Well Now, My Pretty…

EIGHT

AT TWENTY minutes past midnight, Tom, who had been looking at his watch continuously for the past half hour, stood up.

’We can do it now,” he said. “I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Better go out and see if any lights are showing,” Sheila said, but she too was anxious to get the money buried.

“I know… I know… you don’t have to tell me!”

Tom went into the kitchen, turned off the light, opened the back door and walked into the garden.

It was a hot night, and there was a big moon like a dead man’s face, casting a hard white light over the garden. He walked slowly down the garden path until he came to the bottom fence, then he turned and looked at the bungalows either side of his. They were all in darkness. He then hurried back as Sheila joined him.

“All right?”

“Yes… I’ll get the spade. You go down to the fence and watch.”

She nodded and moved past him.

The digging was harder than he imagined. They had left the flower bed empty, not bothering to plant it up, and the ground had turned hard.

Sheila kept coming up the path, asking if he wasn’t finished, for God’s sake. He snarled at her. Both of them were jumpy and their nerves were frayed.

Finally, he stepped out of the hole and peered down at it. It should be deep enough, he thought.

Seeing him get out of the hole, Sheila joined him.

“An hour and a half to dig a little hole!” she said scornfully. “What kind of man are you?”

“Oh, shut up!” Tom snapped. “The ground’s like concrete. Come on… let’s get the box.”

They went into the bedroom where the carton was already wrapped in a big plastic sheet Tom had found in the loft. It was roped and ready to be buried. They dragged it out and dropped it into the hole.

“Go back and watch!” Tom said as he picked up the spade. Twenty minutes later, they were back in their sitting-room. Tom poured himself a big shot of whisky. He was dirty, sweating and very jumpy.

“We’re crazy to do this,” he said, after a gulp at the whisky. “We’ll never spend all that money! Why can’t we settle for the reward?”

“So, okay, we’re crazy,” Sheila said. “Take a shower and go to bed. I’m sick of the sight of you!”

“Suppose someone digs it up while we sleep?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but suppose…”

“So okay, you want to sit up all night? Then go ahead.” He looked at her, exasperated.

“Some dog could…”

“Oh, quiet down!” She went into the bedroom and began to undress.

Tom hesitated, then he walked uneasily into the bedroom. After a hot shower, he felt more relaxed. As he came back into the bedroom, a quick, furtive move by Sheila arrested his attention.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing.”

“You were hiding something.”

“Oh, be your age! I…”

He studied her, then walked over to her. She eyed him, tense, her eyes glittering. She was wearing a shortie nightdress that came well above her knees. He could see the pink of her nipples through the thin stuff.

As he reached to open the drawer of the chest by the bed, she slapped his hand away.

“Be your age, Tom!”

“Did you take any of the money?”

“No!”

“You’re lying!” He gave her a hard shove that sent her flat on her back across the bed. Then he jerked open the drawer. But there was no money there.

She lay looking up at him, a sneering little smile on her lips, her shortie riding up way above her white thighs.

“Satisfied, caveman?”

He stood over her. His anxiety neutralised his sexual feelings.

“I don’t trust you! You are money crazy! If you spend just one of those bills, we are cooked! Do you understand? Can you get this fact into your greedy mind? We don’t touch any of that money until we are out of this State… can you understand?”

She sat up, holding the three $500 bills concealed in her right hand.

“You don’t have to shout at me!”

“I’m telling you because you are greedy, stupid and bad. If we spend one of those bills… we’re cooked!”

“I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time. What are you getting so worked up about? I haven’t touched the money! Get into bed and stop acting like a B movie star.”

She walked across the room into the bathroom, deliberately waving her hips at him. She kicked the door shut, then paused, listened and looked at the three crumpled bills in her hand. That had been a little close, she thought. If he had found them, he would have taken them from her. She hesitated, then hurriedly put the bills in a box of Kleenex which Tom never used. Then, humming under her breath, she took a shower.

Tom stretched out in bed. He thought of all that money outside in the garden. He thought of Sheila. She had been trying to hide something… he was sure of that. She was greedy and stupid enough to want to spend that money at once. He rubbed the side of his face, staring up at the ceiling. He must be mad to let her persuade him to keep the money!

She came into the bedroom and walked around the bed. “I’ll want some money tomorrow,” she said, sliding under the sheet. “I have only three dollars.”

