Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 37, No. 13, Mid-December 1992

Thursday, March 14

Miss Wanda Huckaby

P.O. Box 17

Crooked Furrow, Arkansas

My Dearest Wanda,

First off, I think you’d better burn this letter when you finish reading it. Or if you can’t bear to part with it, (ha ha) at least hide it in a safe place so your folks don’t find it. I know your daddy don’t think too kindly of me and wouldn’t understand about my new career.

I guess this letter is like one of those “good news, bad news” jokes. (ha) Well the bad news is that I got fired from my job selling cemetery plots. Mr. Powers kept saying mean things like how L couldn’t sell rice to a Chinaman and stuff like that. Boy will he be surprised when I walk in someday, slap down a stack of bills and buy the biggest funeral he’s got.

I was real downhearted for a day or so. Even though it doesn’t cost a lot to live here at the YMCA, I was worried about using up all the money I’ve been saving for us to get married with.

But now for the good news. Just when I was feeling worst, I saw this man on TV talking about how we can do anything we set our minds to, and how failure is just the doorway to success. W. Tyler Bedford, (that was his name) said we must reach within ourselves and pull out the confidence that lies dormant in all of us if we want to succeed. (He says stuff like “confidence” and “dormant” a lot.)

Well I’ll tell you that what he said made so much sense that I could see my whole life changing right in front of my eyes. He said anyone who understands the secret can become rich in no time and he talked to people right there on the TV show that had already started to make their fortunes just by buying his program and following his rules.

As soon as I can get the one-hundred and eighty dollars together, I’m going to send for the cassette tapes but I got enough out of just watching to know that by drawing on the superior intelligence that has been lying dormant in me, I can be a success.

I was so fired up, I went looking for a job the very next day filled with confidence and determination. I was sure I would get hired right off, but I think a lot of these places are scared of people with outstanding ability cause they don’t want to get showed up. After a week of turndowns, I was almost discouraged again but I tuned in W. Tyler Bedford’s show and he showed me where I had my wheels stuck in the same old ruts and in order to succeed really big, I’d have to climb up and hitch my wagon to a star.

W. Tyler Bedford pointed out that you can’t make any real money working for other people because chances are you have got more ability than they have anyway. He says you have to think up a goal and visualize exactly how you plan to reach it. He says you must sit down with pencil and paper and make a careful plan.

I already have a goal. I want to make a lot of money fast so I can come home and show your daddy I’m not a bum so we can get married. But I don’t have a plan. Yet. I just know I don’t want to work in Gus Gutchell’s feed store no more.

I’m too excited to say more right now. I’ve got to write down a plan that will make us independent of financial cares and worries as soon as I can think one up. It won’t be long now till we’re marching hand in hand down the aisle of the Saved From Perdition Church.

Your loving sweetheart,

Wendell

Saturday, March 23

Miss Wanda Huckaby

P.O. Box 17

Crooked Furrow, Arkansas

Wanda, My Darling,

I received your letter and have read it over and over until it is almost wore out. (ha, ha.) But it did puzzle me. If I didn’t know you so well, I would have thought you weren’t too enthusiastic about the advice given to me by W. Tyler Bedford. You kept calling him “that TV guy” and I didn’t quite know what to make of the line, “Quit fooling around and go out and get a regular job.”

Maybe I didn’t explain it real good.

I know it has been more than a week since I wrote to you but I have watched W. Tyler Bedford three more times since I first saw him. At first I was surprised to see it was the exact same show I watched the first time so I guess it must have been taped cause I don’t think Mr. Bedford and those others could do it exactly the same every time. But each time I watched, I understood better what I must do.

Just wanting to get married isn’t enough. I needed a crystal clear goal. Well Wanda you will be delighted to know that my goal — or rather our goal — is now down on paper, and I know how I’m going to make that goal a reality.

I figured we’d need eight... maybe nine-hundred to have a real nice honeymoon and get started in our own business, but I decided to shoot the moon, (so to speak) so I dreamed of coming home with two-thousand dollars. Now don’t laugh. W. Tyler Bedford says anything is possible.

At first I couldn’t think of any way to reach our goal. But after the last TV show when I was sitting there thinking how much easier it would be if I had the six hours of cassettes to learn from, this old movie comes on about robbing a bank. It was called “Dog Day Afternoon,” and I was thinking, Boy those guys don’t know much about robbing a bank. If they’da watched W. Tyler Bedford, they’da had a better plan. And then it hit me. What better way to get money real fast than to take it from folks that have so much they probably wouldn’t even miss it. Even if they didn’t have insurance?

