Love's lovely counterfeit - James M. Cain [57]
"Honduras, maybe."
They were driving through the afternoon twilight, she at the wheel. They had taken a street that didn't quite go through the center of town, but suddenly his ear caught something, and he had her drive over to one of the main intersections. There he bought a paper, and held it up to her so she could see the great black headline: CASPAR BODY FOUND. After reading a moment or two he gave an exclamation.
"There it is."
"What is it?"
"'It is understood the police will arrest a big local racketeer, prominent since the Jansen administration took office, and probably a young college girl—'"
"How could they?"
"Never mind. Drive."
After a few miles, however, he gave another exclamation, took out his wallet, counted the contents. "Dorothy, do you have any money?"
"Fifty cents."
"I've got nine dollars."
He stared like a sleepwalker at the road ahead. "I've got money in the bank, thousands in the bank, and I don't dare cash a check. I've got this car, and I don't dare sell it. I've been just sitting around letting the grass grow under my feet. I was so sure we'd done a bang-up job that I thought they'd never guess it. I never once remembered I'd be the first man they'd think of, whether we did a bang-up job or not. And as for you, I've been with you morning, noon, and night—"
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know."
"We'll need gas pretty soon."
"We're O.K. on that. We got the credit card—"
"What's the matter?"
"We don't dare use it."
"It's all right. We have each other."
"We don't even dare get married."
They drove some miles through the gathering dusk, aimlessly, aware that they were going nowhere. He looked at her then, and she turned her head, and for a moment they were staring at each other.
"Dorothy, we got one chance."
"What is it, Ben?"
"One crazy chance."
"I don't care if it's crazy."
"I always carry a little notebook."
"Yes, I've noticed it."
"There's something in there I don't understand. It's a flock of numbers. I don't know how they got in there, I don't remember copying them down any time, I don't place what they are. Maybe I never knew what they are. I copy a lot of things down, just in case. But the other day, when I rented a bigger box at the bank, I tumbled to what they are. They're a safe combination."
"Yes? Go on, Ben. Hurry up."
"Caspar, he hid his dough somewhere."
"Ben, I don't think it's crazy!"
"As to where he hid it, I think I know. I kept noticing we were out Memorial Boulevard oftener than there seemed any reason for us to be. And there's that toolshed out there, right in the middle of a vacant lot, that just don't make sense. Are you game to go there with me tonight? Will you—"
"Ben, I'll simply love it."
"Got a cigarette?"
"No, I'm sorry."
It was dark when they got back to Lake City, after buying gasoline, for cash. She threaded her way through the traffic area, and he bought another paper. It was a green one, the day's final, and his picture was in it, as well as hers. He was bitter against Cantrell, for giving him no warning, and against June, who he was sure was the only one that could have furnished both pictures. She made no comment, except that June had always been good to her. They drove out Memorial, to the place where Lefty had appeared screaming the night Dick Delany had been murdered. Here they turned into the side road. Cautiously, they kept on until they came to the toolshed that he and June had noticed, the morning they started checking up. Here they stopped. He took the flashlight with which the car was provided, and they got out.
Approaching the toolshed they peeped into it, through one of its small windows. Visible were picks, shovels, a wheelbarrow a trough for mixing mortar. "Don't look very promising."
He sounded glum, but she was staring straight in front of her nose. "This window is barred on the inside. That doesn't look like an ordinary toolshed."
Leaving him to watch for cars, she took the flashlight and made the rounds of the little building, presently calling him. Shooting the light under the roof, she pointed