Well Now, My Pretty…

SEVEN

FOR THE past three hours the Homicide Squad, under Hess, and the fingerprint experts, under Jeff White, had swarmed over Maisky’s bungalow.

Chief of Police Terrell, back at headquarters, was waiting impatiently for their reports.

When Sam Wand had recovered consciousness, he had staggered to the police car and triggered off the alarm. Patrolmen at the Miami-Paradise road block had arrested Lolita and had taken her to headquarters. She was now in a cell, waiting to be questioned.

Around midnight, Hess walked into Terrell’s office, his fat face shiny with sweat, his eyes dark ringed.

“Well, Fred? What’s the news?” Terrell asked as he poured coffee into two paper cups and gave Hess one. The fat detective slumped down on a chair.

“Looks like there’s only one left,” he said, paused to gulp some coffee, then went on, “No. S. But there’s no sign of the money. O’Connor’s dead. Collon has a smashed shoulder, but he’ll survive. Here’s as far as we’ve got: the bungalow was rented by Franklin Ludovick on May 2nd last year. He’s been living there up to now. He must be our No. 5. The bungalow hasn’t been properly cleaned for some time and Jeff has a whale of a lot of prints. He has wired them to Washington. We expect to hear any time now. I’ve talked to the Agent who rented the bungalow. His description of Ludovick matches the description given us by the Lab boys: sixty-five, small, frail, sandy hair, beaky nose and grey eyes. He owns an old Buick, but the Agent can’t remember its colour nor its licence number. He has pulled out. Nothing belonging to him remains in the bungalow. Looks now as if he did rat on the others. Where he is is problematic. We do know he hasn’t passed the road blocks.”

“All right, Fred. It’s a good start,” Terrell said. “Nothing yet on the truck?”

“Not so far… oh, yes, we’ve found the T.R.4. It was hidden in the sand dunes, about a mile from the bungalow.”

“No sign yet of Perry?”

“It’s my bet he’s dead. The car is soaked in blood. No man could bleed like that and survive. They’ve probably buried him some place.”

“Well, we are making progress.” Terrell finished his coffee. “Now, we have to find No. 5.”

Jacoby came in.

“Excuse me, Chief, a signal from Washington just come in.”

Terrell read the signal, then looked at Hess.

“Here’s our man: Serge Maisky. He spent ten years at Roxburgh jail as a dispenser. He retired April last. They’re sending a photo.” He laid the signal on the desk. “He’s here somewhere, so we take the City to pieces. . Where he is, the money will be. Get it organised, Fred. Put on every available man. He shouldn’t be all that difficult to turn up.”

Hess got wearily to his feet.

“Could be famous last words, Chief. But I’ll get it organised,” and he left the office.

Terrell reached for the telephone. He told the police matron to have Lolita brought to his office, but he didn’t get anywhere with her. She sat, stunned, white faced and silent, not answering his questions, but rocking herself to and fro in her misery. Jess Chandler had been the only man she had ever loved. His death had left her no hope in life. Finally, shrugging, Terrell sent her back to her cell.

Tom Whiteside opened his eyes and blinked up at the sky that showed blue through the canopy of trees. He looked at his wristwatch. The time was twenty after seven. He looked over at Sheila. She was asleep. For a girl who claimed she could never sleep, he thought sourly, she didn’t do so badly.

He crawled out of his sleeping bag and shaved with his cordless razor, then, feeling a little more alive, he went down to the car. He got from the boot the hated gas cooker, and after a fierce struggle, got one of the burners to light. He brewed up coffee while he smoked a cigarette.

Then, carrying two steaming cups of coffee back into the glade, he stirred Sheila with his foot.

“Come on… come on… wake up,” he said irritably. “Here’s some coffee.”

She moved, moaned, then opened her eyes. She looked sleepily up at him.

“Oh… you…”

“Yes… me.” He dumped the cup of coffee by her side and went over to sit on his sleeping bag.

He watched her struggle out of her sleeping bag. She was wearing only bra and sky-blue panties. The sight of her as she stood up and stretched set his blood on fire. But he knew he was working himself up for nothing, and he looked away.

She went behind a bush to relieve herself, then came back, snapping the elastic of her panties.

