Trouble in Paradise

Forty-Nine

“You got a safe-deposit box?” Macklin said.

The man was in designer sweat clothes that appeared as if they’d never been sweaty. His wife had on a tennis outfit, and she was standing rigidly still because Crow had the muzzle of the shotgun pushed up into the soft tissue under her chin. On the floor was a canvas duffel bag into which Macklin had dumped the cash and jewelry he had found.

“I...”

“You lie to me and your wife’s brains will be decorating the ceiling,” Macklin said.

He held his handgun casually in front of him, aimed more or less at the man’s navel. The gun was cocked.

“I have one.”

The man had iron-gray hair and a strong profile. He was the semi-retired CEO of something, and he was struggling to be brave and not succeeding. You can be brave, Macklin thought, with a gun in your face, though it’s easier when there’s no gun. But there’s still nothing to do but what you’re told.

“Paradise Bank?” Macklin said.

“Yes.”

“Stiles Island branch?”

“Yes.”

“Get the key.”

The man hesitated. Macklin raised the handgun and placed the muzzle a half inch from the man’s left eye.

“I’ll count to three. Then your widow gets the key for us... One!”

“It’s in my bureau drawer,” the man said.

His voice wheezed out as if his throat was clogged with dust.

“I’ll go with you,” Macklin said, and he followed the man into the front hall and up the stairs.

“What are you going to do to us?” the woman said, her voice strained, her teeth clenched in parody of an upper-crust accent from the pressure of the shotgun.

“Nothing we don’t have to,” Crow said. “You got a downstairs lav?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s see it,” Crow said and lowered the shotgun.

They walked to the front hall and back toward the kitchen. The woman indicated a door under the stairs next to the kitchen. Crow opened the door. It opened outward. He looked in. It was a big lavatory with a wash basin and makeup mirror and no windows.

Macklin came back down the stairs with the man. He held up the safe deposit key so that Crow could see it.

Crow nodded and jerked his head toward the lavatory.

“Here,” Crow said. “Down this hall.”

Macklin came down the hall and looked at the lavatory.

“Helps that these houses are all the same, don’t it?” Macklin said. “Okay, both of you go into the lav and close the door and stay there.”

The man and woman did as they were told. They’re glad to, Macklin thought. Means we’re not going to kill them. When the door was closed, Crow went to the living room and got the big gym bag. He came back down the hall and took a hammer and some 12D nails from the bag and nailed the lavatory door shut. Then he dropped the hammer back into the bag, put the shotgun in, picked the bag up, and he and Macklin, who was carrying the canvas duffel bag, walked out of the house. On the sidewalk, Macklin looked at his watch.

“Pretty good,” he said. “We’ll have them all by late afternoon.”

“What’s Fran telling people at the bridge?” Crow said. “What’s that sign say?”

Macklin smiled.

“The sign says ‘Caution: Blasting,’” he said. “Any civilians, Fran tells them the island’s closed for a couple hours.”

They walked up the manicured walkway of the next estate. Macklin rang the door bell and deep inside the house some chimes sounded. Macklin grinned at Crow.

“Avon calling,” Macklin said and set his duffel bag down on the step beside him.