“We’ll have to watch it. I haven’t much to last to the end of the month.”

“Not much… only two and a half million dollars,” and she laughed.

“How many more times do I have to tell you… we don’t spend one dollar of that until we are out of the State!”

“I heard you the first time.”

He snapped off the light. They lay in silence in the dark. Tom began to think how she had looked, lying across the bed with her shortie almost up to her navel. He began to move restlessly.

“Listen, Casanova,” she said out of the darkness. “I recognise the signs. You’ve had your ration for the month. Go to sleep.” She turned over, drawing up her long legs.

Neither of them slept much that night.

The sun coming through the branches that covered the mouth of the cave woke Maisky. He was immediately aware that he was feeling stronger. Suspicious, he lay still, staring up at the damp roof of the cave. Then he slowly sat up. He discovered he was feeling normal again and, startled, he got off the heap of blankets. He walked around the cave, stretching his thin arms.

The attack seemed over. Goddam it! He was actually hungry.

He cooked and enjoyed a breakfast of ham and eggs, washed down with weak coffee, then he shaved and washed in a bucket of water. He then sat on the bed of blankets, resting for twenty minutes, but he still felt perfectly normal. It was a miracle, he thought. The previous night, he thought he was going to die.

Soon his mind began to concentrate on the money. He would have to leave the cave. Those two might just possibly tell the police about the Buick, although he doubted it. They had taken the money so were they likely to alert the police? All the same, it would be risky to remain here and he never took risks.

He wondered where he should go, then he suddenly smiled. He took from his wallet the old bill on which he had written the address: Tom Whiteside, 1123, Delpont Avenue, Paradise City. What better place… where the money was?

He went over to the far end of the cave and squatted down before a shabby suitcase which he opened.

Maisky’s years of associating with criminals had taught him to be always prepared for the unexpected. He had decided, long before the robbery, that there might come a time when he would have to drop out of sight. So he had come prepared. From the suitcase, he took out a thick, white wig, a black coat, black trousers, a black slouch hat and a clergyman’s collar.

Ten minutes later, he was completely transformed. The small, frail, white-haired cleric who stared at his reflection in the hand mirror had no resemblance to Serg Maisky who had planned and executed the Casino robbery. He put on horn-rimmed spectacles, ran his fingers carefully through the false white hair, then put on the hat. He was sure he could walk past any policeman in perfect safety.

Then he packed the suitcase with the various things he would need, making it as light as possible. With a brief look around the cave, he walked slowly down the path and to the Buick.

He drove down the five miles of dirt road, stopped the car, parking it against a hedge. Then, carrying his suitcase, he walked slowly to the highway and to the bus stop.

“Don’t go off without giving me some money,” Sheila said as Tom put on his jacket.

“Come the time when you forget the word money… come the time.” He gave her a five-dollar bill. “Nurse it. We’re short. We could be in trouble at the end of the month.”

“Come the time when we’re not in trouble.”

“I’ve got to get off. You stay right here, Sheila. I’ll bring in supper.”

“I’ll stay.”

When he had gone, she had a second cup of coffee, looked at her watch and grimaced. As it was only twenty minutes past eight, she went back to bed, but she was restless and couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking of the three $500 bills in the Kleenex box._ Finally, she got out of bed and took them from the box. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she examined each of them closely. They looked perfectly ordinary, but, not content with her scrutiny, she went into the sittingroom and found a magnifying glass Tom sometimes used to check small scale maps. Putting on the reading lamp, she went over each note under the glass. They were not marked, she decided. She was absolutely convinced of this… so why not spend them? She remembered what Dylan had said about the banks checking the big bills. Well, okay, she wouldn’t go to a bank. Suppose she put a small bet on a horse and gave the bookie one of the bills? Bookies were used to handling $500 bills. They would give her change.

Pleased with this idea, she put the bills back in the Kleenex box and returned to bed. There was an all-night betting shop downtown. When Tom got back, she would say she had to have a breath of air and then go down there and place a bet.

Around eleven o’clock, having read the newspaper and getting bored with herself, she got up and dressed. She went into the kitchen, opened the window and looked down at the freshly turned soil of the flower bed. Tom had certainly made a mess on the path. It had been too dark for him to see it, but now, in daylight, it looked a real mess. She was wondering if she should go out and sweep up when she heard the front-door bell ring. She stood motionless, alert and tense, then, when the bell rang again, she went to the front door. Her heart sank when she saw Harry Dylan standing there.