“This I love,” she said bitterly. “Crouching behind a bush! What a way to live!”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, shut up!” Tom snarled. “Can’t you ever stop complaining?”

She squatted on her sleeping bag and sipped the coffee. After the first sip, she shuddered and threw the rest of the coffee into the shrubs.

“What did you put into it… earth?”

“What’s the matter with it?” Tom demanded, glaring. He had to admit the coffee tasted like hell. Probably he hadn’t waited for the water to boil, but he had made it… at least he had done that.

“The matter with it? Don’t make me laugh!” She reached for her slacks. “What do we do now? I want to get home.”

“Do you imagine you’re the only one?” Tom forced himself to finish his coffee although it made him feel slightly sick. “We’ll have to walk or do you want to wait here?”

“Wait here? Alone? I’m not staying here on my own!”

“Well, okay, then you’ll have to walk.”

“If you imagine I’m going to walk five miles you need your head examined!”

He drew in an exasperated breath.

“Make up your stupid mind! You either stay or you walk! I’m going right now.”

She hesitated. At this moment the rising sun reflected on something close by that glittered. She looked at the glitter, her face puzzled, then she walked over to a high mass of dead branches and peered into the undergrowth.

“Tom! Here’s a car!”

“What are you yapping about now?” Tom said impatiently. He was putting on his windcheater.

“Look… a car!”

Maisky was lying at the mouth of the cave. He could see them now. His shaking hand gripped his .25 automatic. There was a dull, warning pain in his chest. Slowly, carefully, he lifted the gun.

Tom joined Sheila. Pulling aside some of the dead branches, he discovered Maisky’s Buick.

“What’s this doing here?” he said blankly.

Sheila dragged more dead branches away. They both stared at the car, then she said, “See if it will start.”

“We can’t do that. Someone’s hunting or something,” Tom said uneasily.

“See if it will start!” Sheila screamed at him.

Tom groped in his hip pocket and brought out a set of keys. As a G.M. agent, he always carried a master key for all of their cars. He unlocked the car door, slid under the driving wheel, sank the key into the ignition lock, turned it and put his foot down on the gas pedal. The engine fired.

“Well… talk about luck!” Sheila said. “Come on. We’ll borrow this and get home. Then you can get a new pump, come back here and fix our ruin.”

“We can’t do that! We could be arrested for stealing!”

“What a jerk you are! Okay, so the guy has to wait a couple of hours. So what? You can explain. You’re not stealing the car… you’re borrowing it.”

Tom hesitated, but he saw the sense in this. He got out of the Buick and walked down the path, out of the glade, to where his car was parked. He found in the glove compartment a pad of paper and a ball pen. He wrote:

I have broken down so I have had to borrow your car. I’ll be returning in two hours. Excuse me.

Tom Whiteside, 1123, Delpont Avenue, Paradise City.

That should keep him right with the Law, he thought as he fixed the note under his windshield. He hurried back to where Sheila was completing her toilet.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

She regarded him with that exasperated look of contempt that had so often made him squirm.

“Oh, boy! How bright can you be! Are you going to leave all the camping equipment in the car? Suppose some bum comes along and steals it? Are you going to pay for it, Mr. Cheapie?”

Tom hadn’t thought of this and it irritated him.

“Well, okay, okay.” He got into the Buick and started the engine.

Maisky tried to aim his gun at him, but in his weak, shaking hand, the gun barrel danced as if it were alive. He cursed as he lowered the gun. With murderous rage and sick frustration, he watched Tom back the Buick, turn it and then drive out of the glade.

Reaching his car, Tom pulled up. Both he and Sheila transferred all their clothes and the camping equipment on to the back seat of the

Buick. They were then left with the gas cooker which wouldn’t fit into the back of the car.

“Put it in the boot,” Sheila said impatiently. She got in the passenger’s seat of the buick and lit a cigarette.

Tom unlocked the boot and opened it. In the boot was a big cardboard carton with the initials I.B.M. painted in black letters on its side. He wondered vaguely what it contained, but as Sheila called to him to hurry up, for God’s sake, he put the cooker against the carton and slammed down the lid.

