Storymania - Cutting Critics by Frank Dunsmore

Cutting Critics
Frank Dunsmore

Late in the evening, Jean Brady walked on the Michigan Avenue Bridge over the Chicago River. Halfway across she stopped and looked down at the dark, still icy water. Suddenly she felt a sharp, crushing pain in the center of her back. She grabbed the railing as the blade cut into her again. Jean tried to scream but could only gasp for air. She saw the silhouette of her attacker holding a long, glistening knife. Her mouth filled with blood, her eyes closed, and her body slumped. Her murderer lifted and pushed her body into the cold Chicago River, making a small splash. The murderer walked to the end of the bridge, unlocked a parked car, and drove away.

* * *
Jake Hendricks pulled his dark tan overcoat collar around his ears. The freezing January wind, like a hawk, cut through him and took his breath away. He was still shocked from hearing about Jean Brady on the radio news. Jake was a music critic for the Tribute News and was on his way to a meeting with the other critics to meet the new editor and no one knew what to expect. The old editor retired because of poor health and Jake wondered if he still had a job.

Clouds of steam rose from the Chicago River. Jake jogged over the Michigan Avenue Bridge, pushed through the revolving door to the Tribute, and took the elevator to the eighteenth floor. He entered the Editorial Staff room and was immediately greeted by a tall, wiry man with dark bushy eyebrows. The man waved noncommittally and said, "Help yourself to coffee so we can get started." Jake poured his coffee and sat at the table with the other critics.

The man with bushy eyebrows said, "Good morning everyone. My name is Saul Goldstein and I�m your new editor and of course you know Kevin O�Brien, the associate editor. I was terribly shocked to hear about Jean Brady. I guess you all knew her. The person who did this is evil. It�s terrible."

Saul stopped, quietly sighed, and stared at his feet for a moment. "I feel sad. I knew she was a critic with our paper. She�s a loss to her loved ones and of course to the Tribute News. I�ll try to find out about the funeral arrangements and let you all know. Also, the police may be by to talk to us. All right, let�s get started."

Jake sighed and looked around the table. The other critics� eyes were downcast, concern written on their faces. Some frowned as though in great pain, while others sniffled and wiped away tears. Someone muttered, "Why Jean?"

Saul took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Okay, please call me Saul. I�m here to make this paper better than it is. As critics for the Tribute," and Saul looked to each and every one of the critics at the table, "you can sell a lot of newspapers. And I ask you, what sells a lot of newspapers? It�s not a review that praises and honors like this one." Saul held up one of Jake�s reviews and said, "This critic wrote a glowing review of a folk song trio who are over the hill. He should have trashed them, but instead he praised them. His kind words will only keep them performing. In my opinion, they should hang it up!"

Jake�s face reddened and he snapped his pencil in half. His last editor had liked his critiques and even had hinted at a promotion. He thought, This idiot fed me to the wolves in five minutes.

Saul continued, pointedly ignoring Jake�s reddening face. "It�s the reviews that trash and cut a performer or performance. And that, my friends, sells newspapers. I�m not saying that every review you write should be negative, but cutting reviews attract every reader�s attention. That�s how a newspaper becomes widely read, and more importantly, widely bought. It�s the critic who writes with a touch of vinegar instead of sugar that sells papers. And I think that critic will have a long career with the Tribute."

Jake looked at the other critics� faces and saw frowns and glares. Jake thought, Who the hell does this guy think he is!

Saul continued on, "First on the agenda, the Art Institute has a new exhibit that opens today. A young painter named Jerome Ratski has twenty-two paintings on exhibit. Many consider his paintings pornographic and the average red-blooded American would probably lynch him for his treatment of the American flag. Who�s our art critic?" He looked around the room. A youngish woman timidly raised her hand, looking about for support. She was wearing a pert gray business suit, with a widely flared skirt that showed off her shapely legs.

"I�m Claudia Jergens, the art critic."

"Claudia, I want you to review Ratski�s exhibit. And don�t mess around. I want you to use your most cutting words."

"If that�s what Ratski deserves, that�s how I�ll write it." Claudia bunched up her shoulders, and Jake could see she was expecting a fight with Saul.

"I don�t give a damn about what he deserves. Your review can sell lots of papers, Claudia. Don�t treat this so called artist with kid gloves."

