pressed to his own. And then in the next second she had wriggled free and darted across the room and stood over by the window.

She was laughing.

“Some guy,” she said. “You work fast. Don’t you think I should at least know your name?”

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her. It took him a half a minute to come to. And then he, too, laughed.

“You are right, Mrs. Peatty,” he said. “You certainly should. I’m Johnny—Johnny Clay, a friend of your husband’s.”

She watched his face, still half laughing.

“I didn’t know George had friends like you,” she said. “Where’s he been hiding you, anyway?”

“Where’s he been hiding you?”

“He’s been hiding me any place where I can’t spend money,” she said. “And that should answer your first question. George told me he had a date with a guy about a business deal which might lead to some real dough. That’s all he told me. I’m interested in money—among other things. That’s why I came; I wanted to know if he was telling the truth, or if it was just another one of his pipe dreams.”

He nodded, slowly. He began to get the picture. Suddenly, he felt sorry for Peatty.

“How long have you and George been married?” he asked. 

She sulked then, for a minute.

“It’s really none of your damned business,” she said. “But a couple of years. Too long, in any case. Let’s get back to the point—what’s the big business deal?”

“Didn’t you hear?” he asked.

“I told you I just got to the door when you heard me. I didn’t hear anything. If I had, I wouldn’t have to ask. Anyway, you can tell me anything you can tell George. Whatever brains there are in the family, I’ve got them. Ask George—he’ll tell you as much himself.”

“I don’t have to ask him,” Johnny said. “You not only seem to have the brains, you’ve also got…”

She looked down at her slender, perfectly shaped legs. There was a coy smile around her mouth.

“I know what I’ve got,” she said. “I still want to know about the ‘business’ deal.”

The idea of telling her never crossed his mind. That she was smart, he was well aware. Probably a lot smarter than her husband. But she was also dynamite. He knew that he would have to tell her something, however.

“All right,” he said. “Here it is. George is around the track a lot. A cashier gets to hear things. Several of us—the men you saw in the other room, have a betting syndicate. We want to have George get us certain information from some of the jocks. In case we win, we cut him in on the take. It’s as simple as that.

She looked at him without change of expression.

He’s cagey, she thought. Very cagey. That’s good. Maybe, just maybe, the stickup plan might really work.

Johnny himself was wondering if she’d go for the story. If she did, then he could worry. He knew that she was smart; and a smart girl would know that George would have no information to peddle. He waited, anxiously, for her next words.

“You guys must be nuts,” she said then. “My God, don’t you think that if old Georgie knew anything, had any real information, we’d be using it ourselves?”

“Maybe your husband is smarter than you think,” Johnny said.

Sherry Peatty laughed.

“The only smart thing George ever did was talk me into marrying him.”

“That was smart?”

She pouted.

“What do you think?”

“I think he was lucky.”

She walked over to him. Leaning down, she lightly brushed his lips with her own.

“You’re nice,” she said. “When am I going to see you?”

He thought for a minute. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to be dead sure she didn’t know anything.

“Well,” he said, “that’s up to you. Right now, I’m staying in this dump. And for certain reasons, I’ve got to stay around the place for the next few days. If you want to show up the first of the week, say Monday around two o’clock, we might have a little party. Can’t promise you much except Scotch and …”

“And what…”

“You name it,” Johnny said.

She smiled at him.

“I’ll be here, Monday at two. And we can name it together. Only remember one thing, no more rough stuff. I don’t take that from anyone.”

He nodded and stood up.

“It’s a deal,” he said. “By the way, how does George feel about you having dates?”

“George won’t know.”

“Ok.”

He went into the other room with her and waited while she made up her face.

“I’d take you home,” he began, “but…”

“I know,” she said. “But you better not. You’re right.”

She reached for the doorknob and he started toward her, but she put up one hand.

“Monday,” she said.

She closed the door softly behind herself.

Johnny went back into the bedroom and retrieved the bottle. It was almost empty. He poured himself a small drink, went into the kitchen and mixed it with water.

He was lifting the glass when the phone rang.

2

It was a blue Dodge sedan, less than a year old, and Mike drove after Randy showed him about the automatic shift. 

“Go up to Central Park and we’ll circle around slowly,” Randy said. “And for Christ sake drive careful; I still owe twelve hundred on this buggy.”

