I Would Rather Stay Poor

‘You would be making a very serious mistake,’ he said. ‘To take money from a bank is easy enough if you are employed by the bank, but getting away with the money is another thing. That, let me tell you, is nearly impossible. What’s the good of stealing the money if you’re caught and can’t spend it?’

‘Yes… but if you happen to be clever and you think long enough about it, there must be some way that would be safe.’

He poured some of the brandy into the saucepan, then set fire to it. As the flames shot up, he turned off the gas.

‘We’re about ready,’ he said. ‘Will you serve the soup?’

It wasn’t until after nine o’clock when the old people and Alice were watching the television and while Kit was washing up that Calvin came into the kitchen again. He picked up a cloth and began to wipe the dishes.

‘You should have a washing-up machine,’ he said. ‘You need one here.’

‘There are lots of things I need,’ she returned without looking at him. ‘Most of all I need money.’

They worked in silence for several minutes, then she said, ‘That payroll… three hundred thousand dollars! What a sum of money to own!’

Plate in hand, tense, he stared at her.

‘What do you know about the payroll?’

‘Only what everyone else in Pittsville knows about it. It arrives every Thursday evening and is lodged in the bank, then it is taken to four factories on Friday morning and the lucky people get their money.’ She pulled the stopper out and let the water drain out of the sink. ‘Like a lot of people, every Thursday night, I dream of that money and imagine what my life would be like if it belonged to me.’

‘Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be locked up in a cell for fifteen years?’ Calvin asked quietly.

She took off her apron and hung it up.

‘Yes, I’ve even thought about that.’ She stretched, arching her breasts at him. She yawned. ‘I’m tired. Thank you for helping me. I’m off to bed… good night.’

He watched her leave, then he wandered into the empty lounge. He lit a cigarette, sat down and glanced through a magazine without seeing anything he was looking at. In the room down the passage came the sound of gunfire, then hard metallic voices. There was a gangster movie being shown on television; both Miss Pearson and Major Hardy were gangster movie addicts. He sat staring blankly at the magazine for twenty minutes or so, then getting to his feet, he went up the stairs and to his room.

No light showed under Kit’s door. He brushed his teeth, undressed and put on his pyjamas. Then he moved silently to the communicating door. He had no doubt that now the door would be unlocked.

He had thought she might be easy and his instinct had proved right. A woman didn’t surrender to a kiss as she had done unless she was ready to go the whole way.

With a heavily beating heart, his thick fingers closed around the door handle. He turned it gently and pushed. It came as a shock when the door didn’t yield. It was still locked.

He moved back, staring at the door. His blue eyes gleamed viciously, but only for a moment, then he shrugged and got into bed. He turned off the light.

He lay in the darkness, his mind busy.

So she wasn’t to be had all that easily, he said to himself. Well, never mind, all my life I have had to wait. What I don’t get today, I’ll get tomorrow.

If Iwere in your position as manager of the bank, I know Iwould be tempted to steal all the money you must handle, she had said. Had she been joking? If he could dream up a safe way to get that payroll, he would have to have help. Could he rely on her?

Impatiently, he turned on the light and groped for a cigarette.

This was something he must think about.

CHAPTER THREE

1

A few minutes before half past five the following evening, Calvin came out of his office and walked over to where Alice was sitting on her stool at the counter, checking her till.

‘Nearly through?’ he asked, his staring blue eyes examining her.

She smiled nervously at him.

‘I’m all through now, Mr. Calvin.’

‘Suppose we go down to the vault and you explain what it’s all about?’ he said. ‘I don’t want to look dumb when the money does arrive.’

‘Yes, of course.’

She unlocked a drawer under the counter and took out a key.

‘You have your key?’ she asked, getting off the stool.

‘I have it.’

He followed her down the steps and into the vault. It felt chilly down there. He looked around. Stacked from floor to ceiling on three sides of the room were black steel deed-boxes: each with a name painted on it in bold white lettering. The boxes contained the private papers, the wills, the house deeds of many of the bank’s customers. Facing him was the steel door of the safe.

‘This is a pretty old-fashioned set-up, isn’t it?’ he said, waving to the deed boxes. ‘We should have proper safes for each individual customer.’