Jake thought, Saul, you�d probably give your own mother a bad review if you thought it�d sell more papers.

Saul pushed on. "Wednesday night the Lighthouse Players are performing Shakespeare�s Macbeth at Langdon Theater. They�re amateur actors who are supposedly raising money for
destitute senior actors. That�s a laugh. Who�s our drama
critic?" Saul�s bushy eyebrows went up in expectation.

A man with gray, wavy hair and broad, sloping shoulders smiled. His blue oxford shirt and red tie were frayed at the edges and he wore navy blue corduroy trousers and warn sneakers. He raised his hand and said, "That�s me. I�m Fritz Carpenter."

"They�re all yours, Fritz. Check out the Lighthouse Players and see if they still shine."

Fritz said, "They�re always a pleasure, Saul."

"It sounds like a snore to me. Just remember, don�t give them any free kudos. We�re doing them a favor.

"Next, The Symphony Center, home of our beloved Chicago Symphony Orchestra, is letting some rock group give a concert there Friday night. Why does the CSO board of directors allow such a thing! I know, it�s money. All right, fess up, who does music groups?"

Jake clenched his fists and said, "I�m Jake Hendricks, I cover music groups. The Wednesday night group is called The Fabulous Tunas."

Saul�s left hand gestured with a cutting motion. "Welcome Jake. Give The Fabulous Tunas my regards and the deep six!"

Jake thought, The Sopranos gave one of theirs the deep six. Why can�t we accommodate Saul!

"Lastly, an old man, George London, used to be a great concert pianist. He�s in recital this Sunday afternoon at the Auditorium. He should have quit performing ten years
ago. We�ll do him and the audience a favor by trashing him.
Believe me, he deserves it. Who reviews solo performances?"

"I�m Laura Jentry. I review piano recitals and solo performances."

Laura was younger than she looked, with a tight blonde bob and fake pearls. Laura partially hid her mouth with her right hand as she spoke, probably remembering a time when she was sweet sixteen and had a mouth full of braces. Today she wore a loose fitting tan wool sweater, and a tight gray stretch skirt. Her right leg was twitching with barely concealed nervousness.

Jake thought, Laura is pretty and sexy. I wouldn�t mind sharing my bed with her. But she�s smart and talented too. When she plays Chopin or Gershwin, I get excited. She�s my kind of girl.

Saul squinted down at Laura and bitingly said, "Nice to meet you, Laura. Please do the recital patrons a big favor and write a scathing review of Mr. London."

Laura frowned and said, "Saul, I�ve heard George London perform and he�s wonderful. The audiences give him standing ovations."

Yeah Laura, tell this pompous ass a thing or two! Jake thought.

Saul said, "Laura, just write an honest review but don�t be charmed by his pearly smile and gray pompadour." Saul immediately dismissed Laura. Jake looked at her left leg and now it was twitching in counter time to her right.

"Oh, one last word everyone. When you�ve written your review be sure you copy it to me and Kevin O�Brien. That�s all
for today. Let�s do it again next Monday at 8:30." Saul rubbed his hands together as if cold. He picked up his rapidly cooling coffee and sauntered out of the room.

Laura and Jake left the editorial room with the other critics. At the elevator Jake said, "I still can�t get over Jean Brady being murdered. She was such a sweet kid."

"I know, she was a lovely girl, and smart. It scares the hell out of me."

Laura boarded the elevator and Jake turned to go to his workstation. He saw he was walking behind Saul and Kevin. Jake heard their conversation.

"I want to instill in these critics that their reviews are what sells papers. The average person doesn�t want to read dribble about the wonderful performance so and so gave, or what lovely pictures Joe the painter has on exhibit at the Art Institute. She wants to hear how bad they were."

Kevin said, "I believe the Tribute will double its readership in six months if your critics write as you told them this morning."

"That�s how we did it when I was a critic at the Post."
The two men walked to their offices. Jake walked to his workstation and saw Claudia Jergens sitting at her workstation next to his. Jake smiled and said, "Well Claudia, what do you think of our new dictator, I mean editor?"

Claudia smiled and said, "He sure spelled things out. My review should be easy if Ratski is degenerate as Saul makes him out to be. But I don�t like trashing anyone who doesn�t deserve it."

"My feelings exactly."

Claudia frowned and said, "Jake, why would anyone want to kill Jean? She didn�t bother anyone."

