Well Now My Pretty

In spite of the small talk, O'Toole didn't neglect to look the car over. He remembered the wanted car was a Buick coupe and this was a Buick coupe.

"Something new, Tom?" he asked.

"No . . . my goddam car broke down. I borrowed this. What's all the commotion about?"

"Commotion? Don't you read the papers? There's been a twoand-a-half-million-dollar steal from the Casino. We have the robbers holed up in the City so orders are to check every outgoing car."

"Is that right?" Sheila thrust her bust in O'Toole's direction. "Well, what do you know! Two and a half million . . . wheeee!"

O'Toole regarded her. Whiteside certainly had it good. Imagine getting this frill into bed every night.

"I'll have to check the car, Tom," he said, getting back to business.

"Go right ahead." Tom gave him the ignition key. "I'm just returning this car and then picking up my own ruin."

O'Toole checked the boot, then gave Tom back the key.

"Who did you borrow this from?"

"Oh, a guy . . . one of our clients," Tom said, flicking sweat off his face.

O'Toole leaned into the car and looked at the licence tag. Then he stepped back and wrote in his notebook: Franklin Ludovick, Mon Repose, Sandy Lane, Paradise City.

Tom watched him, feeling sick.

"Okay, go ahead. I'm off duty in five more minutes. Gee! Will I be glad!"

"I bet. Be seeing you," and Tom engaged gear and drove through the road block.

"Phew!" Sheila sighed softly.

Tom said nothing. He was thinking of the carton loaded with more money than he thought existed now in their sitting-room.

There must be a big reward, he thought. The insurance people would be covering the Casino. But it was a mistake not to go to the police right away. How could he explain the delay? He moved uneasily. He thought of what Sheila had said. She must be crazy! Glancing at her hard, cold face, he felt a prickle of fear. She couldn't really mean to stick to all that money!

He turned off the highway and began to drive up the dirt road.

"They could be there, waiting for us," he said suddenly.

"They? There's only one . . . he's over sixty and frail. You heard what was said on the radio," Sheila said scornfully. "Don't tell me you're scared of a man like that?"

But Tom was scared.

"This is out of our class. A man like that . . . he could have a gun."

"So what? So he has a gun . . . we have two and a half million dollars! If you can't handle him, I know I can!"

Tom moved uneasily.

"How you talk! Always the big mouth! I still think we should go to the police."

"Oh, for God's sake! We're not going to the police!"

They came within sight of the Sting Ray. He pulled up and got out of the Buick.

The note he had written was still under the windscreen wiper. He slipped it out and shoved it into his pocket. Well, he thought, beginning to relax, at least here's luck. This guy didn't find my car.

Going back to the Buick, he took out the new oil pump he had picked up at the G.M. garage and then set to work to change the dud for the new one.

Sheila walked into the glade and Maisky saw her. He watched her as she wandered around. In spite of his anxiety, his elderly lust was aroused. He eyed her heavy breasts and the slow roll of her buttocks as she walked.

This, he thought, could be one hell of a lay.

He was sorry when she went down the path on to the dirt road and he lost sight of her. He heard them talking, then a car started up. With a grinding roar and a rattle, the car moved off.

Maisky steeled himself, then walked down the path to the Buick. His hand was shaking as he unlocked the boot. He lifted the lid and then stood motionless. In a frenzy of sudden rage, he spat into the empty boot.

They had found and taken the carton!

* * *

Tom drove his car into the garage and cut the engine. Sheila slid out of the car and shut the garage doors. They walked quickly through the kitchen and then into the sitting-room. They stood looking at the carton, then Sheila lifted the lid.

"I never thought I would live to see so much money," she said huskily. Squatting down on her heels, she picked up one of the packets and pressed it to her breasts. "Two and a half million dollars . . . it's a dream!"

Tom dropped into a lounging chair. He felt shaky and scared. "We can't keep it. We must tell the police."

She dropped the packet of money back into the carton.

"We are going to keep it . . . all of it." Going to the cocktail cabinet, *she poured two big whiskies and gave him one. "Here . . ."

Tom swallowed the drink at a gulp. The spirit immediately hit him. He felt suddenly fine and a little reckless.

"No one knows we have it," Sheila said, sitting down and sipping her drink. "We must now use our heads. This is a gift . . . make up your mind about it. We are going to keep it."

Tom felt the whisky move through him.

"Okay . . . so suppose we are crazy enough to keep it? We can't spend it. Everyone knows in this goddam town that we never have any money. So what do we do with it?"