Bank Robbers (22 page)

“I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do,” she kept repeating into his lapel as he held her tightly.

“It's all right. It'll be all right, I promise. Come on,” he said, gently wrapping his arm around her waist, and he watched her wipe her eyes with the palm of her hand.

“Get your coat,” he said and then paused, “and the money. Where's the money?”

She pointed at the green tote bag, still sitting on the table. He nodded. As she pulled on her old coat, he spotted an old sweater hanging on a hook on the wall. Arthur folded it on top of the shopping bag to hide the bills and the gun. He would keep the bag until they got to Rye, then he could dispose of that and the gun.

He looked over at her, picked up the shopping bag and again wrapped his arm around her waist and led her out of the apartment.

“You have to calm down, I want you to count in your head to one hundred. I have my son with me,” Arthur MacGregor whispered in her ear, and she nodded and swallowed and quickly began counting.

By the time they'd made it to the car she had counted to almost seventy and she was numb.

“I'll get in back with you,” Arthur said loudly.

She nodded and slid into the seat, trying to avoid looking at Arthur's son, who appeared to be gaping at her.

Had he seen the stupid video? Had he put together that she was the woman with the veil and the gun?

Maybe not. She could no longer tell.

They all sat in silence, and Moe started the motor.

Dottie kept her head turned and her eyes looking out the passenger window as Moe began to maneuver the car over to the East Side. After a couple of minutes she felt Arthur slide his hand over onto her lap. It lingered on her thigh just above her knee and then he reached farther and took hold of her hand. He held it gently and she glanced over at him.

He kept looking straight ahead, as his hand began roaming around hers, and he gently caressed the top of her hand, up to her wrist, and slowly pushed his fingers between hers. He stroked up and down in between each finger and she realized that she was beginning to breathe deeply and normally again. It had been so long since someone had touched her and her hand began to feel warm and it was making her relax.

“So,” Moe's voice rang out, somewhat startling her, “you're the one Dad sold the gun to, huh?” He let out a deep laugh which sounded exactly like Arthur's.

Her chest tightened. She pulled her hand away from Arthur's, and he immediately grabbed it back and held it tightly. She forced herself not to look shocked, and her eyes focused on Arthur's profile.

“What—”

“Dottie O'Malley, this is my son, Moe MacGregor,” Arthur cut her off.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, trying to suppress a quiver in her voice. “What did you say about a gun?” she asked.

“It was a joke my father was playing on me for not believing he was dating someone these last two days. Anyway, I'm glad to meet you, Dottie. May I call you Dottie?”

“Yes, Moe, of course … A gun! Your father has such a wonderful sense of humor,” she said strongly, forced a chuckle, and gave Arthur a sharp jab in the ribs. She saw the corners of Arthur's mouth turn up. She realized she was doing all right; she could see it in his face.

She leaned back on the seat, and he began stroking her hand once more. She breathed out again and let herself get lost in what he was doing.

“Mind if I listen to the radio?”

“Don't turn on the radio!” they both barked at him and Dottie saw Moe glance up into the rearview, puzzled.

“I have a headache,” Dottie heard herself say easily.

“All right,” Moe said grudgingly.

Arthur continued stroking her hand and she felt herself slide down on the seat and lean her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze, and she could feel him kiss the top of her head quickly. He took her other hand and began caressing it. The fear began to subside and she suddenly felt very sleepy. He gave a small contented exhale and Dottie looked up at him and saw a smile on his lips and the crease and dimple it made right below his cheekbone and it struck her how handsome he still was after all these years.

Dusk had come and gone and the landscape changed from the glittery night lights of Manhattan to darkness and trees and one-family buildings with front yards. They turned off the highway and onto a smaller road into a residential neighborhood. Windows glowed with warm orangy light and shot elongated rectangles across the lawns. She could hear the sound of wind and the occasional barking of a dog. It calmed her further, the peaceful little houses and the trees, and made her feel that Chemical Bank and Sullivan Street and guns and bags of money were far, far away and she was safe here.

After an amount of time for which she couldn't account, the car slid up in front of a large colonial-style home and came to a stop.

Her eyes stared out at the house and the two slices of lawn, separated by a brick path. There was a pumpkin sitting on top of the three brick steps, and the large dark-green front door was lit on either side with colonial-type lanterns.

It was the kind of house she'd seen in magazines, and she guessed that in a moment the door would fly open and Moe's children would shoot out of the place.

“Okay,” Moe said, and Arthur opened his door and got out, carrying with him the shopping bag.

She waited until Arthur walked around to her door and opened it for her. She gingerly stepped out.

“I'll call you over the weekend, Pop. It was nice meeting you, Dottie,” Moe said and waved and immediately pulled the car away from the curb.

Dottie turned and stared at the house as she realized it was Arthur's. She followed him up the walk, amazed that someone could live in a house this big all by themselves, and the odd thought that it must be hard to keep clean when you're alone crossed her mind.

Arthur took out the keys and let them inside.

“Take your coat off, you can hang it in the hall closet,” he said and opened the door for her.

“Eva?” he called immediately, and walked off down the hallway.

Eva? There was someone here named Eva? A wife … after what he had been doing with her hand? She felt a real lightning bolt of anger, and then realized that she really had no alternative to being here and meeting his wife.

She took her big old coat and carefully hung it beside the half dozen men's coats and jackets. She ran her hand across a large cashmere coat, admiring its softness, and it dawned on her that it looked very expensive. She immediately closed the closet door and walked over and stared into the living room.

There was a fire going in the large fireplace. Silver candlesticks with long white tapers sat on the white-painted mantel, the kind with sedate dentil molding. The candles looked almost like sentries for the painting hung on the wall behind them. It was one of those Early American scenes, where everything had a masculine brownish cast to it. It was painted from the point of view of being high up on a mountain, looking down. There was a valley with autumnal trees lining the slopes leading down to river dotted with tiny boats.

