'Do you have a copy of your note?'
'No. I didn't copy my letters. Nothing left this office. I was afraid to make copies around here.'
Wes and Chap fiowned in disbelief, then great disappointment. What kind of dumb ass were they dealing with here?
'Sorry,' Quince said, tempted to grab the cash before they changed their minds.
Moving things along, he removed the first letter from Ricky and thrust it at them. 'Just lay it down,' Wes said, and they leaned in again, inspecting without touching. They were very slow readers, Quince noticed, and they read with incredible concentration. His mind was beginning to clear, and a glimmer of hope emerged. How sweet it was to have the money and not have to worry about another crooked loan, another pack of lies to cover his trail. And now he had allies, Wes and Chap here, and God knows who else working against Ricky. His heart slowed a little and his breathing was not as labored.
'The next letter please,' Chap said.
Quince laid them out in sequence, one beside the other, three lavender in color, one a soft blue, one yellow, all written in the tedious block handwriting of a person with plenty of time. When they finished one page, Chap would carefully arrange the next one with a pair of tweezers. Their fingers touched nothing.
The odd thing about the letters, as Chap and Wes would whisper to each other much later, was that they were so thoroughly believable. Ricky was wounded and tortured and in dire need of someone to talk to. He was pitiful and sympathetic. And there was hope because the worst was over for him and he would soon be free to pursue new friendships. The writing was superb!
After a deafening silence, Quince said, 'I need to make a phone call.'
'To whom?'
'It's business.'
Wes and Chap looked at each other with uncertainty, then nodded. Quince walked with the phone to his credenza and watched Main Street below while talking to another banker.
At some point, Wes began making notes, no doubt in preparation for the cross-examination to come. Quince loitered by the bookcase, trying to read a newspaper, trying to ignore the note-taking He was calm now, thinking as clearly as possible, plotting his next move, the one after these goons left him-
'Did you send a check for a hundred thousand dollars?' Chap asked.
'I did.'
Wes, the grimmer-faced of the two, glared at him with contempt, as if to say, 'What a fool.'
They read some more, took a few notes, whispered and mumbled between themselves.
'How much money has your client sent?' Quince asked, just for the hell of it.
Wes got even grimmer and said, 'We can't say'
No surprise to Quince. The boys had no sense of humor.
They sat down after an hour, and Quince took his seat in his banker's chair.
'Just a couple of questions.' Chap said, and Quince knew they'd be talking for another hour.
'How'd you book the gay cruise?'
'It's in the letter there. This thug gave me the name and number of a travel agency in New York. I called, then sent a money order. It was easy'
'Easy? Have you done it before?'
'Are we here to talk about my sex life?'
'No.'
'So let's stick to the issues.' Quince said like a real ass, and he felt good again. The banker in him boiled for a moment. Then he thought of something he simply couldn't resist. With a straight face, he said, 'The cruise is still paid for.You guys wanna go?'
Fortunately, they laughed. It was a quick flash of humor, then back to business. Chap said, 'Did you consider using a pseudonym?'
'Yes, of course. It was stupid not to. But I'd never done this before. I thought the guy was legitimate. He's in Florida, I'm in Podunk, Iowa. It never crossed my mind the guy was a fraud.'
'We'll need copies of all this.' Wes said.
'That could be a problem.'
'Why'
'Where would you copy it?'
'The bank doesn't have a copier?'
'It does, but you're not copying that file in this bank.'
'Then we'll take it to a quick print somewhere.'
'This is Bakers.We don't have a quick print.'
'Do you have an office supply store?'
'Yes, and the owner owes my bank eighty thousand dollars. He sits next to me at the Rotary C1ub.You're not copying it there. I'm not going to be seen with that file.'
Chap and Wes looked at each other, then at Quince. Wes said, 'Okay, look. I'll stay here with you. Chap will take the file and find a copier.'
'Where?'
'The drugstore.' Wes said.
'You've found the drugstore?'
'Sure, we needed some tweezers.'
'That copier's twenty years old.'
'No, they have a new one.'
'You must be careful, okay? The pharmacist is my secretary's second cousin. This is a very small town.'
Chap took the file and walked to the door. It clicked loudly when he unlocked it, and when he stepped through he was immediately under scrutiny The secretary's desk was crowded with older women, all busy doing nothing until Chap emerged and they froze and gawked. Old Mr. Garbe was not far away, holding a ledger, pretending to be busy but himself consumed with curiosity. Chap nodded to them all and eased away, passing as he went virtually every employee of the bank.
The door clicked loudly again as Quince locked the damned thing before anyone could barge in. He and Wes chatted awkwardly about this and that for a few minutes, the conversation almost dying at times for lack of common ground. Forbidden sex had brought them together, and they certainly had to avoid that subject. Life in Bakers was of little interest. Quince could ask nothing about Wes' background.
Finally, he said, 'What should I say in my letter to Ricky?'
Wes warmed to the idea immediately. 'Well, I would wait, first of all. Wait a month. Let him sweat if you hurry back with a response, and with the money, he might think it's too easy'
'What if he gets mad?'
'He won't. He has plenty of time, and he wants the money'
'Do you see all his mail?'
'We think we have access to most of it.'
Quince was overcome with curiosity. Sitting with a man who now knew his deepest secret, he felt as though he could prod. 'How will you stop him?'
And Wes, for no reason he would ever understand, said simply, 'We'll probably just kill him.'
A radiant peace broke out around the eyes of Quince Garbe, a warm calming glow that spread through his tortured countenance. His wrinkles softened. His lips spread into a tiny smile. His inheritance would be safe after all, and when the old man was gone and the money was his he'd flee this life and live as he pleased.
'How nice,' he said softly. 'How very nice.'
Chap took the file to a motel room where a leased color copier was waiting with other members of the unit. Three sets were made, and thirty minutes later he was back at the bank. Quince inspected his originals; everything was in order. He carefully relocked the file, then said to his guests,' I think it's time for you to go.'
They left without shaking hands or the usual goodbyes.What was there to say?
A private jet was waiting at the local airport, whose runway was barely long enough. Three hours after
