Devine Retribution

By Robert C. Novarro

Sitting among many of the people he despised at the Displaced Persons Camp, the German American ex-patriot Erich Himmelman attempted to forget about his current situation as he desperately tried to find a way out of his dire circumstances, but he saw no way out of his current predicament. Besides, Im sick to death of running and constantly looking back over my shoulder. Betrayed and stabbed in the back by a woman! Theres no reason to call them the weaker sex! They use their sexuality to entrap men! He thought back to his aunt and how she had betrayed his cousin. Theyre all the same temptresses without a soul! Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to think back on his idyllic life as a child in North Range, Minnesota.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504978873

Robert C. Novarro

Robert C. Novarro taught middle school history for 29 years and won the Distinguished Educators Award in 2000. In addition to writing, he is an avid orchid grower. Robert is the author of Scarred, Bound by Blood, Il Castrato and My Love Possessed. Robert lives in Bayside, New York and Naples, Florida with his wife Angela.

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© 2016 Robert C. Novarro. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/11/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7903-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7892-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7887-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902212

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1 Eggenfedder, Germany, June 23, 1945

Chapter 2 Navy Hill Brooklyn, August 28, 1946

Chapter 3 Brooklyn, January, 1947

Chapter 4 September, 1951

Chapter 5 February, 1953

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 June, 1945

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 February, 1953

Chapter 10 February, 1955

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 Brooklyn, April, 1947

Chapter 13 February, 1955

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18 Bedford-Stuyvesant, May 15, 1965

Chapter 19

Chapter 20 Brooklyn, 1966

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24 Brooklyn, July, 1966

Chapter 25 Auschwitz Germany, March, 1942

Chapter 26 Treblinka Poland, July 1942

Chapter 27 Brooklyn, August 1966

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35 Treblinka Death Camp, September, 1942

Chapter 36 Brooklyn, 1969

Chapter 37 Hamburg, Germany, 1943

Chapter 38

Chapter 39 Brooklyn, February, 1969

Chapter 40 Auschwitz, January, 1944

Chapter 41 Brooklyn, 1969

Chapter 42 Auschwitz, Germany, 1944

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46 Berlin Germany, April 16, 1945

Chapter 47 Brooklyn, 1946

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Dedication

Many thanks to Joan Garcia and Margaret Somerset for their help and to all of my friends who have supported my work. And to Angela who always holds me on a steady course.

"The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living

to do so for them."

Lois McMaster Bujold

Chapter 1

Eggenfedder, Germany, June 23, 1945

Sitting amongst many of the people he despised at the Displaced Persons Camp, the German- American ex-patriot Erich Himmelman attempted to forget about his current situation as he desperately tried to find a way out of his dire circumstances but he saw no way out of his current predicament. Besides, I'm sick to death of running and constantly looking back over my shoulder. Betrayed and stabbed in the back by a woman! There's no reason to call them the weaker sex! They use their sexuality to entrap men! He thought back to his aunt and how she had betrayed his cousin. They're all the same temptresses without a soul! Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to think back on his idyllic life as a child in North Range, Minnesota.

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He had grown up in what could best be described as a golden childhood on his parents' dairy farm. As a young boy, Erich loved going out with his dad at four in the morning to milk the cows and let them out of the barn into the pastures. He idolized his six -foot, blond Teutonic father and was always looking for his approval. Gottfried could best be described as a disgruntled malcontent who found it difficult to have an amicable relationship with anyone. This was evident when he separated himself from the minister of the local Lutheran Church because of theological differences that could not be reconciled. Twelve families joined with him after a time, but because of Gottfried's dictatorial demeanor, five families eventually returned to the church. He ordained himself as deacon of the splinter group which held services in the Himmelman living room. He was fond of repeating that it was Eve who marked men with Original Sin. It was during these quiet times alone that his father that Gottfried, was able to indoctrinate his son on the attributes of the Nazi Regime presently in power in Germany. His father never grew tired of expounding the accolades of Adolf Hitler, his policies, and how he was improving the lives of the people of the Third Reich.

