woman's holding her prisoner, practically, working her tail off and making her do a lot of dirty things. She, this little girl, asks me to rescue her and let her be my helpmeet, and then we can live happily forever after. And touched by her plea, I agree to do so. I agree even before I know about all this dough the old woman had stashed away, which-when you come to think about it-is rightfully Mona's, because the old bitch has given her a hard time every day for years. And if a littie girl ever had a hundred grand coming, she did.
Well, I go over to the house that night, and, hell, I wouldn't have laid a finger on that old woman. But she keeps egging me on, talking dirty and giving me a bad time. So there just wasn't any other way out.
Well, just about then, maybe a few minutes later, this fellow Pete Hendrickson came in. I think maybe he was a Nazi or maybe a Communist-one of 'em that slipped over here during the war. But, anyway, he was a no-good bastard; he admitted being a bum, himself. And he wouid have given me a hard time, too. So there was only one thing to do about him.
Well, I'd done it to him; and I was wearing gloves, but I wiped the gun off good and put it in the old woman's hand. And just as I'd finished, this Mona shows up with the money.
And she sees this Nazi or Communist or whatever he was, and she goes all to pieces. Acts like I was a criminal or something. Acted like I hadn't done it all for her.
Well, she pulled herself together when she saw how jarred I was, the notion I was getting. She said it was just a shock, seeing him there when she hadn't expected to, that she just didn't like to have it happen to anyone unless it was her aunt. And she was sorry and so on, and she'd do whatever I asked.
So I'm a pretty understanding guy, and I kind of liked her for feeling that way. If she did actually feel that way. So everything was jake between us again.
I told her what she was supposed to do, what to say to the cops. I told her it would be a leadpipe cinch, and in a couple of weeks we could get together. Then, I kissed her and left, taking the money with me.
It-the money, I mean-was in a black leather bag, something like a file-briefcase or a doctor's medicine kit. It was packed tight and it was heavy, about sixty or seventy pounds. And all the way home I was wondering where in the hell I could keep it. I was afraid to hide it in the house. That was a pretty bad neighborhood, and it would be just my luck to have some son-of-a-bitch break in and lift it. I finally decided to carry it with me, at least for a while. I could bury it down in the bottom of my sample case-throw out some of the samples if I had to-and keep it with me all day long.
I got home, and took it into the house. I set my sample case up on the coffee table, opened the lid and tried fitting the bag inside. I kind of fiddled around with it, trying it this way and that way. I was sort of delaying the pleasure, I guess, letting my anticipation build up. And I guess probably I was a little afraid. Because with a hard luck guy like me, damned near anything can happen. That littie satchel might turn out to be filled with bricks or magazines. Or some kind of booby trap that would blow my head off when -. –
I opened it. It bulged open the second I pressed the catch, and I made myself look inside. And I sort of moaned, nickered like a colt going for its mother.
It was there, all right. Packs and packs of paperbanded bills. Fives, tens, and twenties. I dipped my hands down into it, and brought them up again. And it was all money-no false packages, no junk: I didn't have to count it. Hell, I could almost count it in my head – -. a hundred grand.
_A hundred grand!_
And Mona. I'd rescued her from her wicked aunt and meted out justice to this guy who had molested her, and I'd recovered this money which was rightfully hers. And soon we would shake the dust of this old land from our feet, depart this scene of my many tragic disappointments, and
Well, I go over to the house that night, and, hell, I wouldn't have laid a finger on that old woman. But she keeps egging me on, talking dirty and giving me a bad time. So there just wasn't any other way out.
Well, just about then, maybe a few minutes later, this fellow Pete Hendrickson came in. I think maybe he was a Nazi or maybe a Communist-one of 'em that slipped over here during the war. But, anyway, he was a no-good bastard; he admitted being a bum, himself. And he wouid have given me a hard time, too. So there was only one thing to do about him.
Well, I'd done it to him; and I was wearing gloves, but I wiped the gun off good and put it in the old woman's hand. And just as I'd finished, this Mona shows up with the money.
And she sees this Nazi or Communist or whatever he was, and she goes all to pieces. Acts like I was a criminal or something. Acted like I hadn't done it all for her.
Well, she pulled herself together when she saw how jarred I was, the notion I was getting. She said it was just a shock, seeing him there when she hadn't expected to, that she just didn't like to have it happen to anyone unless it was her aunt. And she was sorry and so on, and she'd do whatever I asked.
So I'm a pretty understanding guy, and I kind of liked her for feeling that way. If she did actually feel that way. So everything was jake between us again.
I told her what she was supposed to do, what to say to the cops. I told her it would be a leadpipe cinch, and in a couple of weeks we could get together. Then, I kissed her and left, taking the money with me.
It-the money, I mean-was in a black leather bag, something like a file-briefcase or a doctor's medicine kit. It was packed tight and it was heavy, about sixty or seventy pounds. And all the way home I was wondering where in the hell I could keep it. I was afraid to hide it in the house. That was a pretty bad neighborhood, and it would be just my luck to have some son-of-a-bitch break in and lift it. I finally decided to carry it with me, at least for a while. I could bury it down in the bottom of my sample case-throw out some of the samples if I had to-and keep it with me all day long.
I got home, and took it into the house. I set my sample case up on the coffee table, opened the lid and tried fitting the bag inside. I kind of fiddled around with it, trying it this way and that way. I was sort of delaying the pleasure, I guess, letting my anticipation build up. And I guess probably I was a little afraid. Because with a hard luck guy like me, damned near anything can happen. That littie satchel might turn out to be filled with bricks or magazines. Or some kind of booby trap that would blow my head off when -. –
I opened it. It bulged open the second I pressed the catch, and I made myself look inside. And I sort of moaned, nickered like a colt going for its mother.
It was there, all right. Packs and packs of paperbanded bills. Fives, tens, and twenties. I dipped my hands down into it, and brought them up again. And it was all money-no false packages, no junk: I didn't have to count it. Hell, I could almost count it in my head – -. a hundred grand.
_A hundred grand!_
And Mona. I'd rescued her from her wicked aunt and meted out justice to this guy who had molested her, and I'd recovered this money which was rightfully hers. And soon we would shake the dust of this old land from our feet, depart this scene of my many tragic disappointments, and
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