He got in the car and drove down the five-mile-long dirt road until they reached the Paradise City highway.

Sheila was relaxed now, her arm on the window frame of the car. This was the first time in months that she had been in a car that didn’t rattle and showed signs of power.

“Why don’t you get a better car?” she asked suddenly. “You work for these jerks. Why can’t they give you something better than our stinking ruin?”

“Just rest your mouth,” Tom said. “If I have anything more from you, I’ll go screwy.”

“Screwy? Who said you aren’t already screwy?”

“Oh, will you shut up!” Tom leaned forward and snapped on the radio. Anything to keep her quiet.

A voice was saying: “… the Casino robbery the night before last. Four of the wanted men are now accounted for, but the fifth, believed to be the ringleader, is still at large. The police are anxious to question Serg Maisky, alias Franklin Ludovick, who they think may help them with their inquiries. The description of the wanted man is as follows: age sixty-five, slimly built, height five foot seven inches, thin, sandy-coloured hair, grey eyes. He is thought to be driving a Buick coupe. The police believe he is in possession of a large cardboard carton with the initials I.B.M. painted on its sides. This carton may contain the two and a half million dollars taken from the Casino. Anyone seeing this man is asked to notify the police immediately. Paradise City 7777.”

The Buick swerved and a driver, overtaking, blasted his horn and cursed Tom as he stormed past.

“What are you doing?” Sheila demanded. “You could have had a smash,” then seeing his white face, she asked sharply, “What’s the matter?”

“Shut up!” Tom snapped, trying to control himself. He slowed the car, feeling cold sweat on his face. Had he heard aright? He thought of the big carton in the boot. He saw, again the initials I.B.M. painted on the box. Two and a half million dollars!

“You look as if you’ve swallowed a bee,” Sheila said, now worried. “What is it?”

He drew in a long, slow breath.

“Turn the radio off!”

She shrugged impatiently and snapped off the radio.

“What’s biting you?”

“I think this car belongs to the Casino robbers,” Tom said, his voice strangled. “The money is in the boot!”

Sheila stiffened, staring at him.

“Have you gone crazy?”

“There’s a carton in the boot with painted on it!”

Her eyes grew round.

“This could explain why the car was hidden,” Tom went on. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“Are you sure about the carton?”

“Of course, I’m sure… do you think I’m blind?”

A feverish excitement took hold of Sheila. She remembered what the announcer had said: This carton may contain the two and a half million dollars taken from the Casino.

“We’ll go straight home and make sure,” she said.

“We’d better go to police headquarters.”

“We are going home!” Her voice now was hard and shrill. “If the money is really in the boot, we’re not handing it over to the police! There’ll be a reward…”

Tom began to protest, then he saw the traffic was slowing down.

“What’s going on?” he said, braking and staring at the long line of cars coming to a halt.

Sheila leaned out of the window.

“There’s a road block ahead. The in-going traffic is being waved through. They are only checking the outgoing traffic.” Tom drew in a long, unsteady breath.

“We’d better tell them.”

“Oh, quiet down! We are going home and we are going to make certain first the money is there!”

Tom was now approaching the road block. He saw Patrol Officer Fred O’Toole waving the in-going cars through. He was friendly with O’Toole. They often played pool together in a down-town bar.

O’Toole grinned at him as he waved him through. “Got a new car, huh?” he called. “Had a good vacation?”

His white face set in a grin, Tom nodded and waved a sweating hand.

“We should have stopped and told him,” he said as they continued on down the highway.

“Haven’t you any guts?” Sheila said impatiently. “They are certain to offer a big reward. This is our chance, at last, to make some real money!”

“Maybe the money isn’t there,” Tom said, but he now began thinking of what the radio announcer had said. Two and a half million dollars! It turned his mouth dry just to think of such a sum.

“The carton’s there, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then. Let’s get home, and don’t drive too fast! We don’t want some traffic cop…”

“Okay, okay, stop shouting at me! I know what I’m doing!”

“I wish you did. You look like a pregnant duck.”

