The Week Before Thanksgiving

By Wayne Standley

A celebrated jewelry designer, Jean Marc, was promised to be appointed ‘chairman of the board’ by the owner of the company, Volcano Enterprises. But the owner died and his two sons took over the company. ‒ The brothers did not honor their father’s promise, but instead, fired the designer. 
Jean Marc seeks revenge. On the advice of his son, he hired a ʻjack of all tradesʼ character, Casey Armstrong to perform two special services. Casey first broke into Volcano files and copied incriminating information – insurance for retaliation. Then, he robbed the company of millions of dollars in merchandise. 
These escapades went smoothly, but there was a gang working a racket with the company, and they became quite apprehensive over the risk of being found out. The evidence from the files would send them to prison forever. So, this dangerous bunch hightailed after Jean Marc, Casey, and Ted Macon, Jean Marc’s assistant. Chases and meetings followed. One meeting left three people dead. 
Lt. Tommy Chang is on the case. or cases. He is a famous San Francisco police detective who sketches his suspects and crime scenes. He is also a kung foo expert. When Tommy had the evidence to make several arrests, he delayed the procedure to find more clues and suspects. In addition, two ranking police officers were under his secret investigation.  
The story is filled with action, strategies, romance, art, and humor. You will be sitting on the edge of your seat during the fast getaways and stunts. In one episode, there is a sting operation underway – who’s side are you on? Lots of romance – four pretty girls are waiting to change their name. And you will marvel at Jean Marc’s designing, and his plan to sell it. Tommy’s sketching, and Claire’s wig creation – the Sky Dive, which was used in the sensational robbery. 
There are fifty thrilling characters. You will be happy to meet most of them, but ten of them, you had better stay away from. So now, get ready for drama, humor, and enlightenment. 
Have a good week!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781800467361

Book preview

This story is filled with action, strategies, romance, art, and humor. You will be sitting on the edge of your seat during the fast getaways and stunts. In one episode, there is a sting operation underway – who’s side are you on? Lots of romance – four pretty girls are waiting to change their name. And you will marvel at Jean Marc’s designing, and his plan to sell it. Tommy’s sketching, and Claire’s wig creation – the Sky Dive, which was used in the sensational robbery.

There are fifty thrilling characters. You will be happy to meet most of them, but ten of them, you had better stay away from. So now, get ready for drama, humor, and enlightenment.

Copyright © 2020 Wayne Standley

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781800467361

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Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

To All Victims of the Coronavirus

For my Children:

Dina, Rosemary, Robin, and Iris (granddaughter)

In Memory of Old Friends:

Jimmy Gaines, Nicole Jami, Alan Kelly, and Doug Ley

Contents

About the Author

tuesday

wednesday

thursday

friday

saturday

sunday

Ω Ω θ ☺ seven to six

monday

talking turkey at tommy’s

songs for the story

Appendix

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Grew up in the Ohio Valley. Played sports, sang songs, interested in stories – books, movies, experiences. Worked many jobs, studied at two universities, and hitch hiked around the country.

In 1971, a friend and I drove Route 66 to California. I settled in San Francisco and worked mostly as a salesman. Bought my first guitar. Wrote a song.

Moved to Paris in 1976. Played music and had a band. Wrote songs and stories, and occasionally acted in films. Married, three children and a granddaughter.

tuesday

A long-haired man dashed out of a jewelry store carrying a medium-sized laundry bag and raced up California Street in the mid-afternoon sun. As a cable car jangled past, he grabbed the rear handle and rode to the top of the hill where California Street intersects with Powell Street. The man jumped off and ran down Powell Street in the direction of the bay. Police sirens were screaming near and far. After passing the cross streets Sacramento and Clay, he ducked behind a parked car. The thief took off his sunglasses, wig, and sport shirt, then reached into the laundry bag and pulled out a white T-shirt with an orange Giants logo on the front, and a folded backpack. He changed shirts, stuffed the laundry bag of jewelry, with the other items into the pack, then saddled the pack on his back. The man walked leisurely past Washington Street, then boarded the next Powell-Hyde Street cable car at Jackson Street, showing his Muni pass. As the cable car descended the hill, he was relieved to see the blue waters of the bay below but remained calm. Minutes later the gripper called out, End of the line.