"I know, she minded her own business. And she was a good person."

"The police don�t think it was robbery. They found her purse with money and credit cards on the bridge."

"Maybe someone doesn�t like critics."

Claudia almost spilled her mug of coffee. "Oh my God, don�t even think that!"

It was about five o�clock when Jake left the Tribute News office. The evening was colder now that the sun had set and the north wind blew more strongly. Jake mused a moment about his new editor. Saul is something else. Why doesn�t he leave things alone. Jake hailed a cab and went home.

***

Tuesday morning was cloudy and the dull sun gave no warmth to the people scurrying up and down Michigan Avenue. Jake hurried over the Michigan Avenue Bridge and pushed the
revolving door into the Tribute. As he entered the building he saw Claudia.

"Hi Claudia."

"Hi Jake, I�m on the way to the Art Institute to review Ratski."

"Hey, give him an honest shot. He might be the next Picasso."

"Oh, I will. When I�ve finished writing it, I�ll copy it to you."

Jake watched Claudia board the southbound bus. It rumbled on the bridge above the icy river. Jake wondered what kind of review Claudia would write. He felt Saul had scared everyone, including himself. Saul would probably fire anyone who didn�t write negative reviews. He was proud of Laura when she told Saul what a great pianist John London was. Jake wanted to write honest, informative reviews. If he found fault with the person he was reviewing, it would be a legitimate criticism.

Later that afternoon Claudia copied her review to Jake.
It read, "Jerome Ratski�s exhibit is an insult to any viewer. Don�t waste your time with this poor art. His paintings are pornographic and crude. He also has complete disrespect and contempt for the American flag. Ratski�s work includes twenty-
two paintings of nude women performing lewd acts with apes and zebras. Salvador Dali could paint this as art but not Ratski.

After you view his paintings, he invites you to comment in a journal resting on a shelf next to his paintings. To write in the journal, you must stand on an American flag that is nailed to the floor beneath the shelf.

"Do yourself a favor by staying away. Shame on the Art Institute for giving Ratski an exhibit." Jake finished reading Claudia�s review and nodded. He thought, In this case, a cutting review is appropriate. Claudia is a straight arrow. Ratski is a phony, not an artist.

Laura and Jake left the Tribute News at five o�clock and decided to have beer and pizza at Geno�s. A place out of the �50s, Geno�s was just across the river. The juke box blared Rosemary Clooney�s "Come On To My House" as they entered. A pungent aroma of onions and garlic from the pizza ovens wafted through the restaurant.

The hostess, a short woman with long black hair that hung to her waist, greeted them with a smile. She wore a red blouse with black leotard slacks that showed off her perfect figure. She led Jake and Laura to a booth and placed menus on the table.

Blown-up photos of movie stars and other celebrities that had been Geno�s customers covered the walls. The booths were
upholstered with red leather and an empty Chianti bottle with a white candle adorned each black table top. An older, curt waitress took their order for a large cheese with sausage pizza and a pitcher of beer.

Laura said, "What do you think of Saul�s philosophy on writing reviews? Do you think he�s fair to artists and performers?"

Jake said, "I don�t think Saul gives a damn about anyone in the arts. Those people put their artistic lives on the line every time they perform. That doesn�t matter to Saul. As far as he�s concerned, they�re fair game anytime, anywhere."

"Jake, I�ve heard the pianist, George London, four times and each performance was masterful. He has a great technique and plays beautifully with beautiful expression. Unless he plays drastically bad on Sunday, I�ll be writing a review that praises and highly recommends him. Maybe Saul will fire me."

"Not a chance. You write well and if you remember Saul�s advice to you, �Write an honest review but don�t be charmed by his smile and good looks.�"

Laura laughed and said, "Maybe he�s jealous. George is very handsome." They finished their pizza and beer and walked outside to the corner. They stood at the curb and Jake put Laura in a taxi. While Jake waited for the next one, he watched the snow trucks on the bridge over the river. Their giant blades pushed the snow into mounds. Then their mighty lifts scooped them up and dropped them into the river. He shuddered; the sight made him think of Jean Brady. He caught a taxi and went home.