“Oh, shut up!”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. As they reached Delpont Avenue, Tom slowed. They drove down the long, shabby avenue, lined either side with small cabins and bungalows. The time was now half past nine. It was a good time to arrive. The owners of the cabins and bungalows had already left for work, and it was too early for the wives to go out shopping. But as Tom slowed before his bungalow, he saw Harry Dylan, his nosy next-door neighbour, watering his lawn.

“Our luck!” he muttered under his breath.

Sheila got out of the car to open the double gates that led to their garage.

“Hello there, Mrs. Whiteside,” Dylan shouted and turned off the hose. “Nice to see you. Did you have a good vacation? My! You certainly have picked up a sun-tan.”

Harty Dylan was short, fat and balding. He had been a bank clerk and had now retired. He was always trying to get friendly with the Whitesides, who found him a bore, Tom suspected that he was infatuated with Sheila as Dylan seldom had anything to say to him when they ran into each other alone.

“Fine, thanks, Mr. Dylan,” Sheila said and ran to open the garage doors.

“I see you have a new car, Mr. Whiteside. That’s a much better job than your old one. When did you get that?”

Tom nodded to him and drove into the garage.

Dylan walked along the low fence and when he reached the Whitesides’ garage, he leaned over the fence.

“It’s not ours,” Sheila said. “We had a breakdown… we had to borrow this to get back home.”

“A breakdown! That’s tough. Where did you get to?”

“All over.” Seeing Tom was closing the garage doors, she said hurriedly, “Excuse me… we have to unpack,” and she stepped back as Tom closed the second door.

“That guy!” he said angrily.

“Come on. Open up. Let’s look.”

Tom unlocked the boot and lifted the hood. He took out the gas cooker and set it on the floor. Sheila leaned into the boot and caught hold of the carton. She tried to drag it towards her, but found it was too heavy to move. She spun around.

“The money’s in there! I can’t move it!”

Tom began to shake.

“We could get into a load of trouble…”

“Oh, stop it! Help me!”

He joined her, and together they dragged the carton forward. As she began opening it, there came a knocking on the garage door.

They froze, looking at each other. Then feverishly, they shoved the carton back and closed the lid of the boot.

“Who is it?” Sheila asked breathlessly.

They walked slowly to the double doors and opened one of them. Dylan had come around the fence and grinned cheerfully at him.

“I don’t want to disturb you, Mr. Whiteside, but while you were away the gas and electricity men called. I thought it neighbourly to pay the bills. Then there was a guy who said Mrs. Whiteside had ordered some cosmetics. I took in the parcel. Like to settle up now?”

Tom controlled himself with an effort. His smile was a grimace.

“We’ll unpack first… thanks a lot. Suppose I come around when we’ve settled in?”

“Sure and bring your wife. Let’s say in a couple of hours, huh? I’ll open a bottle of Scotch someone gave me… it’s damn fine Scotch if one can judge by its label. Like me to help you unpack? I’m pretty good at carrying things.”

“No, thanks. Okay, Mr. Dylan, in a couple of hours.”

“That’s right. Well, from the look of you, I guess you had a fine vacation. Did I tell you the wife and I are off next week? We’re going to Lake Veronica. Should be some good fishing there. It will make a change. We haven’t had a vacation for a couple of years.”

Tom moved restlessly.

“Hope you have a good time… well, if you’ll excuse me. We want to settle in.”

“Why, sure. So you borrowed that car, huh? Nice one. I’d like to have a Buick.”

“Tom!” Sheila’s voice was shrill. “Will you come and carry this case?”

“There.” Dylan’s smile widened. “You and me talking, and the little woman does all the work.”

Tom stepped back.

“Sure I can’t help?” Dylan asked as the door began to close in his face.

“It’s okay,” Tom said and closed the door. He leaned against it, swearing under his breath. “One of these days, I’ll kill that jerk!”

“Tom!”

He joined her as she opened the carton. The sight of the tightly packed wads of $500 bills made both catch their breath.

“Look at it!” Sheila whispered. “Oh, God! Look at it!”

With a shaking hand, Tom picked up one of the packets of money. Then as if it had bitten him, he dropped it back into the carton.

“We could get twenty years for this! We’d better call the police!”

Sheila took the packet he had dropped. With shaking fingers, she counted the bills.