The thief got off with the other riders and began making his way up toward the Cannery. Out on the bay a foghorn blew loud as the sun went in. He walked along the chockablock quay where musicians, puppeteers, and other street artists used to perform. He had dollars ready to donate but the entertainment was no longer there. The thief continued his promenade to the Cannery, then crossed over to the corner of Jones Street, dodging a parade of tourists coming down the hill. He was sweating in the T-shirt; his dark hair was dripping and his back aching. The fog was rolling in; he began to shiver but had a hunch that the fog would assist him in some way.

An old taxi, a 1960 Edsel painted a new, shiny sky blue, came his way. The man was heartened and held his right hand high, stopping the alien taxi.

Vallejo and Jones, at the top of the hill, the man told the driver, a chubby, mustachioed man in his fifties.

Sure thing, buddy. Hop in.

The taxi continued a couple of blocks and the older man remarked, A few minutes ago, the dispatcher said that a jewelry store was just robbed on California Street.

Sounds like someone got behind on his rent.

Hey, ain’t that the truth? Who can afford the good life? Either you’re rich or you gotta rob a jewelry store, ha, ha. There is no in-between, ha, ha.

Did your dispatcher get a description of the guy?

Yeah, the dispatchers are always tuned to police radios, you know. They said he was a hippie guy wearing sunglasses, a dark blue long-sleeve sport shirt, and he was carrying a white laundry bag.

By gosh, they got me.

Ha, ha, no, it ain’t you, that’s for sure. The cabbie pulled up to the corner.

This is fine, the thief said. It’s the brown shingle house, three doors from the corner.

The cabbie looked at the meter. OK, buddy, that’ll be $1.45, please.

The passenger pulled out two dollars and handed them over. I liked the ride. Keep the change.

Alright, buddy, thanks, ha, ha.

The thief was warmed up for the moment. He walked toward the shingled house until the taxi was out of sight, then reversed his direction and climbed a little tuft of a hill called the Russian Hill Place. Plants and flowers surrounded the houses and there was a little drive. A few spruce trees had grown to nearly twice their size since he was last here. On a clear day there was once a scenic view of the Marina, but that was long gone since the high-rise condos were built. He sat down on the nearest bench and gazed at the light blue two-story house sitting on the corner at 1775 Jones Street. Seven years ago, he had lived on the second floor of this house. Yesterday, as he passed by, he’d seen the young man and his wife who were living there now. They must have been in their teens when I lived there.

Coming out of the lower apartment was an elderly man, in his eighties, walking briskly with a cane. I knew him; he was the Italian who used to own Federico’s, the little grocery three blocks down the hill. He said to just call him Fred, and everyone did. So, he now lives in the cozy downstairs apartment. I used to buy gallon jugs of Italian rosé at his store. We became friends. One afternoon, I showed him a passage in Steinbeck’s The Winter of Our Discontent where the inside of a grocery store is referred to as ‘a library for the stomach’. We had a laugh on that. Then he showed me where Jack Kerouac once lived, just another two streets away. We had a drink on the place and two on Jack. Too bad we can’t meet now… or can we?

Does anyone use the side door to go in the basement? Before, the cellar had been shared by the occupants of both floors and was used to be only a storage place for old broken furniture and other junk. Had that been changed? Once, there were bushes growing over the door; they could have covered my entering. Surely, after all these years, the door must have been used at least from time to time. And, did anyone ever put in a burglar alarm?

The old man had walked two blocks away on Jones Street as the fog became heavier. Where was he going? It was almost dark. The thief was cold again, so now was the time to go. He got up and walked down the little hill, crossed the street to the corner house and continued downhill another fifteen feet to the side door of the basement. He peeked through the door window. Though there was little light he could see the basement was still bedraggled – good news. He found the old key still hidden under a rock. The rusty key squeaked when he tried it, but the tumbler turned. He shook the door, and it shuddered; he shoved, and he was in. No alarm went off – good. He closed the door and sat gently on the floor for a few moments to warm up again.

