Might as Well Be Dead

Degan was a stubborn devil. Even then he took another twenty seconds to consider the situation, after which he moved to the far end of the table, facing us at a distance of twelve feet, put the box down, and lifted the lid. The tax man moved with him and was at his elbow. The raised lid obstructed our view, and the inside was not visible, except to him and the New York State Tax Commission. They stared at it a moment, then Degan put a hand in. When he withdrew it, it held a bundle of lettuce three inches thick, fastened with rubber bands. He inspected it all over, put it on the table beside the box, inserted his hand again, and took out another bundle. And others. Eight of them altogether.

He looked at us. “By God,” he said, with a little shake in his voice, “I’m glad you fellows stayed. Come and look.”

We accepted the invitation. The box was empty. The top bills on five of the bundles were Cs, on two of them fifties, and on the other one a twenty. They were used bills, held tight and compact by the rubber bands. They wouldn’t run as healthy as new stuff, around 250 to the inch, but they were not hay.

“Quite a hoard,” Parker said. “No wonder you’re glad we stayed. If I had been here alone I would have been tempted myself.”

Degan nodded, looking dazed. “I’ll be damned. We’ll have to count it. Will you help count it?”

We obliged him. I moved the chairs up and we sat, Degan at the table end and Parker and I at either elbow, and started in. The tax man was right behind Degan’s shoulder, bending over to breathe down the back of his neck. It took a long while because Degan wanted each bundle counted by all of us, which seemed reasonable, and one of the bundles of fifties had to be gone over six times to reach agreement. When we finished each bundle was topped with a slip of paper with the amount and our initials on it. On another slip Degan listed the amounts and got a total. $327,640.00.

If you don’t believe it I’ll spell it out. Three hundred and twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty berries.

Degan looked at Parker. “You expected this?”

“No. I had no expectations whatever.”

He looked at me. “Did you?”

I shook my head. “Same here.”

“I wonder. I wonder what Wolfe expected.”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“I would like to. Is he in his office?”

I looked at my wrist. “He will be for another fifteen minutes. Lunch at one-thirty on Friday.”