“There’s ten thousand dollars right here… ten thousand dollars!” She suddenly stiffened, threw the money back into the carton and faced Tom. “You fool! Oh, hell… how did I come to marry such a goddamn dope?”

“What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

“You put our address on our car! That man could find our car and he’ll know we have the money! Oh, God! How stupid can you be?”

“We’re taking the money to the police,” Tom said, speaking slowly and distinctly. “So, okay, let him know we have it… why should we care?”

“We’re not taking the money to the police. Can’t you ever use that thing you call a head? If we turn the money over to the police, they will cash in on the reward! Have you ever had any reason to trust a cop? Come on, Tom, help me get this carton into the house. We’ve got to take this car back fast!”

“Take the car back? What do you mean?”

She turned on him, her eyes blazing and she slapped him heavily across the face, sending him reeling.

“Help me get this money into the house!” she said, her voice low and furious.

Her expression scared him. Muttering, unnerved, he dragged the carton out of the car. Together, they staggered with it into the living-room and dropped it heavily on the worn carpet. Sheila ran to the window and pulled down the blind.

“Come on! We’ll get the pump and drive back. Every minute we waste could put us into worse trouble!”

He caught hold of her arm and jerked her around.

“What are you planning to do? What is all this?”

Her eyes glittering, her face white, she faced him.

“I’m handling this! You’re going to do what I tell you! I’ve lived a year with you and I’ve had enough of your crummy way of life! Two and a half million dollars! We’ve got it! No one knows we have it. Now, listen to me… we’re going to keep it! Do you hear me? We’re going to keep every dollar of it!”

Maisky watched the Buick back out of the hide, turn and then drive down the short track to the dirt road. Two and a half million dollars! Going away from him after all his planning! He felt so bad he thought he was going to die.

He lay on the damp floor of the cave, his face resting on the back of his cold hand. He heard voices, then he heard the Buick drive away.

Who could these two be? He wondered. Why had they taken his car? They looked honest enough. Why had they taken his car?

He made the effort and sat up. They must have come in a car… where was it?

He stared down at the steep path that led from the cave to the glade. Then, moving aside the branches that covered the mouth of the cave, he started down the path, moving slowly, terrified that the pain in his chest might return.

Finally, he reached the glade. He looked around, then continued on down the path to the dirt road. There he saw a dusty Corvette Sting Ray under the trees and a slip of paper under one of the windscreen wipers. He approached the car and slid the paper from under the windscreen wiper.

He read Tom’s message.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the car. So this was the explanation. They had broken down and had borrowed the Buick, but they were coming back! With any luck, they wouldn’t look in the boot. How could they? They hadn’t the key. Then he stiffened. The man had started the car… how had he done it, if he hadn’t the key? That key would also open the boot! Well, maybe they wouldn’t open the boot.

With a shaking hand he copied Whiteside’s address down on the back of an old bill he had found in his pocket. Then he put Tom’s note back under the windscreen wiper.

Well, now all he could do was to hope. They looked honest people. They would return the car, fix their own car and that would be the last he would see of them… with any luck. He hesitated, his cunning mind now very alert. Would they wonder what the car was doing in the glade? Would they report finding it to the police? Maybe he had better leave when they returned the car. But where could he go? He was now feeling weak and breathless again. He longed to lie down and rest. Moving cautiously, he made his way back to the cave.

Patrolman Fred O’Toole looked at his watch. In another ten minutes he would be off duty… and about time too! He had had more than enough of checking this continuous flow of cars leaving the City, and his temper was frayed.

Then he saw a car coming and he groaned to himself. He stepped out into the middle of the outward lane, holding up his hand.

The Buick coupe slowed and Tom Whiteside leaned out of the window. His face was pale under his sun-tan and his grin forced.

“Hi, Fred.”

“Oh, you…” O’Toole looked puzzled. “I thought I saw you going home…” He came to the window and peered in at Tom and Sheila.

“Yeah… I’m now taking this car back,” Tom said.

“Hello, Mr. O’Toole,” Sheila said brightly. She gave him a sexy smile. “Long time no see. How do you like my sun-tan?”

O’Toole had always thought she was the most gorgeous piece of tail he had ever seen. He smiled at her, eyeing her breasts. “You look good enough to eat, Mrs. Whiteside. Had a good time?”

