The Devil's Palm

by Bob Knapp

  We're past halfway; it is too late. “Becky, turn around while you can,” Fowlkes called.

  Instead, her shadow faded then blended with those in front of it. She had come closer.

  “No, go back,” Fowlkes said, still crawling toward Hanover. He glanced back at Becky. She was in shadow, but he could see her face and that there were tears. It seemed only minutes ago they had nestled together in the limousine outside the resort. He felt a tear form at the corner of his own eye. He hadn't even cried at five years of age when they buried his little brother—or cried since, until now. “Becky, you'll be trapped.” His voice came out in a strange croak.

  Crawling on his hands and knees now required that Fowlkes stretch his legs behind him and keep his arms further to the front. The good thing was that Hanover had the same problem.

  “Becky, go back. I'll surrender. Get out,” Hanover said.

  Fowlkes looked down at the floor—it relieved the strain on his neck. He moved as quickly as he could toward Hanover's voice. I'll kill Hanover fast and get Becky and myself out, before its too late.

  “Fowlkes, I give up. Take Becky out.”

  “Makes no difference. I'm not gonna let you,” Fowlkes snarled.

  “Oh, Terrance, please stop,” Becky said.

  “I wish you wouldn't have come in,” Fowlkes said, his voice softening.

  “Becky, get out before it's too late,” Hanover said. “I beg you.”

  “I told you two, I'm not leaving until you do.”

  The Devil's Palm continued its steady downward path.

  “Terrance, make them stop the elevator!” Becky pleaded. “They'll listen to you.”

  Fowlkes didn't answer, but looked back. She was much closer. Too late for her to turn around, too.

  “Stop the elevator! We're under here!” Becky yelled.

  “Somebody's under the elevator. Stop it! Turn it off!” It was Candy's voice, coming from the auditorium.

  Then a woman's blubbering, barely audible, floated to them. “Why don't they stop it?”

  “Is there anybody in the control booth? Stop that thing!” Candy again.

  The echoes of “I can't! I can't!” filled the auditorium and crept under the shrinking space beneath the Devil's Palm.

  The Devil's Palm forced Fowlkes to his belly. His elbows and hands, one encumbered by his gun, sought desperate purchase on the smooth concrete. His feet scrabbled to propel him forward. His left hand slipped on some oil. He sniffed. That same oily smell that permeated the room.

  “Why don't you listen? You're about to be crushed. Come out from under here!” Becky screamed.

  Fowlkes felt her hand on his leg. Her size had enabled her to catch up in the confined space. He still couldn't reach her hand.

  He looked up. Hanover's frantically kicking legs and shoes scraping at the floor loomed in front of him. Fowlkes managed to get off two quick shots. In the small space the blast was deafening. Becky screamed. The body in front of him convulsed as the slugs slammed into it. Hanover groaned through clenched teeth and then lay still.

  Becky sobbed.

  I had to stop him!

  Fowlkes tossed the gun aside and pulled himself forward. They were well past the midway point; turning around was foolhardy—if they could turn at all. He would get out.

  The Devil's Palm inched down, down.

  If Hanover's not dead, I'll make sure he is. Becky. . . “Becky, get out! Don't worry about us. Go for the curtain.”

  Fowlkes squirmed toward Hanover, then lunged for Hanover's foot to pull himself forward, but only brushed it with his finger tips. Hanover stirred and groaned. Blood from two bullet holes stained one leg of his trousers.

  Fowlkes braced for another heave. Hanover pushed ahead and with his arm pulled his wounded leg out of Fowlkes’ reach.

  Fowlkes cursed at Hanover.

  Hanover suddenly wormed and scratched his way along the concrete floor toward the curtain, dragging the injured leg and leaving a trail of blood. Hanover snaked around a steel guide and then a pulley.

  Fowlkes clawed at the floor and reached the pulley Hanover had just passed. The cable hummed in its pulley. Fowlkes’ hand slipped on the concrete. More oil. No, Hanover's blood. Let him bleed to death!

  Fowlkes lunged again; this time he caught Hanover's ankle. He pulled himself forward while Hanover dug his fingernails into the floor—a mountain climber hugging a bare rock.

  Fowlkes felt each beat of his heart against the floor. His thoughts raced; seconds were like minutes. He glanced up. Less than nine inches remained above his head and the bottom of the Devil's Palm.

