|
|
The Last Safecracker
by D. Grant DeMan
Once upon a time old Mert, a one-legged oyster hawk so grossly inept that he lived from scraps left by more capable cousins, became elated. For he saw beneath him the largest clam of his experience lying on the beach, scooped it up and struggled ahead of an eager flock of younger ravishing birds to a shoal many miles down the island. There on the rocks he let it drop, as was his early training, dived to retrieve the contents, and found to his chagrin that it contained only water and sand. So demoralized and weary was he that lonely and forlorn Mert continued sitting at that spot, looking at the gray sky and died of disappointment, dreaming of the days when he was the finest clam cracker on the beach.
John Merrifield had risen from his demure role of silent rookie of the Township Police to Hero of the Year according to the London Free Press. While on patrol one early autumn morning out on Route 4, he stopped two men in a Buick proceeding east and routinely made note of their credentials. Continuing, Merrifield then checked the big Agrico fertilizer plant and, peering through the front window, found the front of the big safe peeled, its contents spread around the room. He had the presence of mind to jump back in his cruiser, and stopped the Buick again within ten miles. The two culprits subsequently confessed, not only to the Agrico larceny, but twenty-four more safe-cracking jobs around the Thames Valley, and were sent to County Jail for a long spell. John thus became the toast of the town.
A month or so later, first thing on day watch, I was sent out to the same plant. "Good morning, officer. You see that?" Manager Lamott pointed to an empty space on the lobby floor.
"Something is missing," I responded. It was not a question, for during graveyard shift I had noted the large new stone gray safe sitting like a monument to the giant company. "Let's see if we can find their trail out of here, with that."
"They loaded it here," Lamott pointed. "And they wheeled it down this ramp behind the building. Guess they were scared to bring the truck up front." We found the wheel tracks of a company dolly and continued to follow them over two farm fences, through muck, swamp, and towering seven-foot stalks of orange silage corn, across the concession to a clearing next to the Starlight Outdoor Movie.
"My God!" I said breathlessly, "How much did that vault weigh? I see only two sets of foot-holes along here."
"Oh, about four hundred pounds," Lamott answered. "Those guys were drunk, crazy or both."
"I hope it was worth it to them." I remarked.
Lamott laughed. "It was a brand new safe we were going to sink in concrete today. Nothing in it, and unlocked. They could merely open the door and see that. Guess you know who's that dumb hereabouts?"
Under a warm sun, the elm trees crackling with birds chattering a prelude to their southern migration, I drove up the dusty sideroad to Jed Branch's place, finding him there in the barnyard surrounded by ancient vehicle parts and welding equipment, sitting whittling on a whiskey barrel. A portable radio played country music nearby.
"Hi stranger," He looked up. "What's cookin'?"
I glanced at the stump of a leg he had lost in the First World War, saw the deep lines of weariness about him, and whispered, "Wondered if you and your boy had been out moving last night."
"You don't 'spect me to be tellin' if I was, do you officer? Now you and me an' the jailhouse gate post knows mighty better than that."
"Hadda ask is all, Jed. The job you know. Gotta do my job, you see."
"I took out the widder Jones last night. Downed a few beers I guess, and turned in early."
"You don't look so good, Jed." His face was filled with despair.
"There comes a time in life when a feller can see the load's too heavy to bear no more, the end's in sight, when nothing goes right, and nowhere can you rise to the challenge. Ya think ya hit the jackpot and it turns to sand and sawdust before yer fading eyes. When yer so played out that you can't do even what you began, a guy's gotta call it quits, and lay down and just pass into the dust."
"Sorry you feel that way, Jed."
"Don't feel bad fer me, son. I had my days of renown, the years I gave you boys a real run for your money. Didn't I?"
"You betcha, Jed."
"Now I figure my time's done. The tools won't work. The era's passed." He reached for my hand. "It's been good knowin' ya. Take it easy on the boy."
We shook hands. Jed disappeared a little later. Some said he drowned in the back quarry, but I know he's sitting lonely on a rock somewhere deep in reverie of the days when he was the finest safecracker in the county.
John Merrifield continued to weld a fine law-enforcement career, and retired to run a meal-on-wheels community program, reliving of his Hero of the Year award.
The Cracker Barrel Main Page
'Vox Populi', get started! Send in your comments and critique on
The Donald Grant DeMan Main Page - - - Email Donald Grant DeMan - - - Possibility Arts - Don & Diane's Website
Inditer dot Com Index - - - Inditer dot Com Main Page