After morning chores, the two of them went back to the farmhouse for breakfast. Waiting for them was his mother, a petite woman with brown, graying hair who had become barren because of complications she had during his birth. There was always some part of her body that bore bruising. His father had gone from treating her coldly and distant for the most part to flying into rages of fury at his constantly cowering wife, Elfriede. Breakfast is ready, she announced meekly as they stepped into the warm house. She came to the table, skillet in hand with two fried eggs and country bacon still sizzling.

Where's my coffee? he demanded argumentatively.

Coming right away! she cringed as she slid the last of the breakfast onto her son's plate. Leaving the skillet on the stove burner, she grabbed the coffee pot and walked to the table, her hand shaking. As she poured, some of the hot liquid missed the cup and fell on the table.

Stupid cow! his father screamed. Whimpering, the woman stepped back as she expected a blow. How many times have I told you to be careful? His wife stood as still as a statue. Well, don't just stand there! Clean it up! As she mopped up the spill with a dish cloth, her son spoke up.

Where is my milk? I am thirsty!

Get my son his milk!

Right away! Getting the pitcher of cold milk from the refrigerator, she poured out a glass and set it before her son.

It's about time! the nine-year old responded before he took his first gulp. The woman retreated from the kitchen to the living room so that she could be in hearing distance of her husband's and son's demands. She was not allowed to eat her own breakfast until the two of them were done and had left the house to go back to their chores.

Those were the days, he thought back nostalgically as he waited in the Displaced Persons Camp to be called by his new name by a member of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Center in the city of Eggenfelder, Bavaria which was in the American Zone of the partitioned country of Germany.

Chapter 2

Navy Hill Brooklyn, August 28, 1946

The day had been pleasantly warm when a petite twenty-three year old brunette named Gladys Jablonski dressed in a floral dress that flirted with her knees and a lipstick color known as Raspberry Blush went out to celebrate the end of World War ll with her sailor boyfriend Max Fedderman. After almost two weeks of wild revelry, the intensity of America's relief at the war's end still had not been sated. Hot date? her roommate Vivian inquired.

It's just Max, Gladys nonchalantly answered.

Now that lover boy is home, when are the two of you getting married?

First I've got to get engaged, she replied, checking her image in the bedroom mirror.

Well, when is that going to happen? You've been seeing each other since before the war.

Sighing with frustration, Gladys responded, I'm hoping soon. Maybe it will be tonight. I've got to go or I'll be late, she retorted ending the annoying inquisition as she rushed out the door.

Max was waiting for her in their usual meeting place outside the naval gate where two sentries stood on guard. Once she sighted him, Gladys ran to her boyfriend and Max wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and lifted her off her feet. She slid down until their lips made contact and they kissed passionately. One of the sentries emitted a low sexy whistle while the other uttered, Hubba, hubba, Maxie boy! Max smiled while his date blushed.

Take a cold shower guys. This girl is mine! With that, they walked to the subway station and caught the train that traveled under the East River to Manhattan. They dodged their way through the throngs of people along the sidewalks of the neon-lighted city until they reached Roseland Dance Hall.

They danced the night away at the hot spot whose floor was crowded with all sorts of people jitterbugging or slow dancing cheek to cheek to the big band sounds while cigarette smoke swirled around their heads. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when a busty, platinum blonde approached Max while Gladys was in the ladies room. As Gladys returned, she caught sight of the interloper flirting with her man. Feeling her Polish temper rising, she walked up and got in her face. Get lost, you're barking up the wrong tree. The blonde walked off in a huff and Gladys turned her attention to Max. What the hell do you think you were doing? Caught between a rock and a hard place, he tried to defend himself.

She walked up to me! I never encouraged her!

But you did nothing to push her away, did you?

But you don't understand...

I understand everything, she seethed grabbing a hold of her purse to leave. I'm going home!

Wait! Max declared as he went to grab her arm. I'll escort you back.

Don't bother, she shouted over the sound of the music as she yanked her arm from his hand. I can take the subway home on my own. Besides, now you can go after that bleached blonde hussy!