  Becky. He glanced back. She had closed most of the gap between them. Fowlkes stretched his arm back to drag her forward, but couldn't twist his body enough to reach her.

  The auditorium lights went on. Through the curtain Fowlkes saw the legs of two men at the front of the elevator.

  Fowlkes squirmed and pulled on Hanover; he gained a half-foot. He tore his ear on a bolt fastened through the bottom of the Palm's floor.

  Someone jammed a metal trashcan beneath the sinking platform. It collapsed and popped as the Devil's Palm descended.

  He watched men kneel on the floor just yards from him. They stared through the curtain beneath the metallic rock. One yanked at the curtain and yelled, “It's fastened to the floor.”

  A dark hand, in one lightning motion, extracted a knife from beneath a pant leg and slashed across the bottom of the curtain. León.

  Fowlkes focused on the fingers that wrapped themselves around the elevator's bottom edge. He heard men grunting; saw their fingertips turn red.

  “It's no use,” someone yelled.

  A man lay on the floor and stuck his head beneath the curtain's ragged edge. “It's Michael Hanover. Looks like blood all over him.”

  Fowlkes gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on Hanover's leg. With his other hand he tried to reach Becky.

  “There's barely a half-foot left above his head,” another man yelled. “The sheriff's back there behind him!”

  “I'm going around to the access door,” Tuckett said. “Maybe there's a safety switch.”

  With each pull Fowlkes brushed his head against the bottom of the elevator. He placed his head with cheek on the floor to give himself more space and hauled himself forward, using his grip on Hanover.

  Fowlkes saw a hand reach out to Hanover, but Hanover was too far away. The curtain was lifted. “Grab this and I'll pull you out,” bellowed a voice. A jacket was flung toward Hanover. The jacket caught in a pulley and was yanked into the machinery.

  From behind him Fowlkes heard the door open and slam shut. A voice, strained with desperation, yelled, “I cut all the current to the elevator, but nothing happened. Any ideas?” A pause. The door opened and slammed shut again.

  The slit in the curtain was made larger. More faces looked under the curtain. They yelled at Hanover, implored him to grab their hands.

  Blood from Hanover's wounds made him slippery. Fowlkes dug and wound his fingers into Hanover's trousers as Hanover struggled violently to free himself. When they pull Hanover out, I'm going with him.

  “Help! Get us out! Please!” Becky screeched.

  Briefly, those outside changed their cries. “There's a woman under there—with the Sheriff! Help her!”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Again Fowlkes reached for Becky. He found her arm and pulled, scraping her along the concrete floor, trying to get her out. He increased his death grip on Hanover's trousers. Hanover began to repeatedly kick him with his good leg.

  Fowlkes cursed and screamed as the blows rained down. “Stop! Stop! I've got Becky! Help her.” His fingers slipped and the leg jerked free. The kicking leg smashed him in the face. A second kick propelled Hanover several inches away, just out of Fowlkes’ reach.

  Fowlkes managed to drag Becky to chin level and yelled at Hanover again. “Grab Becky. She's behind you. You could push her out.” If I can get her up that far.

 
; Hanover stretched his arm behind him. “Come on Becky, take my hand.” He bumped his head and stretched his arm back. Becky strained to reach Hanover's fingers while Fowlkes pushed. Their fingers were just a half inch from each other.

  Becky now stared directly into Fowlkes’ eyes. They were moist to overflowing. “Get yourself out, Terrance,” she said. “You can't move both of us.”

  He felt her hand tremble as it touched his arm.

  “Michael, get out,” she called.

  Fowlkes saw faces and legs and arms at the edge of the steel palm. He fought to move as the bottom brushed his back. He struggled to move Becky.

  He looked at the underside of the descending elevator and, for the first time, lost his belief in his invincibility.

  Sweat broke from every pore. I will not be trapped—I will escape. He shuddered in spite of himself. “Come on, grab my hand! You can do it!” mouths shouted at Hanover. They sounded so far away.

  “We're under here, too,” Fowlkes yelled. “Get us out!”

  He saw Hanover squirm for the curtain and the out-held hands. Hanover's upper body had cleared the pulleys and motors, but was still several feet from the rock's edge.

