“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.
