handkerchief aside and took care of three customers, working like an automaton. When I moved the handkerchief over toward the end of the bin, the two checks remained on the side of my counter, to the right of the grille. I turned them over and initialed them, put them in the proper drawer space, wrote neatly on my running record two “cash paids,” one for twenty-five hundred, one for twenty-three hundred.
When I picked up the handkerchief again, my fingers closed around it and around the stack of bills. I shoved the whole works into my side pocket. Another customer stepped up, and a line quickly formed behind her.
The next time I went into the men’s room, I shut myself in the cubicle, dropped my trousers, unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of my shirt, and unstrapped the money belt, khaki canvas, purchased at a PX. I zipped the money in, strapped it back on.
When it came time for lunch I took a bite of sandwich. I chewed and chewed, but I could not seem to moisten it. It turned to caked dryness in my mouth. I spit it out, dropped the lunch into a wastebasket. A little after two o’clock the check for $3,000 went into theworks, and thirty hundred-dollar bills went into my pocket. It was much easier than the first time. I found myself able to glance casually around, wink at Paul Raddmann seconds after I had shoved the money, folded into the handkerchief, into my pocket.
I totaled up without a hitch, without an error.
At six o’clock Emily stood beside me, her eyes like black flame, her breath coming fast and shallow, as I unzipped the belt and piled the money on the plate-glass top of the coffee table. She counted it three times.
“Seven thousand, eight hundred dollars,” she said, her tone solemn.
“They say we could live for one very good year on that in Argentina.”
“Seven thousand, eight hundred dollars.”
“Get the records, Emily. We’ve got to enter this. Did you bring checks?”
“Ten checks.”
I whistled softly. “We’ve got a few hours work.”
She looked up at me, the money in her hands. She tilted her head a bit to one side. “Kyle, I was almost certain you wouldn’t do it.”
“I did it.”
“You are a criminal now. Do you feel sorry?”
“I can’t help feeling a little nervous.”
“I said sorry, not nervous.” She moved closer, lifted her mouth hard against mine, set her small even teeth in my lower lip, right on the threshhold of pain.
“Sorry?” she said. Her voice was distorted by what she was doing. I had my arms around her. She held the money to her breast. I could feel the bulk of it, in her clasped hands, against my chest.
“No,” I said. “Not sorry.”
She released my lip. Her eyes were shut. “Tell me what you are. Say it.”
“I am a criminal.”
“Now tell me why you did it. Tell me, Kyle.”
“Because you wanted me to.”
“No, Kyle. Because it’s the only way you could have me.”
Chapter Nine
S he had a place all set for it. She had cut a piece of cardboard to fit inside an oval hatbox. She spread the money in the bottom of the hatbox, slid the cardboard down to cover it, put a hat in it, fastened the lid on, and put it on the closet shelf.
“There!” she said.
We ate there. We worked on the checks and the records until after ten. The strain of the day had taken much out of us. I did not touch her. I went slowly down the stairs and went to bed.
Tuesday the checks from Monday arrived at her desk without incident. Tuesday was a slim day, Wednesday not much better. Thursday I switched checks for $5,600. Each night she insisted on counting not just the day’s take, but the total. I sat on the couch and watched her. She sat on the floor counting them into neat piles: $20,500.
She played with the money as a child plays with a fascinating toy. It gave her a hard, brilliant excitement. I went to her, where she was surrounded by her stacks of money, and she responded like flame. And afterward she crouched nude and collected the scattered
When I picked up the handkerchief again, my fingers closed around it and around the stack of bills. I shoved the whole works into my side pocket. Another customer stepped up, and a line quickly formed behind her.
The next time I went into the men’s room, I shut myself in the cubicle, dropped my trousers, unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of my shirt, and unstrapped the money belt, khaki canvas, purchased at a PX. I zipped the money in, strapped it back on.
When it came time for lunch I took a bite of sandwich. I chewed and chewed, but I could not seem to moisten it. It turned to caked dryness in my mouth. I spit it out, dropped the lunch into a wastebasket. A little after two o’clock the check for $3,000 went into theworks, and thirty hundred-dollar bills went into my pocket. It was much easier than the first time. I found myself able to glance casually around, wink at Paul Raddmann seconds after I had shoved the money, folded into the handkerchief, into my pocket.
I totaled up without a hitch, without an error.
At six o’clock Emily stood beside me, her eyes like black flame, her breath coming fast and shallow, as I unzipped the belt and piled the money on the plate-glass top of the coffee table. She counted it three times.
“Seven thousand, eight hundred dollars,” she said, her tone solemn.
“They say we could live for one very good year on that in Argentina.”
“Seven thousand, eight hundred dollars.”
“Get the records, Emily. We’ve got to enter this. Did you bring checks?”
“Ten checks.”
I whistled softly. “We’ve got a few hours work.”
She looked up at me, the money in her hands. She tilted her head a bit to one side. “Kyle, I was almost certain you wouldn’t do it.”
“I did it.”
“You are a criminal now. Do you feel sorry?”
“I can’t help feeling a little nervous.”
“I said sorry, not nervous.” She moved closer, lifted her mouth hard against mine, set her small even teeth in my lower lip, right on the threshhold of pain.
“Sorry?” she said. Her voice was distorted by what she was doing. I had my arms around her. She held the money to her breast. I could feel the bulk of it, in her clasped hands, against my chest.
“No,” I said. “Not sorry.”
She released my lip. Her eyes were shut. “Tell me what you are. Say it.”
“I am a criminal.”
“Now tell me why you did it. Tell me, Kyle.”
“Because you wanted me to.”
“No, Kyle. Because it’s the only way you could have me.”
Chapter Nine
S he had a place all set for it. She had cut a piece of cardboard to fit inside an oval hatbox. She spread the money in the bottom of the hatbox, slid the cardboard down to cover it, put a hat in it, fastened the lid on, and put it on the closet shelf.
“There!” she said.
We ate there. We worked on the checks and the records until after ten. The strain of the day had taken much out of us. I did not touch her. I went slowly down the stairs and went to bed.
Tuesday the checks from Monday arrived at her desk without incident. Tuesday was a slim day, Wednesday not much better. Thursday I switched checks for $5,600. Each night she insisted on counting not just the day’s take, but the total. I sat on the couch and watched her. She sat on the floor counting them into neat piles: $20,500.
She played with the money as a child plays with a fascinating toy. It gave her a hard, brilliant excitement. I went to her, where she was surrounded by her stacks of money, and she responded like flame. And afterward she crouched nude and collected the scattered
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