“Good morning, Mrs. Whiteside,” he said cheerfully. “My word! Talk about energy! I see you’ve dug up your back bed. When did you do it… last night?”

Sheila kept her face expressionless with an effort although she could have killed this fat, little bore.

“Oh, that… Tom got a sudden bee in his bonnet. Yes… last night. He has too much energy.”

“I was wondering when you were going to dig it up. It’s a nice bed… a good size. I have a box of petunias I can spare. They would do well there.”

“Thanks a lot… but Tom has his own ideas.”

“What’s he planning to put in? Geraniums would do well too.”

“I don’t know and I couldn’t care less,” Sheila snapped. “Excuse me. I have something on the stove,” and she shut the door. She stood for a long moment, then drew in a deep breath. That creep! He never misses a thing, she thought.

She now decided against cleaning up the path. As Dylan had already noticed the digging why should she do a chore Tom could do when he got home?

She looked at her watch. Every time she looked at it, she thought of the gold watch with its circle of diamonds in Ashtons, the jewellers, downtown. She longed for it, and every time she passed the shop, she stopped to stare at it. It was so cute! To think Tom was that mean he wouldn’t give it to her for their anniversary!

She shrugged. It was only half past eleven. The morning seemed endless. She went into the lounge, hesitated before the TV, then, deciding there couldn’t be any programme to hold her attention, she dropped into a chair and lit a cigarette. She was now beginning to feel sorry that she had agreed to stay in the bungalow all day. It was all right for Tom. He was getting around, talking to people. But she was now in prison! But she knew she daren’t go out… suppose someone… but who? She sat up, frowning. The money was buried. Who could possibly come here and dig up the garden? It was a ridiculous thought. She hesitated, then decided she would go out. At least, she could go to the Sandwich Bar and have lunch. That would make a change from sitting in this dreary hole all day. Yes, she would do that.

She went into the bedroom and changed her shoes. As she was getting her coat out of the closet, the front-door bell rang.

If it’s Dylan again, I’ll kill him! she thought and marched angrily down the passage and jerked open the front door. Then she stiffened, startled.

A small, slimly built clergyman stood on the doorstep. He was carrying a shabby suitcase and he looked at her, his grey eyes mild behind the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. His shock of white hair made two big wings under his black hat.

“Mrs. Whiteside?”

“Yeah, but I’m busy,” Sheila said, curtly. “Sorry, we don’t give to the church,” and she began to shut the door.

“I have come about the money, Mrs. Whiteside,” Maisky said gently. “The money you stole.”

Sheila turned to stone. She felt the blood drain out of her face. The shock of his words made such a devastating impact on her, she thought she was going to faint.

He watched her reaction with a cruel little smile.

“I am so sorry to upset you like this.” His cold, snake’s eyes moved over her body. “May I come in?” He moved forward, riding her back down the passage. He closed and locked the front door.

Sheila pulled herself together.

“Get out or I’ll call the police!” she said huskily.

“That would be a pity, Mrs. Whiteside. Then neither of us would have the money. After all, there is enough for us to share… two and a half million dollars. Is this your living-room?” He peered into the room, then entered, setting down his suitcase. He took off his hat and walked over to the lounging chair, noticing with distaste the ashtrays spilling cigarette butts on to the floor, the used glasses standing on the sideboard, the film of dust everywhere and he grimaced. He had high standards of cleanliness. He decided this beautiful looking girl was a slut. “Do you mind if I sit down? I haven’t been too well recently… exciting times.” He looked slyly at her and laughed.

She stood in the doorway, watching him, wondering what she should do. He must be the fifth robber the police were looking for, but got up like this! A clergyman! Then she realised his cleverness. No policeman would give him a second glance.

“I don’t want you here,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I know nothing about the money… now, get out!”

“Please don’t be stupid.” He crossed one thin leg over the other. “I saw you and your husband take my car. The money was in the boot. When you brought the car back, the money wasn’t in the boot. So .” He lifted his hands. “I don’t blame you for taking it. What have you done with it?”

“It’s not here. I—I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Maisky studied her. She moved uneasily as their eyes met. She had never seen such malevolent eyes. They sent a chill through her.