Now you're being ridiculous! Gladys did not bother to hear what else he might say as she pushed through the mass of people to the entrance. Once she was out in the night air, she became aware that it had gotten chilly. Walking to the underground, she made her way down the stairs, paid her token and waited for the train to arrive at the station. She looked around the platform and noticed a few other people waiting. Once the train pulled in, Gladys and the others found a seat in the nearly empty cars. What a jerk. What did I ever see in him?

It wasn't long before the train stopped at her station and she got off and ran down the steps to the street. The avenue was empty as she walked home quickly. Turning the corner she continued down a dimly lit street. The click of her heels reverberated eerily on the lonely concrete pavement. Suddenly, she heard what she thought was a footstep behind her. Stopping and turning, she looked back behind her. There was no one there. God, I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I let Max take me home? Once more she turned and walked just a little faster than before. Again the sound occurred and Gladys spun around. Max is that you? No one answered. The silence was terrifying. This time Gladys took off running but she could hear the sounds of someone running after her. Gladys wanted to scream but her throat tightened in fear. She thought of running up to a house and banging on the door for help but before she could, a hand grabbed her arm. As she struggled to pull away, the sleeve of her dressed ripped but another hand got her by the hair and pulled her back. Before she could scream, a hand was over her mouth. For a moment Gladys felt as if she were in a frightening limbo. Her rapid heartbeat throbbed in her ears. Suddenly, a glint of moonlight off of tempered steel flashed as a stiletto was plunged between her ribs and into her heart. Gladys' body stiffened and then immediately slumped. A pair of furtive eyes dodged back and forth to make sure no one was in sight. Satisfied, he made his next move. Grabbing her by the arms, her body was dragged to a waiting '39 black Chevrolet sedan. As he pulled roughly, the sleeve was torn away from the dress. The murderer dumped her lifeless body into the trunk, leaving a trail of blood that abruptly ended in the street. In a few minutes, the car was started and driven down the avenue. The body was dumped and the car was then driven to a yard where rusting hulks of cars were tightly compacted. By the next morning, the vehicle was a cube of crushed metal.

The next morning when Vivian woke to find Gladys' bed not slept in, she did not panic. Very often her roommate made arrangements for her boyfriend and herself to sleep overnight in some nearby cheap motel. But by the time she had come back from work and still had not heard from her, Viv grew worried and filed a Missing Person's Report.

Two days later, two boys who were fishing off the wharfs in Gravesend Bay thought they saw some flowers floating in the water. Once it floated closer, they saw a woman's body drifting face down in the inlet. The cops were called in and a big Irish homicide detective with salt and pepper hair and a ruddy complexion named Patrick Devine, arrived by squad car. He roughly elbowed his way through a mass of curiosity seekers before he reached the patrolmen on the scene. Get these people back! he barked at one of them. Immediately the younger of the two moved toward the crowd, yelling,

All right everyone, there's nothing else to see here. Get moving! Grumbling, the crowd slowly meandered away.

Shit, it's 8:17 in the morning, Patrick swore, checking the time on his wrist watch, and it's hotter than hell already! What have we got? he demanded from the other cop on the scene. The veteran cop replied, We got an unidentified dead woman pulled from the water. The sound of an arriving ambulance siren shattered the air. It looks like she was stabbed in the back between the ribs into her heart

What are you, the coroner? demanded Devine gruffly.

No sir, his subordinate answered sheepishly.

Then keep your opinions to yourself! The cop gently turned the corpse on its back.

But there's something strange, the patrolman announced.

Yeah, and what's that?

Her eyes have been cut out of her head and not very cleanly. Devine stood staring at the dead woman and then the patrolman, showing not an ounce of emotion.

This doesn't appear to be done by someone like a surgeon. Looks like we may have a sicko on our hands.

Once the ambulance had arrived, the body was placed on a pallet, draped with a cloth and loaded in the vehicle which took off with its siren screeching as it raced to the hospital.

