“OK,” he said.
There was complete silence for a good while. The grandfather clock chimed, alerting them to the fact the time was eleven o'clock.
“I… guess I'll get going.” Lilly stood.
“Why didn't you tell me about the money?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The money you found,” Scratch said. “Three stacks of 20s, held together with paper bands.”
“I don't know what you're talking about!” Lilly protested. Her hands immediately went to her waist. The torn collar fell, and showed even more of her cleavage and brassiere. As a matter of fact, the erect nipple of her left breast was out from the top of the cup. That top lip curled up once more.
“The money.” Scratch stood. Lilly took a step back from him. “The money you found behind the bed, in the upstairs bedroom on the left. The bedroom you tossed, looking for that money. The money. I know you have it. Where is it, Lilly?”
“I don't have any money!” she said, voice strained, higher pitched, through clenched teeth.
Scratch pushed Lilly on to the couch. They struggled as he fell on top of her, his hands all over her, searching, her hands swatting his away. He pushed her skirt up and saw the bills tucked away in both of her stocking tops. One stack inside her left stocking, two stacks in her right. Lilly dug her nails in his hand, tried to keep him from her legs. It didn't work. Scratch was determined to take the money, no matter what. Her high heels fell from her feet. She unsuccessfully kicked at his face, missing when he dodged from side to side. He finally held her legs down, palms pressing her thighs to the couch. Lilly squealed and gave Scratch a left hook, connecting to his chin. He fell on the floor, touching his agonizingly painful chin.
“Damn,” Scratch said. “You pack a wallop!”
“And don't forget it, buster!” Lilly screamed, fixing her skirt. She sat up on the couch, snarling at him. She found her heels and stepped in them. “I'm going to go now.”
“Wait,” Scratch begged her, touching her leg. “Please… I need your help.” He massaged her ankle, moved up to her knee under the skirt. “I need your help.” She let out a small sigh. “You obviously know every inch of this house,” he said. “Please help me find that hatbox. I can't go back to Spiff without it.” His hand moved up her thigh and to her panties, gently rubbing. A longer sigh came from her parted lips. Her eyes became glassy, looking past Scratch. Scratch's fingers kept rubbing, quicker and quicker until Lilly cried out, spread her legs and moaned.
After a few minutes, she got herself together and caught her breath. She swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yeah.” Lilly breathed out. “I'll help you.”
* * *
Lilly helped Scratch look for the hatbox. They turned over every room. The hatbox was in the bathroom. Under the sink. It was black, but no gold trim, and no initials, especially SS. Lilly was overjoyed. She cried out and ran to Scratch. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Scratch was confused. That was not the hatbox Lowery or the old man described. This hatbox was old, the black vinyl faded and chipped.
“We found it!” Lilly gushed. She kissed Scratch, exploring his mouth with her tongue. She pulled away and said: “I plan on sharing the money with you.”
Scratch smiled. He appreciated the gesture, but knew more than likely she would hang on to it for him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I'm… just going to hold on to your share. OK, baby?”
Scratch laughed. “OK.”
Lilly was a little perturbed that Scratch found the offer humorous. That top lip started to curl up.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Scratch said. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. She pulled away.”
“No. There is something.”
Scratch kissed her again. Lilly gave in. Her anger subsided. After the long kiss, Lilly rested her head on Scratch's chest. They walked out the bathroom like that, hand in hand, to the front door of the house. Lilly moved snuggled to Scratch, moved her head to his shoulder.
“Let's go to my place,” Scratch said. “Get some rest.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Scratch saw a young, light-skinned black male at the window. He was short, wore a checkered button-down shirt and dungarees. His hair was light brown and a little kinky, but relaxed. There was no expression on his haunted face. His eyes looked dead, hollow. By the time Scratch turned to get a full view, the man was pointing a Saturday night special at Lilly.
The barrel of the gun was bigger than the man's head. Scratch pushed Lilly to the floor just as the gun discharged.
“Get out of the way!” He screamed and jumped toward the couch.
Lilly fell on her back. The bullet zipped past both of them and struck a lamp, tore a hole in the shade and burrowed into the wall. Scratch jumped to his feet. He flung the front door open and ran after the young man. In his younger days, Scratch had been fast, but not as fast this little man.
The man was several blocks ahead of Scratch, leading the way down Main Street, past all the shops, Mildred's hair shop and Gus's barber. The man took a right down an alley just off Smith lane that led to the back of Hamilton's greengrocer. Scratch hung in there, still far behind the man, until the chase led to a path and a hill to the park. Scratch's knee gave out.
He found himself lying on wet grass, staring at the bright yellow moon, trying to catch his breath. He lifted himself up and watched the young man sprint into the woods that led to Jennings Farm, then disappear into the darkness.
“Son of a bitch.” Scratch huffed and puffed. He lay there for several moments.
When he was ready to stand, he used the dead roots of a long-gone tree to prop