“Mrs. Whiteside, when I play a role, I like to remain in character. At the moment, as you can see, I am playing the role of a kindly, harmless clergyman.” He paused, then leaning forward, his face a sudden mask of terrifying, snarling fury. “You had better make sure I remain that way, you stinking whore, or I’ll teach you such a goddamn lesson you won’t ever forget it!”

She was appalled at his viciousness and shrank back, her heart pounding. He stared at her, then relaxed. Suddenly he was mild and all smiles again.

“Do sit down, my pretty.”

Unnerved, Sheila moved into the room and sat opposite him. She was really frightened. She felt this little horror would murder her at the slightest encouragement.

“What is your name?” he asked, mildly.

“Sheila.” The word came reluctantly.

“A nice name.” He put his finger tips together and peered at her over them, then he giggled. “You see, I am back in my role. Have you noticed the way clergymen use their hands? I should have been an actor. I watch people. I make a note of how they behave.” He continued to smile his sly, cruel little smile. “But we were talking about the money. Where is it, my pretty?”

She thought of the soil on the garden path. He had only to look out of the kitchen window and he would know.

“We buried it in the garden last night,” she said through dry lips.

“How clever of you! I think I would have done exactly the same.” His eyes ran over her, lingered on her long legs, then he asked, “All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Neither you nor your husband kept a few bills for your personal use?”

“No.”

“Very sensible.” He looked around the lounge and grimaced. “As I intend to stay here for a month or so, my pretty, I must ask you to keep the place cleaner. It is very sordid, don’t you think? I am used to cleanliness.”

Sheila felt blood rush to her face. Forgetting her fear of him, for this really touched her on the raw, she burst out, “You go to hell. I don’t want you here! I won’t have you here!”

He regarded her, his snake’s eyes suddenly cold.

“Oh… so you are still unco-operative?” He shook his head. “What a pity.” His clawlike hand dipped into his pocket and he produced a small gun. He pointed it at her. Sheila drew in a hard, quick breath and pressed herself back against the chair. “Well now, my pretty, perhaps after all, I had better teach you a lesson. This little gun contains a strong acid. It is extremely effective at short range. It can peel the skin off your pretty face the way you peel an orange. Look…” He aimed the gun at her feet and squeezed the trigger.

A tiny cloud of white smoke appeared at her feet. When it had cleared, she saw with horror a small hole had been burnt in the carpet. She reared back as the fumes of the acid bit into the back of her throat.

Maisky chuckled.

“Impressive, isn’t it? I suggest you keep this place cleaner in the future. Is that understood?”

She stared at him, unnerved, but furious. All right, you sonofabitch, she thought, you hold the cards now, but wait until it’s my turn.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good.” Maisky dropped his gun into his pocket. “Let us now consider the situation. The police are hunting for me. This is an excellent hiding place. You are here to take care of me and the money is here… it is ideal. Now… you must have friends. Will they think it odd that you have a clergyman staying with you?”

“Yes.”

“Of course… so we will have to find a reason why I am staying here. Now tell me, is your mother dead?”

“What has my mother to do with this?” Sheila demanded, startled.

“Come now, my pretty… I ask the questions… you answer them. That way we won’t waste time. Is your mother dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did she die here?”

“No… in New Orleans.”

“Well, then, suppose I am the clergyman who buried her? I arrive here… you remember your dear mother… offer me hospitality… I accept. What could be simpler?”

“My bitch of a mother dumped me when I was twelve!” Sheila said viciously. “I only know she died because a guy she two-timed too often cut her throat. It was in the paper!”

Maisky looked shocked.

“Who else knows this sordid tale?”

Sheila hesitated, then shrugged.

“Well… no one. If you think you can get away with it…”

“Then that’s settled.” Maisky looked at his watch. “It is nearly twelve. I am hungry. What have you to eat in this place?”

“Nothing.”

He regarded her, his head slightly to one side.

“I had an idea you would say that. Well, then, go and buy something. A nice steak, a green salad and French fried potatoes would do very well.”

“I can’t cook,” Sheila said sullenly.

His eyes moved over her body.

“That again doesn’t surprise me, but I can. Go and get the food.” He settled more comfortably in the armchair. “Are you good at anything, my pretty? Do you give your husband pleasure in bed?”

“Oh, go to hell!” Sheila went into the bedroom. She paused, then moved into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. She took the three $500 bills from the Kleenex box and pushed them down the top of her stocking. Then she flushed the toilet, unlocked the door and, moving into the bedroom, she put on her coat.