My conscience did bother me some at first but W. Tyler Bedford says there will always be people who will try to stand in the way of the successful entrepeneur and you must not allow them to keep you from your goals. (He uses “entrepeneur” a lot too, and it took me almost an hour to find it in my pocket dictionary. It means “one who organizes, manages and takes the risk for an enterprise.” That’s me!)

Well when it comes to standing in the way of success, Lord knows most of the people I’ve met in my lifetime — especially your daddy — have not showed me the respect due me, so I said, why not?

I’ve been as busy as a banty hen with twenty chicks working on my plan. I decided I should have some experience before I work my way up to a bank so I have been looking at possible places where I could practice and still bring in some money to tide me over till I can hit the big time so to speak.

I’ve narrowed it down to either an antique store on Western or a convenience store here in Hollywood. The antique store would be easier since the lady is quite old and hard of hearing but it might not pay off too well since she hasn’t had any customers since I’ve been watching. I’ve about decided on the convenience store I guess. When you hear from me next we’ll be well on the road to success.

Your everloving fiance,

Wendell

Friday, April 5

Miss Wanda Huckaby

P.O. Box 17

Crooked Furrow, Arkansas

Dear Wanda,

I had just finished putting the finishing touches on my plan to hold up the convenience store in Hollywood and was congratulating myself on a job well done when your letter arrived. I only read it once because frankly, Wanda, your negative thoughts about my new career were upsetting. I had to put them firmly out of my mind or I would have lost confidence in my goal.

My plan is now complete and by tomorrow I will be richer in both money and experience. I don’t want to wait too long since there is a lot of competition in a city the size of Los Angeles and some other entrepeneur might decide to hold up my convenience store. (Ha, ha.) I have spent nearly two weeks going through every detail in my mind so my confidence level would be at its peak. (W. Tyler Bedford says confidence is everything.)

I can’t think of a better career for a person of my temperament. Since you know me so well, you’re aware that my intelligence is so much higher than most people, that I have trouble making myself understood to persons who are not my intellectual equals.

Particularly bosses.

So now, I will not only experience new levels of wealth and power, I won’t have to try to explain complicated concepts to those incapable of grasping them.

I guess you can tell I’m excited.

I’m anxious to get to banks but W. Tyler Bedford says, “We must first take baby steps before we can stride toward our destiny in seven league boots,” so I’ll start small with a small store.

Here’s how careful I’ve been. First I laid out a pattern of careful surveillance; to get the lay of the land so to speak. I took the precaution of limiting myself to four visits and I wore different outfits every time so they wouldn’t remember me.

Most of the disguises were stuff I already had in my closet, like the heavy snow boots and the black sweatsuit and the Cardinal baseball cap, but I went to Goodwill to buy the purple slacks and the blue sport coat with the large white checks. You see if you’re wearing something a little out of the ordinary they never notice your face. All they remember is the clothes.

Since the convenience store closes at eleven, I thought at first that the best time to hit the place was just at closing, but my surveillance showed there are usually a flock of last minute customers and I certainly don’t want a crowd of people standing around watching while I empty the cash register. I discovered there is usually a lull around 10:15 to 10:30 so my new plan calls for me to go in precisely at 10:22 and be out by 10:26. At the latest. I figured it can’t possibly take more than four minutes to stuff all the money from the register in a paper sack.

Did I tell you I bought a gun? I hated to spend our savings, but in a way I guess you could call it an investment in our future. Besides it has a broken firing pin and the man at the pawnshop said it wasn’t hardly worth fixing so he sold it to me for nine dollars. I told him it was for a costume party (ha ha) and I didn’t intend to shoot it anyway.

I’ve heard that some people who do this sort of thing like to steal a car rather than use their own, but I never quite understood how you start those things without a key. I decided it would be OK to use the Edsel if I park around on the dark side of the store where no one will notice the Arkansas plates.

Well, it’s past nine so I better get into my sweatsuit and sneakers which the man at the convenience store has never seen. I’ll mail this on the way to “the job” and by the time you hear from me next I’ll be well on my way to the big time. I expect the preacher will be tying the knot for us before the summer’s over. Until then I remain,

Your everloving,

Wendell

Wednesday, April 17

Miss Wanda Huckaby

P.O. Box 17

Crooked Furrow, Arkansas

Dear Wanda,

It is getting harder and harder to focus my energies on the task of learning my new career when I get the kind of letter I got from you yesterday. I wasn’t in a good mood anyway because my experience with the convenience store did not turn out in a completely positive way. But more about that later.