  The faces cleared out, then the light from the auditorium was blocked as one man slid under the elevator toward Hanover. Fowlkes caught a glimpse of a dark face; it was León. León risking his life. Fowlkes saw his hand grasp Hanover's.

  “Tirar de! Tirar de!” León yelled. “Pull! Pull!” Hanover and León were sliding rapidly from underneath the elevator. Suddenly, Hanover's wounded leg caught in a cable and its pulley wheel. It jerked them to a stop.

  Hanover screamed and moaned as the steel line fed his ankle into the turning wheel, cutting and slicing it from both sides. Fowlkes smiled as he watched blood spurt and lubricate the moving line. He saw León grip both of Hanover's hands at the wrists while Hanover grasped León's.

  “Pull! Pull!” came a chorus of voices. Hanover's and León's bodies grew taut as the men gripping León grunted and wrenched Hanover and León clear of the Devil's Palm.

  Fowlkes cursed as Hanover's leg jerked free of the pulley and Hanover slid to safety, but then smiled when he saw the grisly foot standing guard at the base of the wheel.

  Again Fowlkes saw León squirm under the edge, this time to Becky and him, but with less room. Fowlkes tried to help Becky move, put her into León's reach, but could not.

  “That-a-boy, León!” Fowlkes gasped, but then felt his coat snag on the platform above him.

  Determined, his hands and body strained, girding for one last effort. He splayed his legs so that his knees and shoes might find a grip on the floor. He dug his fingernails into the concrete surface. Then with one tremendous thrust, he propelled himself forward. Flesh was torn from his back and head. His face scrubbed the concrete, burning off the skin. Immediately, he shoved his arm forward with such force that the arm ligaments tore. Straining, he touched León's outstretched fingertips.

  Fowlkes twisted slightly to reach a fraction closer. The tails of his tuxedo caught in the last pulley, held fast and began to pull. Fowlkes struggled to tear free, but the pulley's turns wrenched him backward. He looked down at Becky; felt her hand in his. A wisp of a smile crossed her face as she mouthed, “I love you.”

  As the Devil's Palm settled into place, a tremendous force, like that from a huge vice, slowly and inexorably squeezed Fowlkes’ chest and back. Pain like none he had ever experienced lit every nerve. He thought he heard himself scream as air was forced up through his windpipe. He could not inhale. He heard his ribs crack.

  For a millisecond, his dream for the casino—money, Becky, putting people to work, fighting crime—all flashed before him.

  I'm in a nightmare. Wake up! Wake up! At least in Heaven.

  His last image was of León's face rapidly receding into the light at the edge of the Devil's Palm. His last sensation was blackness.

  * * *

  A scream, surely from the very depths of Hell, filled the auditorium. A half second later a woman's long piercing shriek joined the cry.

  * * *

  Candy knelt on the stage floor next to Michael while paramedics worked on his leg. She wept and reached for his hand. She looked up at the twin of the rock where, half of their lifetimes ago, they had nestled in its palm and pressed together the cuts they had made in their own palms, swearing eternal love.

  Hanover followed her gaze and clasped her hand. Blood from their wounds mingled.

  41

  Epilogue

  The Jimmy Bucko trial had been on the front page of the Mills Valley View for weeks. James R. Bucko had been at the control panel during the Christmas Eve Grand Opening of the Jug Resort. He was subsequently charged with involuntary manslaughter. The prosecution submitted testimony that Bucko was an alcoholic and was inebriated on Christmas Eve. They argued his failure to react created the crisis and ultimately caused the deaths of Becky Hanover and Sheriff Terrance Fowlkes.

  Bucko swore that he tried to stop the Devil's Palm elevator, but it failed to respond. Subsequent testing of the elevator confirmed the problem. Anthony Morella, the Jug Resort's builder, was asked to examine the elevator. According to his testimony, an electrical wire to the elevator's controls and the safety device had been damaged by bullets.

  Judge Frederick Newsome found Jimmy Bucko not guilty.

  Life was more complicated for Michael Hanover. The new wounds to his upper thigh and buttock were relatively minor and the operation on his ankle was without any complication. However, his struggle on Christmas Eve at the Jug Resort had taxed his body significantly and delayed his rehabilitation. It was six weeks before he was deemed well enough to attend a pretrial hearing at the Madison County Courthouse for the murders of Andrew Mehrhaus, Howard Crabapple and Deputy Chet Waxter.