Maisky was standing in the passage as she came out of the bedroom.

“Don’t be long, my pretty. I’m hungry.”

“I’ll need some money. I have only five dollars.”

“Let me have your bag.”

She handed it to him, thankful she hadn’t put the three big bills in there. He opened it, looked inside, then closed it. He took a fat wallet from his pocket and gave her ten dollars.

“A nice steak… the best… do you understand?”

She moved past him, opened the front door and walked down the path.

Tom Whiteside was trying without success, to sell a Buick Sportswagon to an elderly client. They were in the G.M. showroom, surrounded by cars and Tom was saying, “Look, Mr. Waine, you can’t beat this model. Look at the size of it. With your family, it’s dead right for the job.”

Waine had listened to all Tom’s sales talk and he was still unconvinced. Now, Tom was beginning to bore him.

“All right, Mr. Whiteside, thanks for your time. I’ll think it over.” He shook hands. “I’ll talk to the wife.”

Tom watched him walk out of the showroom and he swore under his breath. This is always happening, he was thinking. I get the jerks right up the dotted line and then they walk out on me.

Miss Slattery, who ran the office, called to him.

“You’re wanted on the phone, Tom… your wife.”

Tom stiffened. Now, what the hell? Was something wrong?

“I’ll take it in my office,” he said and hurried to his small box of a room and grabbed up the receiver. “Hello? Sheila?”

“Listen and don’t talk,” Sheila said. She was calling from a booth in a drugstore. Quickly, she told him about Maisky. Tom listened, stiff with alarm.

“You mean… he knows we have the money?” he said. “Judas! We’d better call the police!”

“Will you shut up and listen,” Sheila said, her voice harsh.

“There’s nothing we can do… yet. We buried the money, didn’t we? That makes us accessories. Tom… can you buy a gun?”

“A what?” Tom’s voice rose a note.

“He has an acid gun. I don’t trust him. We may even have to kill him,” Sheila said. “We must have a gun.”

“You’re mad! Kill him? What are you talking about?”

“Can you buy a gun?”

“No! Of course I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Any pawnshop will sell you a gun. Bring it back with you!”

“But I haven’t the money. Besides…”

Sheila drew in a long breath of exasperation.

“You cheap, useless fool! Well, come back as soon as you can,” and she hung up.

“Sheila!” Tom jiggled the crossbar, then slammed down the receiver. His hands were shaking, his heart hammering. The intercom buzzed. For a moment he hesitated, then pulling himself together he snapped down a switch.

“Oh, Tom, here’s Mr. Cain. He’s waiting for his Caddy,” Miss Slattery told him.

“Coming,” Tom said and got to his feet.

What was Sheila talking about? Killing the man? Not quite knowing what he was doing, he walked into the showroom.

Sheila left the Paradise Self-Service store, carrying one of their blue-and-white plastic bags that contained a steak, a packet of frozen chips, a bag of beef sandwiches and a carton of ice cream. She walked quickly along the sidewalk, turned left down a narrow street and slowed. Ahead of her, she saw the three golden balls hanging outside Herbie Jacobs’ pawnshop. She had been there several times when they had been so short of money they had had to pawn Tom’s cufflinks and her gold bracelet that Tom had given to her for a wedding present. She opened the shop door and entered.

Jacobs came from an inner room.

“Ah, Mrs. Whiteside, it is indeed a pleasure.” The little man was wearing a skull cap. He stroked his greying beard as he beamed at her. What a beauty! he was thinking. What a lucky guy Whiteside was! Imagine going to bed with a beauty like this every night. Nothing to pay! His for the taking!

“I’m going on a trip, Mr. Jacobs,” Sheila said, smiling at him. “I wonder if you can help me. Tom thinks I should have a gun. I’m driving… alone. Can I buy a gun from you?”

Jacobs stared at her, startled.

“Well…”

The pause hung for a long moment, then Sheila, aware of the passing time, said sharply, “Can I or can’t I?”

“Yes, but guns aren’t cheap, Mrs. Whiteside.”

“I didn’t think they would be. I want something small and not heavy.”

“I have a .25 automatic… a beautiful little weapon,” Jacobs said. “It costs a hundred and eighty dollars.”

“Let me see it.”

“If you don’t mind coming into the other room… you understand? One has to be careful.”

She followed him into the dingy inner room.

“Just one moment, please.”