I’ll just say I was somewhat downhearted and fighting to remember the principles of positive thinking I had learned from W. Tyler Bedford when your letter arrived. Boy! Talk about discouraging.

I know that at this time I am not in a position to forbid you to see other fellows, but I did think we had an understanding, Wanda, and I want to know what’s going on between you and Seymour Swanson. Just because he’s the only one in the county with a new Chevy convertible doesn’t make him right for you. If my daddy owned the John-Deere agency, I’d be driving a Buick or a Pontiac. I hope you’ll come to your senses and see how sad you’ll be when I become a big success and you’re tied down to a no chin loser like Seymour.

Well I might as well tell you about my practice venture. Things didn’t go quite like I planned. In fact, nothing went right. It started to go all funny as soon as I got there.

I wanted to be facing out so I could make a fast getaway, so I backed the Edsel in at the side of the building like I planned. I swear I never saw that trash dumpster but it was pretty dark back there. Then that creepy old night clerk came running out with his flashlight to see if his precious dumpster was OK. As if he owned it for crying out loud.

I was going to call it quits then and there but I remembered what W. Tyler Bedford said about quitters and winners so I decided to go ahead anyway. I don’t think that old man got a good look at my car since he was making such a fuss over the dumpster.

I was already behind schedule by now and as luck would have it, right after we went inside, some bikers came piling in looking to buy beer. They couldn’t just get a couple six packs like normal people though. Oh no. They had to have a case. And it had to be cold so the old guy had to go hobbling into the back to fetch it out for them. I went over by the magazines and pretended to read a comic book so no one would notice me. But when they counted out their money, those bikers came up short, and the one with the swastika earring and the red bandanna around his head came over and tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, buddy. We need thirty-eight more cents to buy the beer. You wouldn’t mind helping us out, would you?”

Well now normally I’d have told him where he could go and what he could do but I didn’t think I should call attention to myself just then. Particularly if the guy got smart and I had to deck him. Besides he did outweigh me by seventy or eighty pounds and if he got in a lucky punch, they might have discovered the gun and wrecked my plan.

“Thirty-eight cents?” I unzipped the little pouch I had strapped around my waist since the sweatsuit I was wearing didn’t have any pockets. I told him, “I don’t think I have any pennies,” and gave him a dollar just to get rid of him.

By the time they finally went roaring off, it was past ten-thirty and I was beginning to worry about the last minute rush.

I stood at the magazine rack trying to decide whether or not to call off the holdup because by now my time schedule was all messed up. But just when I was focusing all my mental powers on an alternate plan — like leaving — the fool clerk said, “You gonna buy that thing? This isn’t the public library you know.”

Well, Wanda, that upset me so much I decided I had to teach him a few things about manners. I tossed the comic book back at the rack and let it slide down onto the floor to show him he didn’t realize who he was fooling with. I wheeled toward the counter, reaching for the gun which I’d stuck in the waistband of the sweat pants. It was just rotten luck that the hammer got stuck in the drawstring and when I tried to use both hands to free it, the damn gun slid down my pants leg. It was lucky I’d decided to wear the running outfit instead of the dark blue suit, or it would have slid right out on the floor. As it was, the gun stopped when it hit the elastic down by my ankle.

There was that split second when I was trying to decide whether to untie the drawstring and reach all the way down inside the pants leg to retrieve the revolver or try to work it out past the elastic at the bottom when I looked up and saw the guy smirking at me past that little Hitler mustache.

He looked me up and down and said, “How come you’re not wearing your flashy sport coat tonight, Mr. Knopp?” He pronounced it Ka-nopp. I wanted to yell at him that the “K” was silent, but then it hit me that he’d called me by name.

Well you could have knocked me over with a feather. I just stood there wondering how he could possibly have known my name and all of a sudden it came to me. The day I wore the sport coat and the purplish slacks, I’d wanted to act like the kind of sophisticated guy that would dress like that, so I’d bought a whole gallon jug of Gallo Chenin Blanc and being a little short of cash, I’d paid for it with the Master Charge card I sent for when I worked at the Feed Store.

Boy! Talk about feeling dumb!