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Twenty-three months later, the city was still in a panic. Young women were afraid to be out on their own at night; the City Council was in an uproar. The Mayor was an aggrieved man while the Police Commissioner was under increasing duress to find the murderer, now serial killer. The body count was up to nine; eight young females scattered around the Borough of Brooklyn and one man, Detective Patrick Devine.

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As eighteen year old Gabriel Devine stood beside the yawning grave of his father next to his mother Marie, his two older sisters, Maura and Peggy, and Maura's husband Sean, who was an insurance salesman, on a bitterly cold December morning, all he could hear was the buzz of the priest's words as he sprinkled Holy Water on the casket. Gabe, or Butch as his family and friends sometimes referred to him, was deep in thought about the father he had lost. The gold crucifix his mother had given his father had been ripped from his father's neck when they had found the body and because his eyes remained intact some were saying that this was a different murderer and not the Brooklyn Butcher as the newspapers quickly dubbed him.

Two columns of navy blue uniformed policemen stood on either side of the grave as the Police Commissioner took the carefully folded American flag from the grave and handed it to the posthumously promoted Captain Patrick Devine's widow. Each of the mourners placed a flower on the coffin before they retreated to the protection of their cars from the bone-numbing cold. The limousine carrying the Devine family back to the house was silent except for the occasional sniffling of one of the women.

The Devines and their guests arrived at the house in Red Hook to thaw and to partake of the feast that the neighbor ladies had prepared. It wasn't long before the whisky was brought out and everyone toasted to Patrick's memory. His mother, who was of Italian descent, sat silently in his father's chair as if she were trying desperately to still be as close to him as possible, refusing any food her daughters brought to her. Gabe threw back a shot of whisky and swallowed as the burning liquid warmed his stomach. So Butch, his parent's neighbor Gavin Meany inquired of him. When do you go back to the seminary?

I've decided not to go back. The answer completely shocked his neighbor.

That's kind of surprising since your mother was so set on you becoming a priest.

How can I continue to study for the priesthood when my father was so brutally murdered?

Does your mother know about your decision?

I planned on telling her but with everything that has gone on, I haven't found the right time to do it.

The afternoon slowly drifted away as one by one each of the guests said their final regrets to the family and left to go back to their own homes. Before too long all vestiges of the lunch had been cleared away and the house returned to its usual appearance. Maura, who was five months pregnant and her husband Sean, said their goodbyes and left for their apartment in Bensonhurst. Peggy and Gabe sat in the living room where their mother had not budged since she arrived home. Mother, Peggy was the first to break the silence as she stood up from the chair, I'm going to make you a nice left over roast beef sandwich and a cup of hot tea. How does that sound? Her mother shook her head saying,

Don't bother, dear. I just can't swallow anything right now. Marie turned to her son asking, Are your bags packed for your trip back to the seminary tomorrow morning? Gabe had hoped to bring up the sensitive topic later but he knew he could not put his mother off.

I've given this a lot of thought mother and I've decided not to go back. Both mother and sister recoiled at his answer.

What are you talking about, son? You have to go back!

You've got to be kidding, Butch! Peggy sharply retorted. How could you do such a thing to mother especially after all she's been through? Gabe resented his sister's reaction. It's no business of hers what I do with my life. She should concentrate on finding herself a husband! She always treated him as if she were his parent.

Listen mother, after father's death, I cannot lock up my feelings of hatred for the man who killed him. What kind of priest would I make under these circumstances?

You have to go back. There's no other choice! Peggy chimed in.

And what do you think you're going to do with yourself if you don't go? Gabe knew his answer was going to have terrible reactions.

I've already filed my papers to enter the Police Academy. His mother wailed like a wounded animal.

Have you lost your mind? Mother's dealing with the loss of our father and now she has to worry about your safety.

You know Peggy I wish you could just stay out of this.

I won't allow you to go.

I've already been accepted. I join on Monday.

How can you be so inconsiderate of us! His sister's voice was raised in anger. You've always been so selfish. I guess that's what comes of mother babying you all the time! Gabe chose to ignore his sibling's outburst.