He went into another room and she could hear him rummaging about, muttering under his breath. Finally, he returned with a small gun in his hand.

“You understand guns, Mrs. Whiteside?”

“No.”

“Of course… well, let me explain. Here is the safety catch. You pull it back… so. Be very careful: the trigger is light. It is an excellent gun. See…” He touched the trigger and she heard a sharp snapping sound. “Two hundred dollars, Mrs. Whiteside, and that includes ten rounds of ammunition… you won’t need more?”

“No.” She took the gun out of his grimy hand, balanced it and then pressed the trigger. Again she heard the snapping sound. Well, it wasn’t complicated, she thought. “Will you load it, please?”

He regarded her, a little worried, a little puzzled.

“I will show, you how to do it. It is better and safer for the gun to remain unloaded.”

“Then it would be useless. Load it!”

He slid the cartridges into the clip and then inserted the clip into the gun, pressing home the spring. Then he put on the safety catch.

“You will be careful… accidents can happen.” He paused, looking at her slyly, then went on. “You haven’t bought this gun from me, Mrs. Whiteside. That is understood? By rights, I shouldn’t be selling guns.”

“Yes, I understand.” She took the gun from him with four extra cartridges and put them into her bag. Then she gave him one of the $500 bills she had transferred from her stocking top to her bag during the bus ride down town.

He regarded the bill, his eyebrows crawling to the top of his forehead. She watched him, feeling tense and a little frightened.

“I will give you change. So Mr. Whiteside is having some success… I am so pleased.”

“He sold three cars recently. About time…” She relaxed and followed him into the shop.

“Well, success finally comes. We all have to work for it… some are luckier than others.” He gave her three one-hundred-dollar bills. “You should get a permit for the gun. I expect you know that. The police…” He waved his hand.

“I know… I’ll see about it. Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”

Out on the street, she stood hesitating, then she turned and walked briskly to the main street. She walked into the Plaza Hotel and into the Ladies’ room. Here, she locked herself in a toilet, took the gun from her bag and, lifting her skirt, she pushed the gun down the front of her girdle. The touch of the cold steel made her shiver. She lowered her skirt, smoothed the cloth over the slight bulge, then, taking from her bag the extra cartridges, she lifted the flush lid and dropped them into the water. Then she left the toilet and the hotel.

She walked down the street, feeling the gun chafing against her skin. At the end of the street was a taxi rank. She headed towards it, then suddenly paused. She was right opposite Ashton’s, the jewellers, and there was that gold watch beckoning to her. She hesitated for a long moment, then the thought of owning it overwhelmed her. She walked into the shop.

“Good morning, madame.” The man behind the counter was tall, elderly and very refined. “Why, of course, it is Mrs. Whiteside. Your husband sold me a car last year. How is he?” As she stared blankly at him, he smiled, revealing plastic teeth. “I am Harold Marshall, Mrs. Whiteside. Your husband may have mentioned me.”

This crummy town! Sheila thought. Like living in a fish bowl! She gave him a dazzling smile.

“Yes, of course. Mr. Marshall, it is our wedding anniversary next week. My husband wants me to have that gold watch… the one in the window.”

“Now which one would that be?” Marshall said, going to the window and opening the grille.

She joined him and pointed.

“That one.”

“Oh yes… it’s quite the nicest design we have.” He lifted the watch from its black-velvet bed. “It would make a splendid anniversary present. This is your first, I believe.”

She wasn’t listening, her eyes were on the watch.

“Let us try it on, Mrs. Whiteside.”

She shivered as she felt the gold band grip her flesh. At last! Something she had longed for and dreamed about for months… now it was actually on her wrist!

“I’ll take it.”

He was slightly startled. She hadn’t even asked the price! From what he had heard from the local gossip the Whitesides were always in debt.

“You couldn’t do better, Mrs. Whiteside. I have a box.”

“No, thank you. I’ll wear it.” She couldn’t bear to be parted from the watch now she had it on.

“Of course. It is a self-winder. You will have no trouble, but if it gains a little bring it back. It will only need a small adjustment. You’ll be happy with this for the rest of your life.”

“I’m sure.” She paused, staring fascinated at the watch, then, seeing he was becoming a little restless, she asked, “How much is it?”

He relaxed.

“One hundred and eighty dollars.”

Well, she thought, I’m certainly spending money, and why not? Don’t I own two and a half million dollars, but as she gave Marshall the second $500 bill, she thought of the little man waiting for her in the bungalow.