The next morning Jake arrived at the Michigan Avenue Bridge and saw three police squad cars, a squad-roll, and a TV news team. His stomach became queasy when he saw two cops carrying a stretcher with a body bag. Jake walked over to another officer and said, "I�m Jake Hendricks with Tribute News. Can you tell me what happened?"

The officer said, "We just pulled a woman�s body out of the river. We found a press card ID in her pocket for Claudia Jergens. She was stabbed in the back."

"Oh my God! No, no!" Stunned, Jake ran over the bridge to the Tribute News.

Kevin O�Brien, the associate editor, was sitting on a bench in the lobby. Kevin was about fifty. He had gray hair that was short and neatly combed. His maroon pullover sweater, gray Harris tweed jacket, and cordovan loafers made him look more like a college professor than a newspaper editor. He saw Jake and said, "What�s the matter? You look sick, Jake. Come over here and sit down."

Jake slumped onto the bench beside Kevin. "Claudia�s been murdered. They just pulled her out of the river."

"I know, I just saw it on the lobby TV monitor. it�s terrible. Something�s got to be done. Nobody�s safe."

They rode to the eighteenth floor and Kevin walked to his office. Jake�s eyes traversed the vast room where he was one of forty-some Tribute employees. Dark green carpeting covered the entire floor and each workstation had light gray cloth walls, framed by black steel strips. Jake saw Fritz Carpenter having coffee at his workstation.

Fritz was an old timer with the Tribute and was ready to retire in six months. His face was rough and wrinkled with deep lines from age and being in the sun too long. His hair was wavy and almost white. He always had a smile, even when he seemed mad. Jake said, "Fritz, did you hear about Claudia?"

"Yes, I feel awful. Claudia was a good woman and a fine writer. I can�t believe it. I just wonder if he�s got a vendetta for all critics. It�s like we�re sittin� ducks, waiting to be wasted. I�m going to start packing heat, if you know what I mean. Jake, here, pour yourself some coffee."

"Thanks, Fritz. Both murders had to be committed by the same bastard. Both women were stabbed in the back and thrown in the river. The guy�s a fucking maniac. I�d like to have my hands around his throat! I can�t believe this has happened; it�s like a nightmare. God, I hope we catch the filthy bastard!"

Jake took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked up from the floor at Fritz and said, "Are you reviewing the Lighthouse Players tonight?"

"Yes, they�re an amateur group but they perform like pros. They�re really great."

"Fritz, how do you feel about Saul�s mandate for reviews?"

"You know, Jake, I�ve been around a while. When I review a performer, I try to be honest about what I see and hear. I�m not going to trash someone�s talent so a newspaper can gain more readership!"

"Thanks Fritz, I�m glad you feel that way. I feel the same. I hope you can write a glowing review about the Lighthouse Players."

Jake finished his coffee and went back to his workstation, thinking about Jean Brady. Jean was a pretty girl, intelligent, and an honest critic. What did she do to cause someone to murder her? The police said it wasn�t robbery or a rape attempt. The murderer must have known her or at least known who she was.

Jake suddenly had an idea. He picked up the phone and dialed the Tribute operator. "Please connect me with the library." There was a silent moment and then a voice said, "This is Mary, how can I help you?"

"Hi Mary, it�s Jake Hendricks. Mary, can you make me a copy of Jean Brady�s last review?

"Sure, Jake, I�ll have it ready by the time you come down."

"Thanks, Mary, I�ll be right down."

***

Jake thought, If Jean wrote a scathing review about someone it could be the motive for her murder. He took an elevator to the third floor and walked twenty feet down the hall to the library entrance. He entered a room and saw some reporters sitting at long wooden tables. Some were using computers, and others were looking at microfilm viewers.

He saw Mary sitting at her desk behind the service counter. She frowned as she concentrated on her computer screen. She was in her fifties but still attractive with her yellow blonde hair. Her face was overdone with makeup but she had a pretty smile and soft blue eyes. She wore a pale blue sweater that showed off her firm and full breasts and as Jake approached her desk he could see her pretty crossed legs. He said, "Hi Mary, how�s it goin�?"

Mary quickly looked up and said, "Hi handsome, I�ve got Jean Brady�s review for you. Gee, I didn�t know her or the other reporter but I feel terrible about what happened to them.
I�m really scared. Do the police have any idea who the scum-bag is?" Mary handed him Jean Brady�s review.