I'm going to become a cop in order to find Pop's killer. I'm going to bring him to justice.

Butch, you're breaking my heart! His mother broke down in tears.

Mom, don't cry, he comforted getting on his knees and taking her in his arms. Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise.

Daddy was going to put his papers in and retire next year and look what happened to him. He'll never enjoy it with mother now! cried Peggy. Marie burst out in sobs.

Boy Peggy, you really know how to make things worse, don't you, scolded her brother. With this his sister stormed out of the room up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Butch, I wish you wouldn't do this.

Mom, don't you see that I have to do this for Pop?

No, I don't understand.

Someday you will Mom, someday you will.

Chapter 3

Brooklyn, January, 1947

As quickly as the murders by the Brooklyn Butcher had started, they suddenly ended. By the beginning of 1947, murders by this killer had stopped. Patrolman Gabriel Devine was advised by his precinct captain that one of three things could have happened. One, he could be in jail on another charge; two, he could have moved on to another part of the country; or three, he could be dead. Let's hope for everybody's sake, the third is true." Gabe knew that his captain was probably right but he prayed that the last was not true. He wanted to get his hands on his father's killer.

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Twelve years passed and by 1959 Butch had been promoted to detective in the same Gravesend precinct that his father had been. The Brooklyn Butcher killings were now cold cases, stored in a dusty box in the precinct basement. Only his father's case was stored separately because there were those who were convinced that he had not been murdered by the same killer. There was no doubt in Gabe's mind that he had been knocked off by the same man, but over the years there was just not enough evidence to support it.

His mother had developed epilepsy and was now confined to a bed in a nursing home. Sean and Maura, who owned their home in Peekskill, had two children, both boys. His sister Peggy had married an electrician named Ken, a good-natured slob who his sister took full advantage of and browbeat him down every chance she got. They had no children and Gabe could understand why. Butch now occupied the family house by himself.

He had dated women off and on and had even had a fiancée for a time until he got cold feet and backed out of it. But that doesn't mean he was alone. A faithful bottle of whisky was his constant companion but he was never drunk on the job. He drank himself into a nightmarish sleep in which he revisited his father's death over and over again. He was emotionally torn up by the belief that his father's murderer was still out there somewhere, the same man who had killed those eight women. Gabe just couldn't shake the feeling.

Then one night in April of that year, the phone rang in his living room. Putting down the glass of booze, Gabe picked up the receiver. Yeah, who is it?

Detective Devine? Detective Gabriel Devine? a mild mannered, refined man's voice inquired.

Who is this? he slurred.

My name isn't important. I have some information for you that I'm sure you'll want.

Listen, if this is some kind of solicitation, you're just wasting your time I'm not interested!

Butch, don't hang up the phone! The mention of his nickname stopped him in his tracks.

Do you know me?

In a way.

Spit it out! Say what you called to say and get it over.

I phoned to tell you that you've been right all these years.

Stop being cryptic and get on with it.

For all these years you believed that your father was a victim of the Brooklyn Butcher when everyone else tried to convince you otherwise.

How do you know this?

I have my ways. I called to tell you that you were right all along.

You seem very sure about this.

I should. I'm the man who murdered him.

Listen you crack pot, don't ever call my home again.

The newspapers never reported the theft of your father's gold crucifix. That's something only you and your family knew about. Isn't that right? Gabe remained silent. He was the first cop I ever killed so I took it as a memento. I hope you don't mind. His voice grew low and menacing. I just wanted you to be the first to know that I'm back. Besides I didn't like the idea of someone else getting the credit for my work. Gabe decided to play along in order to determine whether this nut was the genuine article.

Where are you calling from?

Please, detective! Don't insult my intelligence. Did you think you could fool me with such an amateurish trick?

So where have you been the last twelve years?

Away, perfecting my craft. The rest of my time I was just relaxing. Taking a sabbatical from all the stress. Everybody needs to take some time off from the job once and a while. I'm glad to see that my work is still remembered.

Your ass is mine. When you slip up, I'll be there to bring you to justice.