To the right of the fireplace was a large television set, and to the right of that a colonial-style secretary. Delicate Dresden china figurines stood poised on the shelves. Women in lacy dresses, like the kind they wore in the seventeen hundreds, seemed momentarily frozen in the middle of a dance or sitting in poses.

A cream-and-maroon-striped sofa with two big pillows was centered in front of the fireplace, and a large coffee table sat in front of that. Dancing firelight reflected off the highly polished table.

At the far end of the room was a library area, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with expensive-looking hardcover books. A chair that matched the sofa was placed there with a reading lamp and a footrest. The floor was carpeted in beige.

Everything was shiny and clean and restful.

There was a sound behind her and she turned and looked at Arthur. He had taken his coat off, and was carrying the shopping bag of money.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” he said and held his hand out to her.

She nodded and avoided taking his hand.

She was led into a formal dining room. A large dark wood table was set with two places. Two candles were lit and separated by a small vase of fresh flowers. Colonial-style china cabinets were filled with fancy plates and etched crystal glasses.

“This is the dining room,” he said and she nodded.

He took her through to a country-style kitchen that was nearly the size of her whole apartment. Shiny copper pots hung over a cooking island in the center of the room. She could smell the roast cooking, and she began to get hungry. On top of the stove sat pots with what she guessed were vegetables, and on one counter was a big wooden bowl with a salad in it. Across the floor from the counter was a bay window with a table and chairs pushed in front of it so you could have your meal and look out over the garden. To the right of that was a back door. A rack of hooks was next to the door and there was a large pink sweater hanging off it. Her eyes scanned for Eva, who was nowhere to be seen. Arthur held his hand out to her.

“Let's go upstairs,” he said, and she felt herself freeze against the counter.

“Your wife has very good taste.”

He cracked a puzzled smile.

“My wife?”

“Eva.”

“My housekeeper. You'll meet her tomorrow.”

“Am I staying the night?” she asked harshly.

“Why? You got a hot date waiting for you?” he said just as harshly, and she turned to walk out the door. He darted over to her and put his hands on her upper arms.

“That came out wrong,” he whispered into her ear. “I don't want to fight with you anymore, Dottie.” She felt a ticklish rush go through her as Arthur exhaled hard, as if he were deciding how to say something. “If there's somewhere else you want to go, tell me; I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

He waited for her to say something and he watched her lower her head and shake it from side to side.

“I don't have anywhere else to go,” she said quietly.

Arthur silently led her back through the hallway near the stairs, and she followed him upstairs. There was a series of guest bedrooms, one converted to some sort of game room with some gym equipment, a television, stereo, and a dart board.

Arthur opened the last door on the floor and flicked on the lights, and she stepped into the master bedroom. It was the corner room and had windows on two walls, as well as two huge French doors that led out to a balcony. A large sleigh bed was covered in expensive sheets. In the corner were a marble-topped table and slipper chair, and next to that was a settee. It was the kind of room she'd seen displayed in Macy's catalog, or run in ads for fancy furniture places. She heard him lock the door behind them and watched him walk over to the desk. He flicked on the radio, and soft jazz filled the room.

Dottie felt overwhelmed by the big house and the fancy furniture, and suspicious of Arthur at the same time.

How did he know? How did he know where she lived? How did he know she was the bank robber?

He dumped the contents of the bag out on the bed and Dottie felt herself tense up as the gun dropped onto the quilt. She stared at all the cash.

He picked up the gun, deftly took the bullets out and the firing pin. She listened to the clink of them as they dropped on the bed. “We have to get rid of this,” he said matter-of-factly, and then placed it on the nightstand.

He turned his attention to the money. He shuffled through it with a speed and expertise she had never seen before, and she stood silently. She felt another wave of fear, and there was something sad about watching Arthur MacGregor joyously pounce on the money and begin to count it with such speed and accuracy.

She felt herself begin to get a little dizzy. She stared at the table and chair and slowly walked over and sank down onto the chair. She placed her elbows on the cool marble top, and found herself almost crumpling up, until her face was leaning on the tops of her arms and she was crying.

“Looks like close to one hundred grand here.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“Well,” he chuckled and she shot him a glare. He wiped the grin off his face. “Here we are.”

“Oh, please! Don't gloat, Arthur.” Her voice was angry.

“Well, what are you going to do now? I retire and you turn into Ma Barker.”

She shot him a glare, and then her look turned suspicious. “How did you know it was me? I waited for two hours for the police, I waited in the bank for them to come and get me.”

“I was in the bank when you robbed it.”

He swung his legs over and walked over to the dresser, where he'd placed the shopping bag from the clothing store. He dug his hand into the plastic bag and pulled out the cap and the eyeglasses. He put them on and turned around.

She let out a small cry deep in her throat.

“Aw, God! I thought you looked familiar, it…” She was stammering and then her eyes narrowed. “You've been following me.”

“For two days now.”

“Aw, God! So you let me make an idiot out of myself last night? How could you? What? Were you laughing at me? Did you think this was some sort of a game?”

Her eyes were looking at him almost horrified. The hurt on her face was painful.

“No, no—I didn't know what it was. I thought you were desperate…” He took off the cap and the glasses and took a step toward her.

“So you felt sorry for me.” She held the back of her hand up to her lips and turned to the door. “I have to go.”

She began turning the lock, and he came up behind her; he gently put his hand on her shoulder.

“Where, Dottie? Where are you going?”

“Why should it matter to you? You don't care about me, remember?”

He slid his hand down her back to her waist and pulled her into him. She felt him warm her back, and hold her firmly around her waist.