"I know, it�s awful! I get sick thinking about it. I wish I had five minutes alone with the scum-bag, I�d put him in the river. Mary, not to frighten you but please be very careful."

"Oh, I am. My son drives me here in the morning and picks me up at five. I�m not goin� anywhere alone around here."

Jake thanked Mary and began reading as he walked back to the elevator. The review was about the Damen Street Dancers. Jean had written that the performance had several technical flaws. Several of the dancers needed to learn and practice basic dance steps. She went on to write that the producer and director were wrong to let these unprepared dancers perform for the public. Jean said every show has some kinks to iron out during its initial performances, but this show was a disaster and should be closed immediately. Jake thought, Jean wouldn�t win any popularity awards for her review. It just might be why she was murdered.

Jake looked down the aisle and saw Laura walking toward him. Laura said, "Jake, I�m scared. I can�t believe Claudia�s dead."

"I know. I�m nervous too."

Suddenly they heard loud shrieks and gasps coming from Saul Goldstein�s office. Jake said, "Come on, let�s see what that�s about." Jake and Laura ran to Saul�s office. They looked through the open office door and saw Kevin O�Brien standing and holding a long-bladed knife. The blade was dripping blood. Jake looked at Laura and said, "Go back to my desk and call the police. Tell them to come up here right away." Laura ran back toward Jake�s desk. Jake Looked in Saul�s office.

Saul Goldstein was on the floor, flat on his back. His shirt was covered with blood. He coughed and blood oozed from his mouth. Clenching the knife handle, Kevin bent over Saul. He looked into Saul�s eyes and said, "This is for my daughter and wife. Die, you sonofabitch!" Before Jake could react, Kevin thrust the knife deep into the center of Saul�s chest. Saul gave a final gasp and his head fell to the side. Jake�s face became pale and he felt cold all over.

Jake grabbed a heavy, metal ashtray stand beside a chair, to protect himself and said, "Kevin, drop the knife, right now!" Kevin dropped the knife.

Jake said, "Now sit in that chair."

Kevin sat in the chair and said, "Jake, don�t be afraid. I won�t hurt you or anyone else."

Jake�s body trembled. His entire body felt chilled as he looked at the blood stained carpet and the bloody knife next to Saul�s corpse. "My God, Kevin, what the hell did you do!"

Kevin said, "Jake, I�ve done what I had to do."

Jake and Kevin heard employee voices coming toward the office. Jake held onto the metal stand and closed the office door. Suddenly he felt sick. Until now, Kevin O�Brien had been his mentor. He was a great reporter, everything a journalist should be, and now he was a murderer.
"What do you mean, you�ve done what you had to do? You just killed the editor of the Tribute News. Why did you do it?"

Kevin�s shoulders slumped. He suddenly looked old and tired.

"It�s all about my daughter. She studied violin at Julliard and she was thought to be a future concert violinist. February, two years ago, she gave her public debut recital at Town hall and a critic panned her performance. The critic said her technique was so flawless that her performance was shallow and cold, that she lacked feeling and expression, and could never be a concert violinist. My daughter was crushed and she overdosed on sleeping pills the next day. My wife became deeply depressed and took her life six months later. The critic who panned my daughter was Saul Goldstein."

Jake set the metal stand on the floor. He fell into a chair and said, "Oh my God, Kevin, that�s terrible! I�m so very sorry for your loss, but you took a man�s life. You were the jury, judge and executioner. I didn�t like Saul but he deserved to at least be heard."

"You don�t understand! Saul took my daughter�s life and my wife�s. I never wanted to kill anyone but their deaths left my life without any meaning. Every night I cried myself to sleep and my work lost the excitement and satisfaction it had always given me. I was sad, then bitter, and then I hated. I hated all critics who destroyed lives. I vowed to destroy theirs. A critic killed the two people I loved most. That critic became the editor of Tribute News. I knew someday I would have my revenge.

Jake said, "That�s something I never understood. With all the capable people to choose from, why was Saul Goldstein chosen to be editor of Tribute News?"

Kevin said, "When our former editor announced he was retiring, the Tribute Board of Directors asked me and three other officers of Tribute News to search and recommend someone to be our next editor. It was a perfect opportunity. Of course I thought of Saul Goldstein right away. He�d been a critic with the Washington Post for several years and recently was promoted to assistant editor.