I'm hoping that you're not going to be a disappointment to me. With your father it was like playing chess. He was cool and calculating as we tried to out maneuver each other. I'm anticipating that you will be a worthy opponent and not just a waste of my time.

You'll slip up! The law of averages says so. Guys like you always make mistakes. Let's not forget that you left a trail of blood and the ripped sleeve from the victim's dress after the first murder.

Live and learn. I've certainly perfected the art of murder since my first victim, no butchery this time. Just clean surgical cuts.

What's the story with the eyes? Does that kind of thing give you a hard on?

Don't be crude, Mr. Devine. Les yeux sont les fenetres de l'ame."

What the hell does that mean?

The eyes are the windows to the soul. In other words, those who I have killed were soulless. All I did was let the rest of the world know what they were really like. I guess you could say, I stripped their masks away. Now of course, I am very careful not to leave any clues or witnesses. How else do you think I've never been discovered? Your father was the only cop ever to get close to taking me in. That's why I had to kill him. It was nothing personal.

Nothing personal? Where are you, you fucking prick? I'll kill you with my bare hands!

Now, now detective, you'll give yourself a stroke and that would never do, he mocked. You really should give up the booze. Gabe turned to the window as his hair stood on end. I want your clear headed when I bring you down too.

Are you watching me now? The voice responded with a challenge.

Tomorrow you'll find another body of a woman floating in Gravesend Bay just like my first victim. It's sort of my announcement that I've returned. Happy hunting, Detective Devine! he taunted icily. The phone was hung up from the other side.

Gabe rushed to the front door convinced that his tormentor was just on the other side. Opening it up, he did not come face to face with anyone. He glanced down each side of the street but saw nothing suspicious. He even took a walk around the perimeter of the house but everything looked as it always did. Going inside, he slammed the door shut, took the glass of liquor he had been drinking from and the bottle and poured the rest down the kitchen drain.

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You heard from who? captain of the precinct Jerry Bellinger probed incredulously.

The Brooklyn Butcher, he called me at home! The older man's bushy eyebrows were raised with skepticism.

Is this wishful thinking or the bottle talking? Gabe's mouth went suddenly parched.

I've given up the booze, he mumbled. But that doesn't change the fact that I heard from him last night!

After twelve years?

I know this sounds unbelievable but it's the truth!

I don't know...

He has in his possession the gold crucifix that was around my father's neck. It's like I said all along, my father was his victim.

This caught Bellinger's attention. What else did he say?

He told me that there would be another body floating in Gravesend Bay this morning.

I probably should have my head examined but I'm going to let you take a squad car there to see what you find although I have my doubts

Within a few minutes of Bellinger's call, a police car with two cops came around to the front of the precinct. Get in the back! Devine ordered the cop in the passenger seat. Hit the gas! he shouted at the driver. With the sirens blaring, the car pulled up to the end of a rickety wharf. Throwing open the car door, he scanned the water. Nothing! The two cops looked at each other with smirks on their faces.

What are you looking for detective? one of them spoke up at last.

A female's body! Get over here and help me! The two cops joined their superior officer and glanced out. They too saw nothing. Was it just a crank call?

Detective, look! one of them yelled as he got to his knees. Gabe looked directly down to find a body amongst the flotsam and debris that was shoved against one of the wharf supporting posts. Get her up! The two cops dragged the waterlogged victim until she lay face up at their feet. Her bleached blonde hair dripped onto the cracked concrete and her face was a bloodless white. Gabe bent down over the body and examined the empty eye sockets. He did do a masterful job in removing her eyes.

I know her, exclaimed one of the officers. I've seen her on my beat a few times.

What's her name? demanded Devine.

Mary...something. Mary Harris, that was it! She was just one of the many street whores around here. I even booked her a few times for soliciting. They all end up like this, one way or another, he proclaimed debasingly.

Shut your mouth! Devine hissed. She may not have been respected when she was alive but you will not disrespect her now that she's dead! After all, she's somebody's daughter. The cop fell silent.

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The stench of blood and formaldehyde always turned Gabe's stomach when he