“Did you ever take your wife on a camping vacation, Mr. O’Toole?”

O’Toole laughed.

“I don’t look for trouble.”

“Well, my love of a hubby doesn’t know trouble when he sees it. But it wasn’t all that bad.”

In spite of the small talk, O’Toole didn’t neglect to look the car over. He remembered the wanted car was a Buick coupe and this was a Buick coupe.

“Something new, Tom?” he asked.

“No… my goddam car broke down. I borrowed this. What’s all the commotion about?”

“Commotion? Don’t you read the papers? There’s been a twoand-a-half-million-dollar steal from the Casino. We have the robbers holed up in the City so orders are to check every outgoing car.”

“Is that right?” Sheila thrust her bust in O’Toole’s direction. “Well, what do you know! Two and a half million… wheeee!”

O’Toole regarded her. Whiteside certainly had it good. Imagine getting this frill into bed every night.

“I’ll have to check the car, Tom,” he said, getting back to business.

“Go right ahead.” Tom gave him the ignition key. “I’m just returning this car and then picking up my own ruin.”

O’Toole checked the boot, then gave Tom back the key.

“Who did you borrow this from?”

“Oh, a guy… one of our clients,” Tom said, flicking sweat off his face.

O’Toole leaned into the car and looked at the licence tag. Then he stepped back and wrote in his notebook: Franklin Ludovick, Mon Repose, Sandy Lane, Paradise City.

Tom watched him, feeling sick.

“Okay, go ahead. I’m off duty in five more minutes. Gee! Will I be glad!”

“I bet. Be seeing you,” and Tom engaged gear and drove through the road block.

“Phew!” Sheila sighed softly.

Tom said nothing. He was thinking of the carton loaded with more money than he thought existed now in their sitting-room.

There must be a big reward, he thought. The insurance people would be covering the Casino. But it was a mistake not to go to the police right away. How could he explain the delay? He moved uneasily. He thought of what Sheila had said. She must be crazy! Glancing at her hard, cold face, he felt a prickle of fear. She couldn’t really mean to stick to all that money!

He turned off the highway and began to drive up the dirt road.

“They could be there, waiting for us,” he said suddenly.

“They? There’s only one… he’s over sixty and frail. You heard what was said on the radio,” Sheila said scornfully. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a man like that?”

But Tom was scared.

“This is out of our class. A man like that… he could have a gun.”

“So what? So he has a gun… we have two and a half million dollars! If you can’t handle him, I know I can!”

Tom moved uneasily.

“How you talk! Always the big mouth! I still think we should go to the police.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! We’re not going to the police!”

They came within sight of the Sting Ray. He pulled up and got out of the Buick.

The note he had written was still under the windscreen wiper. He slipped it out and shoved it into his pocket. Well, he thought, beginning to relax, at least here’s luck. This guy didn’t find my car.

Going back to the Buick, he took out the new oil pump he had picked up at the G.M. garage and then set to work to change the dud for the new one.

Sheila walked into the glade and Maisky saw her. He watched her as she wandered around. In spite of his anxiety, his elderly lust was aroused. He eyed her heavy breasts and the slow roll of her buttocks as she walked.

This, he thought, could be one hell of a lay.

He was sorry when she went down the path on to the dirt road and he lost sight of her. He heard them talking, then a car started up. With a grinding roar and a rattle, the car moved off.

Maisky steeled himself, then walked down the path to the Buick. His hand was shaking as he unlocked the boot. He lifted the lid and then stood motionless. In a frenzy of sudden rage, he spat into the empty boot.

They had found and taken the carton!

Tom drove his car into the garage and cut the engine. Sheila slid out of the car and shut the garage doors. They walked quickly through the kitchen and then into the sitting-room. They stood looking at the carton, then Sheila lifted the lid.

“I never thought I would live to see so much money,” she said huskily. Squatting down on her heels, she picked up one of the packets and pressed it to her breasts. “Two and a half million dollars… it’s a dream!”

Tom dropped into a lounging chair. He felt shaky and scared. “We can’t keep it. We must tell the police.”