Big Mike nodded, climbed behind the wheel. Randy got in back with George Peatty. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket but didn’t offer one to the other man. He was silent as the car weaved through traffic, and headed up Fifth Avenue.

Peatty couldn’t hold it any more.

“Look,” he said, “he won’t hurt her, will he? She doesn’t know anything, couldn’t cause any trouble. She…”

“He won’t hurt her,” Randy said. “No, he won’t hurt her. But I might hurt you.”

“I tell you I didn’t say a word,” George said. He’d begun to lose his fear and his voice was petulant. “My god, this thing means as much to me as…”

“If it means something to you, then it’s about time you smartened up a little.”

“You’re not married,” George said. “You don’t understand about wives. She was just suspicious because I was going out.”

“O.K.,” Randy said. “We’ll leave it at that for the time being. Just shut up now.”

They drove slowly around the park for the better part of an hour and then Randy asked George for his address. Minutes later Mike found a parking spot in front of the house. All three men entered. They sat in George Peatty’s living room and he asked if anyone wanted a drink. Mike and Randy both declined.

“Get me a phone book,” Randy said.

George went over to a sideboard and got the Manhattan directory. Randy thumbed the pages. He stood up, holding the book opened, and went to the phone. He dialed Unger’s number.

Johnny answered on the second ring.

“Randy,” the cop said in a soft voice. “What’s the score?”

“Where are you?”

“We got Peatty with us, at his place.”

“Good,” Johnny said. “I think everything is O.K. You can leave him now. The girl’s on her way home. You and Mike get back here. We’ll decide what to do then.”

“And Peatty?”

“Just, tell him to keep his mouth shut. Tell him to call this number tomorrow night, after he gets off work. When you and Mike get back we can decide things.”

Randy grunted and hung up the receiver.

“You’re to call Unger’s place tomorrow as soon as you get off work,” he said, turning to Peatty. “Come on, Mike.” 

Mike stood up. He looked over at George.

“How about…”

“Sorry we got rough,” Randy cut in. “But it certainly didn’t look right, your wife showing up. Anyway, Johnny says everything is O.K. Just be sure to keep your lips buttoned. And control that wife of yours. Call Johnny tomorrow.”

He walked out of the room, followed by Big Mike.

They arrived back at the Thirty-first Street apartment house as Unger was ringing his own downstairs doorbell. It was just after eleven o’clock.

The dark, saturnine man sitting behind the wheel of the Cadillac convertible reached forward and switched off the car radio as the Dodge pulled up across the street. He turned to his companion and spoke softly.

“Those are the two that left with her husband,” he said. A shake of his head indicated Mike and Randy as they reached the outside door of the apartment.

“Wonder what happened to the other guy?”

Val Cannon laughed softly.

“Peatty? Hell, they probably took him home and put him to bed.”

“Maybe we should of stopped the girl when she came out?” 

“No. Someone could have been watching from upstairs. I’ll see her tomorrow. And I hope she found out something. Incidentally, I got news for you.”

The short, heavy-set man at his side looked up at him with sudden curiosity.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The tall guy with the broad shoulders is a cop. Works a patrol car in the upper midtown district. Name’s Kennan.”

His companion whistled softly.

“A cop,” he said. “Now I wonder…”

“I wonder too.”

Cannon pushed the starter button and a moment later the Caddie pulled silently and smoothly away from the curb. He was nodding his head and his words were almost inaudible. 

“It could be,” he said. “It certainly could be.”

# # #

3

Marvin Unger’s observant eyes quickly darted around the apartment when he entered. He walked through the living room, into the bedroom, took off his hat and put it on the dresser. Unconsciously he straightened the chair which had fallen into one corner. He noticed at once the mussed up bed and his thin lips twisted in an unpleasant grin.

The others were seated around the table when he came out. “What did you do, have a wrestling match?” he asked, his voice nasty.

Johnny ignored the remark. He continued talking to the others.

“And so,” he said, “I really don’t think she heard anything. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. It was probably like both she and George said. He got careless and she found the address. Being a dame, she was curious and she followed him here.”

Randy grunted something under his breath. Big Mike nodded.

“So what do we do now?” Unger asked.

“We go right ahead,” Johnny said. “In the first place, George knows too much to drop him out at this stage. Also, we need him. Without him, it’s too risky. He’s got the plans for the inside work; he knows the details.”