  The national media picked up on the sensational nature of the murders and the bizarre deaths of Terrance Fowlkes and Becky Hanover. Hanover's lawyer asked for a change of venue for the trial, but finding a more appropriate site was impossible because of publicity.

  Judge Newsome set bail at one million dollars, forcing Hanover to go, except for a week's hiatus, from the confinement of the hospital to the confinement of jail.

  Evidence pointing to Hanover as the person responsible for Andy Mehrhaus's death in front of the Jug Restaurant was questionable. Hanover said that Crabapple told him a police vehicle was present at the Jug in the middle of the night. Newsome ruled this as hearsay evidence. The owner of the vehicle involved in the homicide had been cleared and he and his vehicle had no connection to Hanover.

  The Grand Jury indicted Hanover on the second murder charge—that of Howard Crabapple's. The most damning evidence included Hanover's own bookkeeping showing Crabapple's grocery debt, the store receipt with a date and time that matched the approximate time of the murder, and Hanover's admission to having visited the sickly miner. Testimony was also submitted that Hanover had talked to third parties about the poor condition of Crabapple's porch railing. The prosecutor planted the idea that Hanover saw the rail as a means to commit the homicide without leaving evidence. It also, the prosecutor charged, proved premeditation.

  In regard to Chet Waxter's death, the testimonies of the Middlebourne ambulance attendants and Candy Melowicz supported each other and the circumstantial evidence. They all swore that Fowlkes had claimed he arrived after the shootings. Although Fowlkes fingerprint was found on Waxter's gun, it was reasoned the fingerprint could have been from an earlier occasion.

  The major unanswered question was how either of the injured men could have fired so many shots that hit their mark, and in equal number, while receiving so many serious wounds. The fact that a Deputy Sheriff had been killed weighed heavily for a conviction, but confusion over the evidence caused the jurors to disagree.

  Charges that Hanover's actions caused the deaths of Fowlkes and Becky Hanover were never formalized, and were not brought before the court.

  Orlando León was considered a prime witness
for Hanover's defense, but León had vanished on that fateful Christmas Eve night. Two weeks after his disappearance, a Madison County patrol car was found abandoned on a St. Louis, Missouri side street.

  A warrant was drawn up for León's arrest and wanted all points bulletins were sent to law enforcement agencies throughout the country. Also, because of the notoriety of the elevator accident, one had not been able to turn on a television without seeing León's face.

  On the first day of Hanover's jury's deliberations, León suddenly appeared in Madison and surrendered to the Sheriff's Office. It was not known whether he returned because of the media, pressure from law enforcement, his conscience, or all three.

  León made a plea-bargain agreement and gave testimony that exonerated Hanover and implicated Waxter, Fowlkes and himself in all the murders and in the kidnapping of Nicole. Subsequently, he received a 20 year prison sentence to be served in the state penitentiary, but had served only three when Governor Kirkpatrick, at the end of his term in office, commuted León's sentence.

  Candy Melowicz and Michael Hanover had been married during the one week between Hanover's hospitalization and incarceration.

  Candy, with the help of Tom Jenkins, learned how to run the Hanover Store. Candy managed the store during Hanover's confinement and increased its revenue by one-half. Curiosity and West Virginia neighborliness were believed to be the cause of the boon.

  Eleven months after Hanover's release, Hanover and Candy proudly displayed newborn baby Rachel to all of their customers. One year later, twins Andy and Howie also accompanied their mom and dad to the family store. Consequently, the Hanover Store doubled its sales volume and, because of the need for additional workers, contributed to the decline of the unemployment rate in Madison County.

  Tom Jenkins and his family, formerly considered the dregs of society, found themselves encircled by friends. In fact, Tom became known throughout most of the eastern United States, this after the astronomical rise in demand for Tom's Lost Cow Ridge Bottled Water. In response to the initial demand, he built a bottling plant on Lost Cow Ridge next to the artesian spring that supplied his water. He expanded the plant's capacity twice. He built distribution warehouses in three states. The face of Tom's Lost Cow and Tom constantly appeared in television commercials. Tom's contributions to the ranks of the employed made Hanover's look like a pittance.