Then she became aware that Marshall was regarding the bill doubtfully.

“My husband made a killing at the Casino,” she said hurriedly. “The first time he has ever won. Talk about luck! Two thousand dollars!”

Marshall smiled.

“Yes, indeed. You know, Mrs. Whiteside, although I admit I have often tried, I have never won a dollar at the Casino. I am very happy to hear Mr. Whiteside has been so fortunate.”

“Yes.”

He gave her change.

“Are you sure you don’t want the box?”

“No, thank you… and thanks.”

When she had gone, Marshall picked up the bill and frowned at it. He remembered the recent instructions he had received from police headquarters. A waste of time, he thought, but he wrote Sheila’s name and address on the back of the bill before placing it in the till.

The time was twenty minutes to three. Tom Whiteside had been sitting at his desk, thinking of what Sheila had told him. The tension had become unbearable. He suddenly decided he must go home and find out what exactly was happening. Wiping his sweating hands, he got up and walked into the showroom.

Peter Cain, the head salesman, was talking to a client. Tom could see Locking talking to someone on the telephone through the glass wall of his office. He hesitated, then, as Locking hung up, Tom walked uneasily to the door, knocked and entered the office.

Locking frowned at him.

“What is it, Tom? I’m busy.”

White faced, sweat glistening on his forehead, Tom said, “I have to go home, Mr. Locking… something I ate. I feel terrible.”

People who felt terrible bored Locking. He shrugged his fat shoulders.

“Okay, Tom, then get off,” and he reached for a file of papers. The unfeeling bastard! Tom thought as he walked to where he had parked his car. He got in, started the engine and drove fast down the highway.

Fifteen minutes later, his heart thumping, sick with apprehension, he drove into his garage and shut the doors. As he walked into the kitchen, he heard the TV was on. A voice, strident with excitement, was giving a commentary on a wrestling match.

He hesitated. What the hell was going on? As he moved down the passage, Sheila called softly to him from the bedroom. He found her sitting on the bed.

“Shut the door.”

He did so, staring at her.

“What’s happening? What… ?”

“He’s a TV addict,” Sheila said. “He’s in there.”

“He? Who?”

She clenched her fists with exasperation.

“The man the police are looking for… the fifth robber! I told you, you dope!”

“You really mean he’s here? I thought you had gone crazy!” Tom stared at her, horror in his eyes.

“Must you always act like a brainless jerk?” Sheila said. “I told you… he found our address, thanks to you. He knows we have the money. He intends to stay here until it’s safe for him to leave.”

“He can’t stay here!” Tom said wildly. “I’m going to call the police.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Whiteside,” Maisky said softly. He had opened the bedroom door so quietly neither of them had heard him come in.

Tom whirled around.

Maisky smiled at him. He wasn’t wearing the white wig and he looked quite harmless in his clergyman’s outfit until Torn looked into the grey snake’s eyes and he flinched.

“I don’t see what you have to worry about, Mr. Whiteside,” Maisky went on. “There’s enough money for all of us. Let’s go into the living-room and discuss this quietly.” Turning, he walked down the passage and into the living-room. A little reluctantly, he turned off the television, then sat down.

Tom and Sheila followed him, hesitated, then took chairs away from him. Tom stared at him, unable to believe this frail little man could be at the back of the Casino robbery, yet scared of him. Those eyes and the mild smile chilled him.

“Now… the money,” Maisky said, placing his finger tips together. “I am quite happy to take one and a half million for myself. That leaves you two a million. I think that is fair. After all, I engineered the plan. I shall have to remain here for a few weeks, but this I have already discussed with Mrs. Whiteside. You are being well paid for putting up with me. Do you accept these terms?”

There was a pause, then, as Tom was hesitating, Sheila said, “Yes… all right.”

She was thinking if this little freak imagined he was going to walk out of here with a million and a half dollars, the joke would be on him. She thought of the .25 automatic she had hidden. When the time came for him to leave, he would walk into one hell of a surprise.

Tom stared at her.

“We can’t agree!” he exclaimed. “We’re not keeping a dollar of the money! We could go to jail for twenty years! I’ve had enough of this! I…”

“Will you shut up, you gutless ape!” Sheila screamed at him. Her fury was so violent, it silenced him.

Maisky giggled.

