I Would Rather Stay Poor

He had a one-room office and a secretary. Her name was Mavis Hart. She wasn’t pretty, but she was young, and Easton was grateful to her because she allowed him a lot of liberties which at his age he found necessary to lighten an otherwise drab existence. His home life depressed him. His wife had long ago guessed what was going on between Mavis and himself and she retaliated by nagging him continually during the brief hours he was at home. Besides being inflicted with a spiteful, jealous wife, Easton had an ulcer that gave him constant pain and that frightened him.

This day, around nine-thirty a.m. as Easton was glancing through an unimportant mail the telephone bell rang.

It came as a severe shock to Easton when Sheriff Thomson of Pittsville told him that the payroll lodged at the Pittsville bank had been stolen.

Easton listened to what the sheriff had to say, his heart contracting and the flesh of his fat face sagging.

For years now he had coasted along in a dull, uneventful routine and now, suddenly, he had a major crime on his hands and he knew the spotlight of publicity would be mercilessly focused on his inefficiency.

‘For Pete’s sake!’ he exclaimed. ‘You mean it’s gone?’ His voice was so loaded with alarm that Mavis who was pouring Easton’s two-hourly glass of milk turned quickly to stare anxiously at him. There was more talk from the sheriff, then Easton said, ‘Okay, okay. I’ll be right over,’ and he hung up.

His fat, weak face was now shining with sweat. He was aware of the frightening pain in his stomach.

‘What is it, honey?’ Mavis asked.

‘Some sonofabitch has grabbed the Pittsville payroll!’ Easton said hoarsely. ‘Three hundred thousand bucks! This is my pigeon and I’m stuck with it.’

Mavis turned pale. She knew that Easton couldn’t cope with anything out of his routine. For a moment she panicked, then she rallied to his support.

‘It’ll be all right, honey,’ she said soothingly. ‘Here drink your milk. You’ll have to call the S.A.’

‘I know what I’ve got to do,’ Easton snapped. He took the glass from her and drank half the milk. ‘What a break? Eighteen months from now I’m due to retire and this has to happen!’

Mavis was dialling the number of the special agent at San Francisco. When she got him on the line, she handed the receiver to Easton.

Easton reported the robbery, trying to keep his voice steady. He listened to the crisp, efficient voice of his Chief, then he said, ‘Yeah… yeah… sure.’ He listened some more, then went on, ‘I’ll fix it. If I need any help, I’ll let you know. Sure… yeah… Thomson will work with me. He’s a good man. I’ll get over to Pittsville right away. I’ll report as soon as I’ve got anything.’ He replaced the receiver and taking out his handkerchief, he mopped his face and looked helplessly at Mavis who smiled at him.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’ll work out all right, honey. You see… it’ll work out all right.’

He held out his hand helplessly and she came over to him, putting her thin arms around him, cradling his balding head against her immature breasts. They remained like that for several moments, then she gave him a gentle pat on his fat shoulder and drew away.

‘You’d better go, honey. They’ll be waiting for you.’

He straightened his crumpled jacket and smoothed his thinning hair. With an effort, he got to his feet and gave her a weak grin.

‘So long, chick,’ he said and reaching around her, he let his hand slide over her flat behind. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. Yeah… it’ll be all right.’

Two hours later, he was sitting in Sheriff Thomson’s office. The sheriff was at his desk and Ken Travers leaned against the wall, facing Easton.

Neither the sheriff not Travers had any time for Easton. They both knew he was inefficient, but there was nothing they could do about it. A bank robbery was a Federal responsibility and Easton was automatically in charge.

Easton was suffering from the nagging pain of his ulcer. His mind was only half on the robbery. He found himself thinking: this could be cancer. These quacks tell you mere is nothing to worry about, but they haven’t got this thing in their stomachs. It could be a cancer.

‘What’s the first move?’ the sheriff asked sharply, seeing Easton’s mind was wandering. ‘We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to catch these two.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Easton said, switching his mind with an effort from the nagging pain of his ulcer. ‘I’ll talk to the S.A. It’s his job to find the girl. We’ve got to get a description of her boy-friend.’ He levered himself out of his chair. ‘I’d better talk to Mrs. Loring and these old people.’

Sheriff Thomson glanced at Travers.

‘Do you want Ken to go along with you?’ he asked. ‘He knows everyone around here and he could make things easier for you.’ He gave a sly grin. ‘Don’t worry about offending me. If you want to work on this thing alone, just say so.’