“We couldn’t drop him anyway,” Randy said. “Not with what he knows.”

“There’s no need to drop him. He’s a weak sister, but that part doesn’t matter. All of his work will be done before we pull the job.”

“Yeah, but how about afterward?” Randy asked. “How about when the law starts questioning him? And you can bet your bottom buck he’ll be questioned. Everybody will. Everyone who works around the track or who could possibly know anything. You can be sure of that.”

Johnny nodded, thoughtfully.

“I know,” he said. “On the other hand, I had that part figured all along. Yes, he’ll be questioned, and he is a weak sister. But I don’t think he’ll crack. After all, he won’t get too much pressure. And another thing, I think his main weakness involves that wife of his. Outside of where she’s concerned, George is all right.”

“A woman like that…” Unger began.

“A woman like that,” Johnny said, “likes dough. Likes it more than anything else in the world. She may have her own ideas, after everything is over and done with. In fact she’s sure to figure the pitch. But remember one thing. George is in this for only one reason. To get money for her. He knows it and she will know it, once he’s got his cut. And she’s tough. A hell of a lot tougher than he is. You can bet that she’ll protect his end of it.”

Unger stopped pacing and sat down.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t say I like it. That kind of people. They don’t seem very reliable. No stamina. Hardly the type to be in on a thing like this.”

Johnny turned to him, frowning.

“Jesus,” he said, “be sensible. That’s why this thing is going to work. We don’t want a lot of hoodlums in on it. Take yourself; you’re not tough certainly. But I think you’re right for this. It’s what I’ve been telling you guys from the beginning. We aren’t a bunch of dumb stick-up artists. We aren’t tough guys. We’re supposed to have brains. Well, George Peatty may not burn the world up, but he’s bright enough and he’s reliable enough, too. The thing is not to give him something to do which is over his head.”

He stopped for a minute and took a deep breath.

“That’s the beauty of this deal. George is doing the planning on the caper, the blueprint work. For that he’s good. Mike fits in the same way and will also help a little at the time we pull the job. Randy and I are the ones who really run the chances. Take the risks on any violence. And we’re equipped to do what we have to do.”

Randy Kennan looked up at him and nodded slowly. 

“Right,” he said.

Unger sat down then. He looked satisfied.

“All right,” he said, “let’s get down to business.”

Johnny took a notebook from his pocket, opened it and began reading.

4

It wasn’t that she was afraid to go home. Afraid of what George would say. No, nothing he might say or do could possibly worry her. The fact that she might have been responsible for getting him beaten up, didn’t bother her in the slightest. But one thing did worry her. Would the gang still play along with him? Thinking about it, she realized that they couldn’t very well afford to get rid of him at this late date.

But then there was the other factor. How about George himself?

She knew him like a book; knew his strengths and knew his weaknesses. Would George himself be scared and back off? It was more than possible. Sherry was sorry that she had listened to Val Cannon. Not sorry that she’d told him about the plot, but sorry that she’d gone up to the apartment. It had been foolish. She had, she realized, put the entire operation in jeopardy. She thought of Johnny—Johnny Clay.

He interested her. He was a man like Val, a man who appealed to her. She liked men with strength and he had been strong. Thinking of him, she began to feel optimistic about the robbery. He would be the boy to handle it all right.

She felt hungry and so she stopped off at a Broadway chophouse and took a small table. The place wasn’t crowded and she ordered a Manhattan and a club steak. She wanted to think over how she’d handle George when she got home. It would be tricky. But she didn’t worry. There was one way she could always handle him; one thing he always wanted and which it was within her power to either give or withhold.

She drank her Manhattan and then, while she waited for the food to come, searched in her bag and found a dime. She got up and went to a phone booth at the rear.

George answered immediately and she breathed a little easier. She was glad he was home.

“You alone, George?” she asked, before he had a chance to say more than hello.

He started at once to ask where she was and if she was all right.

She cut in on him.

“Listen,” she said, “just stay there until I get home. I’m all right; I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. But just stay there. I’ll be along in less than an hour.”

He started again to ask questions, but she hung up. Waiting would give him a chance to cool off.

By the time she had finished eating she was feeling fine. She ordered a B and B and lingered over it. Then she called for a check, paid it and went out. She found a cruising cab within a block and climbed in, giving the driver her address.