She dropped the packet of money back into the carton.

“We are going to keep it… all of it.” Going to the cocktail cabinet, *she poured two big whiskies and gave him one. “Here…”

Tom swallowed the drink at a gulp. The spirit immediately hit him. He felt suddenly fine and a little reckless.

“No one knows we have it,” Sheila said, sitting down and sipping her drink. “We must now use our heads. This is a gift… make up your mind about it. We are going to keep it.”

Tom felt the whisky move through him.

“Okay… so suppose we are crazy enough to keep it? We can’t spend it. Everyone knows in this goddam town that we never have any money. So what do we do with it?”

She looked thoughtfully at him, thinking this was a step in the right direction. At least he was becoming co-operative.

“We wait. In a few months’ time it will be safe to move it out of here. They can’t keep the road blocks going for ever. When things cool down, we’ll blow.”

Tom ran sweating fingers through his hair.

“So? What the hell do we do with this right now? Leave it here?”

“No… we’ll bury it. That patch of ground under the kitchen window… we’ll bury it there.”

He stared at her, worried. She seemed to have an answer for everything.

“You realise we could go to jail for twenty years?”

“You realise we now own two and a half million dollars?”

Tom got to his feet. She was too strong for him. Maybe she could steer this thing right. He knew he was doing wrong, but even against his pricking conscience, the thought of owning all this money was too much for him.

“Okay. This is your funeral. I’ve got to go. Look at the time. I’m late already. What are we going to do with this box right now?”

Sheila hesitated, then said, “Let’s put it in the spare bedroom. We can cover it with the eiderdown.”

“If we are going to go through with this, you will be chained to this house. You can’t go out. You realise this?”

“Do you think that’s so rough? Keeping watch over this kind of money isn’t a hardship.”

“It could go on for months.”

“So, okay. I’ll stay right here for months.”

He hesitated, then gave up.

“I still think we’re playing this wrong. We should tell the police.”

“I told you… I’m handling this. We don’t tell the police.”

He stared at her, then raised his hands helplessly. He knew he was being weak… stupid… but all this money…

“Well, all right.”

“Let’s get it in the bedroom.”

They dragged the carton into their bedroom and pushed it against the wall. Sheila took the eiderdown off the bed and draped it over the carton.

“You get off. You’d better bring something in for supper.” Tom felt a sudden overpowering desire for her.

“If we are going through with this together,” he said, his voice shaking and husky, “then we’d better go the whole way.”

She recognised the despairing desire in his eyes and she once again recognised her complete power over him.

“Oh, well… if you must.”

She slid down her slacks and stripped off her panties. Then she dropped back flat across the bed. When he thrust into her with desperate urgency, she clutched hold of him, making a response to please and control him. As he shuddered, clinging to her, she stared up at the fly-blown ceiling, so bored with him she could scream.

When he had gone, she took a shower. Then walking, naked, into the bedroom, she took the eiderdown off the carton and squatting on her heels, she spent a long time fondling the money.

Here, she thought, was power… the key to unlock the door that would lead into the world she had always dreamed about. Her first buy would be a mink coat, then a diamond necklace, and then every other jewel that caught her eye. She thought of a six-bedroom house with a bathroom to every bedroom, a vast lounge, a big garden, immaculately kept by Chinese labour. Then a maroon-coloured Bentley car and a Japanese chauffeur in a maroon-coloured uniform. There would be a motor-boat, of course: possibly a yacht. She wasn’t sure about this as she had never been on the sea. She had it all planned: it was a dream she had had ever since she could remember. Well, now it was within reach.

She stood up, running her long fingers over her body, lifting her breasts, and sighing. Then she began to dress.

Somewhere along the line, Tom would have to go. He didn’t fit in the picture. He was too small-time… too narrow… too scared. She had in mind a dark, tall, well-built man who would know how to handle money, who would have the respect of head waiters, and who would know how to take care of a girl. Yes, some time in the future, she must lose Tom, but the time hadn’t come yet.

Unable to resist the temptation, she took three five-hundreddollar bills from the carton, then she closed the lid and replaced the eiderdown. She slid the folded bills down the top of one of her stockings. It was exciting to feel so much money pressing against her skin.