But I didn’t panic. Obviously he hadn’t seen the gun but I realized that if I went ahead with my plan to hold up the store, there was a good chance he could identify me later, so I just gave him a look that stopped him cold and said, “I don’t believe my social life is any of your concern and I think I’ve been kept waiting just about long enough. If you’re not too busy, maybe you can tell me how much I owe.”

“Owe for what? You haven’t bought anything yet.”

I’ll admit I was just a little rattled but I don’t think he noticed. I just glanced around nonchalantly and said, “Oh, I must have dropped my periodical. Yes. There it is on the floor.”

I’m sure he wasn’t aware that the reason I walked so stiffly was due to the fact that the gun was banging me on the ankle with every step.

I picked up the comic book, returned to the counter and said with cool presence, “How much is this?”

He leaned his elbows on the counter and grinned at me like a big baboon. “A little light reading tonight? I’d have figured you for something more intellectual like the National Enquirer.”

Well it’s been my experience that the best way to treat people who don’t know their place, is to just speak to them firmly in a dignified manner so they understand what’s what. I ignored his petty outburst and repeated my question. “I believe I asked you how much my magazine is. I don’t have all night.” Quiet but forceful.

The man shook his balding head. He was looking down his nose as if he thought he was better than me and I decided that when he still had his hair, he probably had looked like Hitler.

He smirked again. “The ‘Captain Marvel’ is a buck twenty-five.”

I reached in my bag and pulled out a dollar bill and then realized it was the last money I had. I’d expected to pick up plenty of cash from him and so I’d given my only other dollar to the fat slob with the Harley. I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t even have enough money for the comic book, but fortunately the old crank gave me an out with his next ill mannered outburst. He said, “With tax, that comes to a dollar thirty-three.”

I drew myself up to my full height — which as you know, Wanda, really isn’t all that high — and told him, “I don’t care for your attitude. I’m surprised you have any customers left at all. I intend to take my business to another establishment.”

I was real pleased with the cool way I had handled a difficult situation, but as I strode defiantly away, the elastic band on the ankle of my sweat suit snapped and the gun began to slither out onto the floor. I squatted down quickly to capture it and looked up to see a police officer politely holding the door open for me. All I could do was stuff the revolver back up my pants leg and hold it with both hands as I duck walked out into the parking lot.

It was an awkward moment but I had the cool presence of mind to smile up at the officer as I exited. “Cramp,” I explained.

Boy! When things go wrong!

But you know, Wanda, that I am a person who believes that even negative experiences have value if we can learn what improvements we need to make in future endeavors. I have reviewed this unfortunate incident and have decided that my next venture will have to be planned even more carefully. I must tighten my time schedule and spend even more time in surveillance so I can anticipate and cope with any eventuality.

In spite of your letter, I have regained my confidence and am hard at work planning my next job. I have decided to utilize the experience I have gained and go where the money is. I have decided I’m ready for a bank!

I hope when you read this you will realize what a mistake you would be making to get involved with someone like spindly little Seymour Swanson. I forgive you for calling me a noodle-headed nincompoop and I am confident that when I have succeeded in my next business venture that you will welcome me back with open arms.

Your loving fiance,

Wendell

Monday, May 6

Miss Wanda Huckaby

P.O. Box 17

Crooked Furrow, Arkansas

Dear Wanda,

Your letter was forwarded to me here at the County Jail and all I can say is I hope you know what you’re doing. I suppose I ought to congratulate you and Seymour but you can see why it is hard for me. I only hope you don’t get hurt by that would-be playboy. However I think you should know, Wanda, that two can play at that game. You’re not the only one who is attractive to persons of the opposite sexual persuasion. But more about that later.

I suppose you have guessed by now that the bank job didn’t go so well. It seemed like there was a period of time when every little thing just went wrong. And that includes your getting engaged to Seymour just when I was hoping you could get your daddy to cough up a few hundred dollars for bail money. There was a spell there when I almost lost my positive attitude.

But I must not blame myself. The plan was good and should have worked. I will tell you about it so you will agree that it wasn’t my fault and you will not think of me as some kind of a dumbbell.

Robbing a bank requires the highest degree of intelligence and discipline — qualities I am proud to say I possess to an unusual degree. There is no comparison between a bank and a convenience store so I had to develop a more sophisticated approach.

I discarded my early crude attempts at disguise and assembled costumes more appropriate to a bank. My personal favorite was the wealthy oilman outfit with the red string tie, although I never did get completely comfortable walking in high heel boots. A white Stetson would have been nice but Goodwill didn’t have one so I used a snapbrim hat pulled down in front like Howard Hughes used to wear.