George was sitting in his undershirt in the living room, with all the lights on, staring at the door, when she entered. There was a dark purple bruise under one eye and he looked sick. His hands began to shake as he got up.

“Sherry,” he said. “Oh Jesus, Sherry! Did they hurt you? Did they…”

“Relax, George,” she said, closing the door behind her and tossing her bag on the table. “Relax and get me a drink.”

“Sherry,” he said, walking toward her. “My God, Sherry, you could have got us both killed.”

“I said get me a drink, George. And get yourself one, too. You look like you need it. And don’t start in with recriminations. We have important things to talk about.”

He hunched his narrow shoulders and turned toward the kitchen. He was mumbling as he went.

She went over to the upholstered chair in which he had been sitting and slumped down in it and sighed. It would be just like handling a child. Get him to do what she wanted him to do, and then give him his reward.

George returned with the drinks and handed her one. He started to sit on the edge of her chair, but she told him to go over to the couch.

“What ever made you come up there, Sherry?” he asked. “How did you know where…”

“I found the address in your pocket, George.”

He blushed.

“Jesus, Sherry…”

“Never mind the post-mortems,” she said, quickly. “We’ve got more important things to talk about. Those were the men, weren’t they? The ones you’re in with on the stick-up deal?”

He nodded.

“Yes. Those were the men. But Sherry, the hell with it. I don’t want it. It’s too dangerous. I don’t know what I could have been thinking about. It isn’t only the robbery itself. God knows that’s risky enough. But these men, they aren’t fooling around. They could have killed you as easily as not. They could have killed us both.”

“Don’t be a damned fool,” Sherry said. “They had no reason to kill me. And they can’t afford to kill you. They need you, don’t they?”

“What did Johnny say to you?” George asked. “What did he do?”

“He wanted to know what I was doing outside the door. I just told him that I followed you to the place. I told him I didn’t hear a thing, and in fact, I didn’t.”

“And he believed you?”

“Of course he believed me.”

“You don’t realize it, Sherry, but although Johnny is a nice enough guy, he’s plenty tough. Why, he just got done doing four years in Sing Sing.”

“He did?” She laughed lightly. “He isn’t tough, George.”

“Did he try to…”

“I can handle guys like him with my hands tied behind me,” she said. “Duck soup.”

He stared at her, worry in his eyes.

She got up, went over to the couch. She didn’t want to be questioned any more and so she sat down, half on his lap, and carelessly touched the bruise over his eye.

“Listen, George,” she said. “I want you to go through with it. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s all over now. I’ll admit I was foolish to go there, but in a way it serves you right. You’ve got to take me into your confidence, let me know what you are planning to do. Somebody’s got to look out for you.”

She snuggled deeper into his lap and caressed his face with her hands.

“But Sherry,” he said, “I’m going to quit; give it up.”

She stiffened, started to say something, then as quickly relaxed. She stood up and pulled gently at his arm.

“Right now,” she said, “you’re coming to bed. You still have to work tomorrow and you must be dead on your feet.”

Undressing in the bathroom, with the door partly closed, she smiled wryly. She could hear George in the other room, carefully removing his own clothes. He’d be folding his trousers, putting them over the back of a chair; hanging up the rest of his garments neatly. He’d be hurrying, but still neat and orderly.

George’s pattern of behavior, his mentality, never varied. After two years of marriage, she knew him like a book. He was ABC. She knew. They’d gone through the same act a hundred times.

His stubbornness was one of the basic contradictions to his character. She knew that once he had made up his mind to something, it was almost impossible to move him. Almost, but not quite. She knew just what would happen. He was determined to give up, quit the whole thing. He was equally determined not to tell her any more details of the plan.

She shrugged, looked at herself in the mirror, standing there completely naked and lovely. She cocked her head, saucily; smiled at her own image.

It would be like taking candy from a child.

He was in bed when she came in; the lights were off except for the small table lamp which threw a shaded glow at one side of the double bed. Half consciously, she noticed that George hadn’t opened the window for the night. Once more she smiled, this time inwardly.

George was about as subtle as a fractured pelvis.

She hesitated for just a moment, knew that he was watching her covertly. Then she lifted back the sheet and crawled in next to him. She knew better than to begin questioning him.