The thief did not try the light switch but used his lighter instead. He found the washtub and tried the faucets and there was no water – good. He flicked the lighter and saw the floor drain. He flicked again and removed the drain cover. There were cobwebs – good again, unless a spider bit him. The thief removed the laundry bag of jewelry from the pack, rolled it into the form of a long baguette, and then gently twisted it down the fist-sized drainpipe. After replacing the drain cover, he heard voices coming from people passing on the sidewalk. He moved over to the door and, when it was quiet, sneaked back out into the fog.

The TV was on in the lounge of the Monroe Residence Club when Casey entered. He went to the front desk, rang the little bell, and waited. A bushy-haired, freckle-faced man in his early twenties hustled in from the TV room. Oh, hi, Mr. Armstrong. Do you want your room key?

Yes, please. Did I receive any calls?

I think so, let me check. The young man took the key for Room No. 8 off the hook and reached in the message box, finding a note. Yes, you have a message from a woman named Carla. She said for you to meet her in the 1232 Saloon Bar at 8:30 sharp before the band starts.

The Saloon. Thanks… Champ, is it? Casey asked as he shuffled off three ones.

Champ it is, sir. Thanks for the bucks, but you’re not obligated to tip, you know.

Think nothing of it.

Casey climbed the stairs to the second floor. He entered his room and eased down into a chair, then moved over to the bed and slept.

Roll call was in progress at the Central Police Station for the five o’clock shift change. The day and night beat teams stood in formation, about to receive orders from Sergeant Brenden O’Bannon, an energetic man with curly red hair.

At ease, men and women. Now, about the jewelry store robbery this afternoon. The robber got away either on a cable car or horseback, I don’t know which, but since we have fifty undercover cops on the cable cars he must have escaped on horseback. This man must have been Zorro in his new disguise. For you folks getting off your shift, I want a full report on your whereabouts this afternoon… before you leave! Damn it, the captain is in fits. You people beginning your shift, I want you to check the ID of every man over six feet tall, whether he fits the description or not. Is that clear? He was probably wearing a wig during the robbery, but not now. You can ask your suspect politely, ‘Why did you rob the jewelry store?’ Look for a reaction. Now, Mary Ann is passing out photocopies of the robber’s picture, reproduced from the store’s security camera. Take one each of the two poses. Are there any questions? I want to see hands in the air. Yes, Officer Williams?

Yes, sir. Did you find any identifying details of the man from zooming in on the video?

He was wearing Polaroid sunglasses, but surely not now. We saw no tattoo, ring, watch, or any other item; we couldn’t see his shoes. Among the stolen merchandise were three deluxe Ferrari watches, worth $330,000 each. You can look for one and ask, ‘Where is your new watch?’ Questions… Bobby?

Thanks, Sarge. Didn’t he have a gun?

Well, he convinced the fifty-five-year-old saleslady that he had one in the laundry bag. There may have been something in the bag, but I don’t think it was a gun; he didn’t need one. He scared the daylights out of that woman. The manager and another salesperson were out to lunch, so it was a one-on-one sort of thing. She was out to lunch too, by the way she talked. Go ahead, Sonny.

Didn’t this dude wear gloves?

Ha – that’s another funny thing. No, the dude did not wear gloves. He had his right hand in the bag as if holding a gun but maneuvered the bag sometimes with the help of his other hand so that only the bag touched something, not his left hand. He opened the door with his right hand in the bag, for instance. No prints. Vicky, go ahead.

How did he get the jewelry in the bag?

The camera reveals that the saleswoman piled the booty on the counter – rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, what have you. He made her turn her back while he separated the jewels he wanted and slid them into the bag with his free arm. He also used the bag to pick out the jewels.

Why did he have her turn her back? Vicky questioned.

"Probably so she couldn’t see that he didn’t have a