Chapter 30

SNICK “Oof” SWISH “Huh”

SNICK “Oof” SWISH “Huh”

SNICK “Oof” SWISH “Huh”

He kept digging, hammering through the roots with the axe and digging some more. The hole passed six feet.

The forest floor was pine detritus to a depth of three feet. From there on down it was typical glacier scraped jumbled rock, sand and loess; ( Loess: a loosely compacted yellowish-gray deposit of windblown sediment of which extensive deposits occur, for example, in eastern China and the American Midwest. Loess is excellent farming soil. Significant deposits occur on the downwind side of elevated terrain. Reduced velocity on the downwind side allows the lighter windblown sediment the opportunity to settle out of the enormous post glacial sandstorms.)

The bottom side of the hole became harder digging once he was past the loess.

The excavator, not known for excessive intelligence or curiosity, was a part time general man of all work out of the steamier side of Chicago. In like circumstances he had been so ordinary as to have no one ask where he had been or what he had been doing for the duration of his contractual obligations. There are career criminals, semi skilled criminals and casually opportunistic criminals; then there men who just do what they’re told.

“Stand here and hold the shotgun.”

Those are the ones who get caught.

It wasn’t a fancy place ... just a middle of the block neighborhood tavern with three brands on tap and a bartender who looked the other way when a customer bought soda and brought his own bottle; the kind of a place that saw neighborhood wives step in for a tonic against the boredom of the day. They could run a tab for a week and maybe get a burger or a plate of cheese. A six stools and four tables kind of place.

The bar manager was looking at the door when a regular came through. The customer requested a pint and laid down a buck. The change back was seventy-five cents. Beer in 1925 was .25 cents a pint.

“Seen John?” was the question.

“Prison,” was the reply.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he get?”

“Three to five.”

“Hmm.”

“He gets out next week.”

“Good behavior?”

“Naw, served his time.”

“Huh ... the three?”

“Full five.”

“I thought about him when I was going through the unpaid bar tabs.”

“Well, he’s getting out.”

“Never missed him,” said the manager. “I found his bar tab in the back of the register.”

“I know what you mean. Didn’t know he was gone until he called for a ride next week.”

That kind of guy. People knew who he was but wouldn’t recognize him in a line-up.

This particular guy loved rocks. He didn’t love them enough to bother learning about them. Down here at the bottom of the hole, he found several vaguely familiar shapes and tossed them out at the other end of the hole ... these were long, thin, laurel leafed shaped blades of translucent and hard material. Pretty. Interesting ... or would be if he had the interest.