It was the same as it always was when she wanted something. She’d tantalize him, then draw away. Carefully lead him on, but every time at the last moment, deny him. It had to end up as it always did. George finally asserted himself.

Later, he was completely convinced that he had raped her.

It always ended up the same way. His exhaustion, his subtle conviction that he had found his manhood, his sentimentality and then his fumbling apologies and his pleas for forgiveness.

She handled the scene with all the artistry and finesse of a first-class dramatic actress—which, in a sense, she was.

An hour after they had retired, George agreed to stick with the others and see the thing through. He’d do it for her, Sherry, to whom he owed so much and from whom he had taken so much.

But that was as far as he would go. He refused to tell her any more about it. Refused to discuss details, or when it was to happen, or how it was to happen.

She didn’t push him. She knew that sooner or later, they’d repeat the matrimonial travesty and she’d find out what she had to find out.

He had turned over on his side and was snoring lightly as she got out of bed and crossed the room and lifted the window several inches.

Much later, lying on her back and smoking a cigarette in the dark, she thought of Val Cannon. She felt an almost unbearable desire for him.

The strange part of it was, after she had butted the cigarette in the ash tray at the side of the bed and was finally lost in that strange semiconsciousness between wakefulness and sleep, the image of Val Cannon and that of Johnny Clay kept blending together and becoming one.

She finally fell completely asleep and the expression on her tired, pretty face was one of discontent.

# # #

# # #

Tune in next week for the next chapter of Clean Break!

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What follows is best appreciated with this music in the background:

1957, in the thick of pubescent hormones, Elvis, Bill Haley, Don and Phil, Sputnik. I’m in the living room of Mr. and Mrs. Hay and (heart, be still) their daughter Jenny. LPs, long-playing records, were still a new fad — they came out in 1948, but the old 78’s hung on for years after — and Mr. Hay was the proud owner of a huge, new, record player, with a smattering of LPs to go with it. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have approved of any of my idols at the time (not even Fats Domino, can you believe?), but the Romantic composers — Brahms, Robert Schubert, Tchaik, Grieg, they was something else. Not forgetting (how could one?) Rachmaninoff.

Young Sergei — he was 24–practically gave up composing after critics universally panned his first symphony. (One suggested it would be admired by the inmates of a music conservatory in Hell.) (The conductor was probably drunk.) Four years of deep depression followed, but in an heroic effort supplanted with daily hypnotherapy, he fought his way out of it and went on to compose — and play, brilliantly — his second piano concerto. More success followed, both musically and personally — he married his beloved first cousin Natalia — and had the wit to move his family out of Russia before political unrest completely upstaged the cultural scene in Moscow. His second symphony followed, in 1906.

It was Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony that the four of us were now listening to that evening in the Hay’s living room. Taking my cue, I sat there quietly, through the entire nearly one-hour, three sides of LPs, performance. Heck, I’d have sat through the entire five-hour Götterdämmerung if I could just spend ten minutes after alone with Jenny, trying to get to first base. (Good luck with that!) Finally it was over. I had no idea what I was to do or say. Finally Mr. Hay spoke in his thick Aberdeen brogue. “Doesn’t that music reach down to the very bowels of your soul?” he asked, looking at me expectantly. I wasn’t quite sure which my bowels were, and was even less certain of my soul, but this was not a time to argue with the father of my beloved, my Beatrice.

“Gosh, yes, it certainly does, Mr. Hay. All the way!” “And what do you think the composer was saying to us in the adagio?” (Adagio? That means “slow,” right?) “Um, the slowness of it was sublime, wasn’t it?” I replied, “Quite sublime.” ( I just learned “sublime” in English as school.) “It’s good to meet a fellow music lover,” he said, casting a despairing glance at Jenny, who was clearly bored out her gourd, while Mrs. Hay showed no emotion at all.

“Well then, time for you to be on your way then.” And I was. Perhaps the barest smidgen of a brush of a kiss on Jenny’s chaste cheek, and I was off into the dark, my heart throbbing, feet barely touching the ground between her house and mine.

And that’s why, anytime I hear the third movement of Rach’s Second Symphony, I think of Jenny’s sweet Scottish face — unchanged, 65 years on — and, were you to ask, I would sum the music up in a single word: sublime.