I also rented an Arab sheik costume from a little theater place and they showed me how to apply makeup to darken my skin and cover the freckles.

Of course this was just for close up surveillance and evaluation of bank personnel. Since I was working alone, I had to interview all the tellers and find the weakest link in the chain. On my fourth visit to get change for a twenty, (no more credit cards for me, Wanda) I noticed an employee who didn’t look like she’d give me any trouble. According to her name plate, her name was Winifred and she seemed perfect.

Winifred was small and shy. She couldn’t look me in the eye and so I was sure she wouldn’t remember me even though I was wearing my tool belt and my hard hat. I tested her for cooperation by saying, “I’d like change for this twenty, please.”

Right off she looked at me shyly and said, “How would you like that, sir?” so I knew she wouldn’t panic when the big moment came. There was usually a big rush at noon and then a kind of lull, so I planned to walk up to her window at precisely 1:38 p.m. Unless there was a line.

Now Wanda I knew there was a guard with a gun but he was pretty old and I didn’t figure he’d shoot me unless he thought I was going to shoot him, so I thought I’d leave the gun in my pocket where he wouldn’t see it and just hand Winifred a note. I had worked hard on the note to get just the right feeling. I wanted her to mind me but I didn’t want her so scared she’d faint or something. The note I handed her said:

Dear Miss Winifred,

Please put all your money in a paper bag and give it to me. Do not yell or faint or push any buttons because I do not wish to harm you. But I have a gun hid under my coat and I will use it if you force me to.

Winifred read my note and blushed. She looked up at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “How would you like that, sir?”

When she saw my expression she laughed and leaned over to whisper, “That’s just a little joke. Like what I said to you last week when you came in to change a twenty.”

Well I don’t mind telling you I was flabbergasted. That girl had seen through my disguise, and even though I now had on my best Montgomery Ward suit and a hand painted tie, she recognized me right off. I was ready to pretend I was just joking and forget the whole thing but before I could say anything, Winifred leaned over and whispered, “Where’s your paper sack?”

I said, “I thought you’d have one.”

“No,” she said, “we don’t usually keep them back here.”

She turned to the next teller and said, “Lucy, do you happen to have a paper sack back there?”

Lucy glanced over and said, “No, I had a McDonald’s sack at lunchtime but I threw it away in the employee’s lounge. Do you want me to go get it?”

Well I was beginning to feel very conspicuous and I was trying to look confident like W. Tyler Bedford preached but I could feel the blood climbing up into my face. I didn’t know just what to do. Winifred was being so helpful I didn’t want to just turn and run so I just stood there.

Winifred said, “See if any of the other tellers have a paper sack, would you?” so Lucy turned and yelled out, “Has anyone got a paper sack?”

Well naturally everyone turned to look and I could have just died. One of the tellers called out, “What do you want it for, Lucy?”

Lucy says, “It’s not for me. Winifred needs one.”

Another girl hollers down, “How big a one do you need, Winnie? Is this one big enough?” And she holds up this little bitty sack that wouldn’t hardly hold a penny’s worth of candy, and Winifred called back, “No, I’m going to need something bigger.”

Then the little old lady in the next line speaks up. “I guess I could lend you the knitting bag I brought my deposit in, Dear, but I’d need it back before tomorrow. Can you get it back to me?”

Winifred smiles sweetly and says, “Why that’s very generous of you, Mrs. Weisman, but I think my customer wants something he can keep.”

Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned around and there’s the old guard. “I don’t have a paper sack but if you want to wrap something up, you can use my newspaper.”

“Maybe I’ll just come back tomorrow,” I mumbled, and started to leave, but Winifred reached out and touched my arm. There was a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “Wait right here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

I wanted to just walk out, Wanda, but by then everyone was being so friendly it would have seemed rude. The guard was gabbing away a mile a minute but I was too preoccupied to hear a word he was saying. Mrs. Weisman was advising me to get a nice knitting bag and the girl down at the end of the teller line kept asking, “How big a bag do you need?”

Just then the bank manager came waddling up following his paunch. He put on a smile you could pour in a crankcase and shoved out his hand. “My name is Frank Nelson. I’m the manager here and I take it you’re making a sizable withdrawal.”

