Well Now My Pretty

She felt hungry and realised there was nothing to eat in the house. She hesitated, then getting up she called the Sandwich Bar at the end of the street. She ordered two chicken sandwiches and a bottle of milk. The man said he would send her order over right away.

She turned on the TV set, but at this hour the programme was so dull, she immediately turned it off. A boy arrived a quarter of an hour later with the food. She paid him, noting she had only three dollars and a few cents in her purse.

She ate the sandwiches while moving around the lounge. She was restless and kept thinking of all that money in the bedroom. She kept thinking what a waste of time it was to have to wait when she could now start a spending spree.

As she finished the last of the sandwiches, the front-door bell rang. The sound made her jump and she stood motionless, her heart hammering. Then, when the bell rang again, she went to the front door.

Harry Dylan was standing on the doorstep.

"I guess you forgot our little date," he said and waved a bottle of Old Roses at her. "The wife's gone shopping. I thought I'd look in."

She eyed him, hesitated, then decided he was better than boredom.

"Well . . . come in."

"Mr. Whiteside's gone to work, hasn't he?" Dylan was eyeing her figure. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips.

"Yes . . . he's gone to work."

She led the way into the sitting-room.

"Here are the receipts and the parcel."

She looked at the electricity and gas bills and tossed them on the table.

"My husband will settle with these." She stared at Dylan. "He never leaves me any money."

"I guess most husbands are like that," Dylan said and laughed nervously. He couldn't keep his eyes to himself. "Well, how about a drink, Mrs. Whiteside?"

"Why not?"

She got glasses, charge water and ice. All the time she moved around, she was aware of his eyes on her body. Well, let him look, the poor dumb fish, she thought. It's not costing me anything.

"You heard about the Casino robbery?" he asked, measuring out two big drinks. "Quite something. Two and a half million dollars! It's my bet they will never see that again!"

She sat down, deliberately careless with her skirt. She let him see the colour of her panties before she adjusted her skirt. He slopped some of the drink.

"Yes, I heard about it on the radio. What would you do with all that money, Mr. Dylan?"

"I wouldn't know . . . honestly. They say one man's got it now. I've worked in a bank for years, Mrs. Whiteside. I do know something about the value of money. Let me tell you . . . that's too much money. The average person wouldn't know what to do with it."

She had to make an effort not to show her contempt. "Oh, I don't know. Money goes fast."

"But not as much money as that. It would be an embarrassment. And besides, it is all in $500 bills. Now, a bill that size creates suspicion. When I was at the bank and someone wanted to change a $500 bill, I always checked. Just imagine being landed with all those bills."

Sheila stared thoughtfully at her glass. She hadn't thought of this.

"Surely people do have $500 bills?"

"Of course, but not many of them. And the banks will now be watching for them." They sipped their drinks while his eyes ran over her legs. "So you had a good vacation?"

She didn't hear him. She was thinking . . . wondering whether a fat old fool like him knew what he was talking about. He probably didn't. After all, the rich gamblers at the Casino used $500 bills as she used lipstick.

"Mrs. Whiteside . . . you're day dreaming," Dylan said and laughed. "So far away . . . did you have a good vacation? Did you really enjoy it?"

Oh, God! Not that again! She was suddenly utterly bored with him. She had hoped maybe he would help pass the time, but his obvious lust, his peeping eyes and his fat, sweating face now sickened her.

"Yes . . . fine." She finished her drink and stood up. "Well . . . sorry to push you out, but I have unpacking to do. Tom will settle up some time this evening. Thanks for the drink."

She got rid of him before he realised he was being bustled out. She watched him through the window as he walked away, looking lonely and depressed.

She grimaced.

Men! she thought.

Eight

AT TWENTY minutes past midnight, Tom, who had been looking at his watch continuously for the past half hour, stood up.

'We can do it now," he said. "I'm not waiting any longer."

"Better go out and see if any lights are showing," Sheila said, but she too was anxious to get the money buried.

"I know . . . I know . . . you don't have to tell me!"

Tom went into the kitchen, turned off the light, opened the back door and walked into the garden.

It was a hot night, and there was a big moon like a dead man's face, casting a hard white light over the garden. He walked slowly down the garden path until he came to the bottom fence, then he turned and looked at the bungalows either side of his. They were all in darkness. He then hurried back as Sheila joined him.

"All right?"

"Yes . . . I'll get the spade. You go down to the fence and watch."