"The three officers and I met once. When I realized none of them had any strong recommendations, I took charge. I praised Saul�s writing, his great organizational skills, said he was a natural leader, and would be a great editor. I was lying through my teeth. But by the end of our meeting, I�d convinced them that Saul Goldstein should be Tribute�s next editor.

"The next day we made our recommendation to the Board of Directors. They were all happy with our recommendation and the president called Saul and offered him the editor position. Of course he accepted. I knew then, sooner or later, I�d have the opportunity to kill Saul."

Jake said, "Did you also kill Jean Brady and Claudia Jergens?"

"Jean Brady was with the Washington Post before she came to Tribute News. She was one of Saul�s prot�g�es. Jean and Claudia Jergens were as vindictive as Saul. Yes, I murdered them and I regret that I had to do it. But they were evil and I knew they�d never change."

Jake scowled with disbelief and said, "I�ve always admired and respected you. You�ve been the example I needed to imitate to become a good reporter. I�ve always wanted to be a reporter, not a critic. Jake touched his face and was surprised to feel the wetness of tears.

Kevin said, "Jake, Saul couldn�t write worth a damn. You can write! You have a gift for understanding people and knowing what a story is about. Don�t throw it away. Go with your heart and your mind will follow. I know you can become a fine reporter. I�ve always thought of you as a son. Take good care of yourself and God bless you."

The chattering voices outside the office became louder and the door flew open, revealing at least ten gawking faces. A deep husky voice cut through the chatter, "All right you people, get out of the way. Go on back to your workstations." Two burley uniformed cops and a detective cut through the crowd of employees.

The tall, wiry detective flashed his badge and quickly stared around the office. He looked at Jake and said, "I�m Detective Schmidt, who are you?"

Jake�s hands trembled and he said, "I�m Jake Hendricks
and I work here at Tribute News. The man on the floor is the editor."

Detective Schmidt kept his eyes on Kevin O�Brien as he asked Jake, "Where were you when this happened?"

"I was talking to a friend down the hall by my workstation. We heard a lot of noise and commotion from the editor�s office. When we got here, we were horrified to see blood all over the carpet. I told my friend to go back to my desk and call the police. When I looked in the office, I saw Kevin O�Brien," Jake pointed at Kevin, "with a knife, kneeling over Saul Goldstein. I saw him stab him."

Detective Schmidt said, "Kevin O�Brien, you�re under arrest for the murder of Saul Goldstein." He recited the Miranda Rites to Kevin and then looked at one of the uniformed officers and said, "Schultz, cuff this man!" Schultz was a huge, husky cop who could have been a Chicago Bears linebacker. Schultz immediately had Kevin O�Brien place his hands behind his back and he handcuffed him.

The detective said, "Mr. O�Brien, you�ve been told your rights. We�ll provide you with a lawyer if you don�t have one, after you�ve been booked at the station."

He looked at Jake and said, "Hold on while I call this in." The detective pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket, dialed and said, "Yeah, this is Schmidt. I�m at the Tribute News on the eighteenth floor. We�ve got a homicide, a male with several stab wounds to his torso. Right, get forensics up here now, oh and a body bag with a cart. Thanks!"

The detective looked at Jake and said, "Thank you for your cooperation. I need you to come to the station to make a formal statement in writing. I�m sure you�ll be called to testify at the trial." Detective Shcmidt looked at the uniformed officers and said, "Schultz, stay here in the office until forensics arrives. Don�t touch anything and don�t let anyone in here!"

Detective Schmidt looked at Kevin. His face was pale and he had blotches of dried blood on his hands and all over his shirt. He remained silent with his head bowed. The detective said, "All right, Mr. O�Brien, let�s go." Detective Schmidt and the other uniformed officer pushed through the throng of Tribute reporters, editors, and other employees.

They all looked on in shock; many of them placed their hands over their mouths. The sight of Kevin O�Brien, handcuffed and his clothes covered with blood made the crowd cry out, "How can this be?" and "Oh, my God!" Detective Schmidt and the uniformed officer pushed on and escorted Kevin O�Brien out of the Tribute News building to a waiting squad car.

Jake looked out a window. It was still snowing and gusts of wind bent the slender trees along the river plaza. People were hurrying over the Michigan Avenue Bridge to get out of the cold. Jake thought, The winter�s just like a cutting critic.