“And they call women the weaker sex,” he said. “Well now, my pretty, so we are agreed?”

“You heard me, didn’t you?” Sheila snapped at him.

Maisky smiled, his eyes glittering. She’s dangerous, he thought, and greedy. Well, if she imagined she was going to get a cent out of this, she needed to have her pretty head examined. All the same, he would have to watch her.

“Fine.” He appeared to relax. “Now that’s arranged, and we don’t have to worry our heads further about it, perhaps I could go on watching the wrestling. It amuses me.” He got up and turned on the TV set. “A wonderful invention, Mr. Whiteside… a great timepasser.”

Tom got up and walked stiffly into the kitchen.

As the strident, excited voice of the commentator began to fill the room, Maisky dismissed Sheila with a wave of his hand.

“Run along, my pretty,” he said. “I am sure this must bore you.”

She stared at him, then got up and joined Tom in the kitchen.

“Any coffee left, Chief?” Beigler asked, lighting a cigarette from the stub of another. He leaned back in his chair, his heavy frame making the chair creak.

“There’s a drop,” Terrell said and pushed the carton across the desk. “You smoke too much, Joe.”

“Yeah.” Beigler poured coffee into the paper cup. “That’s always been my trouble.” He drank the coffee and then picked up the long typewritten report that had come from the road blocks. It contained a twenty-page list of car numbers and car owners who had passed through the road blocks on their way out of town. “This is getting us nowhere fast.”

“Keep at it,” Terrell said. “We’re gaining some ground. We now know where he hired the truck and the trucker has a good description of him. When we catch up with him, we have him for sure.”

“We haven’t caught…” Then Beigler paused, stared at the list he was holding and stiffened. “Hey, Chief! Look at this!” He passed the sheet to Terrell, his thumbnail underscoring the typewritten line.

Terrell read Franklin Ludovick, Mon Repos, Sandy Lane, Paradise City. Lic. No. P.C. 6678.

“Whose report?”

“Fred O’Toole.”

“Get him here!”

Beigler called down to Charlie Tanner.

“We want Fred. Is he at the road block still?”

“Hold it.” There was a pause, then Tanner said, “No. He’s back home. Clocked off half an hour ago.”

“Get him. Send a car, Charlie… pronto.”

“Will do,” Tanner said and hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Patrolman Fred O’Toole walked into Terrell’s office. He was out of uniform and showed signs of having scrambled into a pair of slacks and an open-neck shirt.

“Come in, Fred,” Terrell said, waving to a chair. “Sorry… I guess you were putting your feet up.”

“That’s okay, sir,” O’Toole said, stiffly at attention. It was all right for the Chief to be friendly, but Beigler was his boss.

“Sit down,” Terrell said. “Don’t we have any coffee in this place?”

Beigler grabbed the telephone. He told Tanner to send out for coffee.

“What again?” Tanner said wearily.

“You heard me,” Beigler said and hung up. “Relax, Fred.”

Uneasily, O’Toole sat on the edge of a chair.

“Fred… this Buick coupe. Owner, Franklin Ludovick,” Terrell said, passing the typewritten sheet across the desk. “What can you tell me about it?”

“It came through the road block as stated, sir. It was driven by Tom Whiteside, the G.M. agent.”

“Dr. Whiteside’s son?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Go on.”

“He said he had broken down and had borrowed the car from a client.”

Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.

“Did you check the car, Fred?”

“Not on the inward trip, sir. We weren’t checking incoming cars, but a couple of hours later, he came back. He said he was returning the car. I checked it then. It was clean.”

“Was he on his own?”

“His wife was with him.”

Terrell thought for a moment, then nodded.

“All right, Fred, you get back home. Have them drive you back.”

When O’Toole had gone, Terrell got to his feet. Beigler was already putting his .38 into its holster. He then snatched up the telephone receiver and told Tanner that Jacoby and Lepski were to report to the car pool pronto.

“I’ve got your coffee,” Tanner said.

“Drink it for me,” Beigler said and hung up.

He followed Terrell down to the car pool. As they got into a police car, Lepski and Jacoby came running down the ramp. They scrambled into the back as Beigler set the car in motion.

Terrell explained the set-up to them.

“You two cover us. Lepski: take care of the back. Watch it! Could be a tricky one. We’ll play it by ear.”

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up outside the Whitesides’ bungalow.

Terrell and Beigler walked up the path and rang on the front- door bell.