I could tell by the way he was looking at the mustard I’d spilled on my tie that he didn’t think much of my outfit. All I could do was try to bluff it out. “Why yes sir. I was hoping to take out quite a lot.”

“Well that’s fine. Just fine,” Frank said. His eyes were like copper beebees floating in buttermilk. “I usually try to supervise all large transactions. Just how much were you planning to withdraw?”

Before I could think of a good answer, Winifred came back smoothing the wrinkles out of a white sack with golden arches on it. She stopped when she saw Frank. “Oh, Mr. Nelson,” she said, “I was just getting this gentleman a sack.”

“Of course, Miss Winters. And while you’re doing that, may I see his withdrawal slip?”

I could see Winifred fingering my note so I knew it was time to take firm and decisive action. I reached under my coat and pulled out the revolver with the broken firing pin and wheeled on the old guard. “All right! Take that gun out slowly,” I said, “and lay it right there on the floor.”

Mr. Carruthers — that was the name on his name tag — looked like he was about to cry but he did what I said while I made Frank Nelson hold up his hands. “Now, Miss Winifred, you just take all that money and stuff it in that sack, and don’t nobody try to stop me.”

Winifred’s eyes were glistening with excitement as she filled the sack from her drawer. “Do you want the loose change, too?” she asked.

“No, just hand over what you’ve got there, and everybody step back.”

I was keeping an eye on old Frank and the guard as I turned toward the door and then Whammo! And Wanda, that’s all I remember.

When I came to, I was lying on the floor with my hands cuffed behind me and a headache as big as Pine Bluff. The cops stuffed me into a patrol car when they seen I was awake and took me down and booked me for armed robbery. I tried to tell them the gun wouldn’t work even if it had bullets but they said in California it don’t matter anyway.

I’ve been here nearly two weeks but Winifred has been to see me almost every day. She keeps bringing me cigarettes even though I don’t smoke. She says they’ll help me make new friends.

Oh, oh! I hear them coming with the leg irons and handcuffs. My hearing is this morning and I’ll have to finish this later.

Tuesday, May 7

Well, Wanda, I’m back. I am finishing this letter from my old room at the YMCA. My trial was an embarrassing experience and it was almost enough to make me want to turn to a different line of work.

All the people from the bank were there and they testified to my disguises as an Arab sheik, and a wealthy oilman, a construction worker, and a Hell’s Angel biker, and the judge kept getting all red in the face trying not to laugh. I was really surprised that they remembered me in the biker rig. I think an earring might have made the difference, but at the time I thought I might be going home to Crooked Furrow some day and I knew I dasn’t show up with my ears pierced or I’d get laughed right out of town.

When they told the part about Mrs. Weisman hitting me over the head with her knitting bag full of wrapped coins, the judge let out a snort like a razorback hog and got all red in the face. Of course everyone else was whooping and cackling so that gave him an excuse to pound on the desk with his little mallet and warn folks they should act respectful in a court of law.

About then the Public Defender pointed out the gun didn’t really work and that I had no criminal record, and he claimed I was driven to my deed by the cruel society that prevented me from getting a job I so desperately wanted and needed.

The judge said anyone could see I was not a very professional criminal and asked me if I’d promise not to hold up any more banks if he gave me probation. Of course I gave my word and that’s how come I’m out.

Winifred drove me home and then stayed and talked almost all night. I told her all about W. Tyler Bedford and she agrees with I and him one-hundred percent. She says she can see I have the ability to reach any goal and that all I need is encouragement. Then we talked about you and me, and about you and Seymour Swanson. Winifred says not to be sad about losing you because she feels I’m too big for a town the size of Crooked Furrow anyway.

She told me not to be downhearted because things didn’t go well at the bank. She says I have a talent for making big money but I just need someone to help me fine tune the planning. She has volunteered to help me.

I reminded her that I had promised the judge not to hold up no more banks, and Winifred said, “Oh, pooh. He probably didn’t mean it and besides banks have cameras.” Winifred says if we want to get ahead fast, we should hold up a money cashing store. According to her, they have twice as much money as banks since most of them have started laundering drug money. Winifred already has a .38 that really shoots but she says it’s probably best if I get another gun that don’t work.

So I guess this is good-bye, Wanda. I don’t like to rub it in, but you had your chance and now you’ll have to live with your choice. I won’t say we’ll never see each other again. You never can tell what might happen. If you look up someday and see a Rolls Royce driving through Crooked Furrow, run up and look in the window. It will probably be,

Your ex-fiance,

Wendell