She went to her wardrobe and regarded the contents with contempt. God! What a collection of ghastly rags! She put on a pleated grey skirt and a cream-coloured sweater.

Having done her face and hair, she walked into the sitting-room. She looked at her cheap wristwatch. It was a few minutes after eleven-thirty. Tom wouldn’t be back until six. Usually, she went out, but now she found herself chained to the bungalow. There was nothing to read in the house. She frowned, suddenly realising that from now on until they left the bungalow for good she would be a prisoner here. With all that money to spend… what a waste of time!

She felt hungry and realised there was nothing to eat in the house. She hesitated, then getting up she called the Sandwich Bar at the end of the street. She ordered two chicken sandwiches and a bottle of milk. The man said he would send her order over right away.

She turned on the TV set, but at this hour the programme was so dull, she immediately turned it off. A boy arrived a quarter of an hour later with the food. She paid him, noting she had only three dollars and a few cents in her purse.

She ate the sandwiches while moving around the lounge. She was restless and kept thinking of all that money in the bedroom. She kept thinking what a waste of time it was to have to wait when she could now start a spending spree.

As she finished the last of the sandwiches, the front-door bell rang. The sound made her jump and she stood motionless, her heart hammering. Then, when the bell rang again, she went to the front door.

Harry Dylan was standing on the doorstep.

“I guess you forgot our little date,” he said and waved a bottle of Old Roses at her. “The wife’s gone shopping. I thought I’d look in.”

She eyed him, hesitated, then decided he was better than boredom.

“Well… come in.”

“Mr. Whiteside’s gone to work, hasn’t he?” Dylan was eyeing her figure. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips.

“Yes… he’s gone to work.”

She led the way into the sitting-room.

“Here are the receipts and the parcel.”

She looked at the electricity and gas bills and tossed them on the table.

“My husband will settle with these.” She stared at Dylan. “He never leaves me any money.”

“I guess most husbands are like that,” Dylan said and laughed nervously. He couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. “Well, how about a drink, Mrs. Whiteside?”

“Why not?”

She got glasses, charge water and ice. All the time she moved around, she was aware of his eyes on her body. Well, let him look, the poor dumb fish, she thought. It’s not costing me anything.

“You heard about the Casino robbery?” he asked, measuring out two big drinks. “Quite something. Two and a half million dollars! It’s my bet they will never see that again!”

She sat down, deliberately careless with her skirt. She let him see the colour of her panties before she adjusted her skirt. He slopped some of the drink.

“Yes, I heard about it on the radio. What would you do with all that money, Mr. Dylan?”

“I wouldn’t know… honestly. They say one man’s got it now. I’ve worked in a bank for years, Mrs. Whiteside. I do know something about the value of money. Let me tell you… that’s too much money. The average person wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

She had to make an effort not to show her contempt. “Oh, I don’t know. Money goes fast.”

“But not as much money as that. It would be an embarrassment. And besides, it is all in $500 bills. Now, a bill that size creates suspicion. When I was at the bank and someone wanted to change a $500 bill, I always checked. Just imagine being landed with all those bills.”

Sheila stared thoughtfully at her glass. She hadn’t thought of this.

“Surely people do have $500 bills?”

“Of course, but not many of them. And the banks will now be watching for them.” They sipped their drinks while his eyes ran over her legs. “So you had a good vacation?”

She didn’t hear him. She was thinking… wondering whether a fat old fool like him knew what he was talking about. He probably didn’t. After all, the rich gamblers at the Casino used $500 bills as she used lipstick.

“Mrs. Whiteside… you’re day dreaming,” Dylan said and laughed. “So far away… did you have a good vacation? Did you really enjoy it?”

Oh, God! Not that again! She was suddenly utterly bored with him. She had hoped maybe he would help pass the time, but his obvious lust, his peeping eyes and his fat, sweating face now sickened her.

“Yes… fine.” She finished her drink and stood up. “Well… sorry to push you out, but I have unpacking to do. Tom will settle up some time this evening. Thanks for the drink.”

She got rid of him before he realised he was being bustled out. She watched him through the window as he walked away, looking lonely and depressed.

She grimaced.

Men! she thought.