The Night People (19 page)

She smiled as she imagined the robber’s face when he opened the envelope he had taken and found all those neatly cut pieces of newspaper.

Joyce spent the evening in her apartment, nursing her throbbing jaw with cold compresses. She’d counted the money as soon as she arrived home, and now she had it safely hidden inside a sealed plastic pouch in the bathroom toilet tank. It would be best, she knew, to keep it hidden for a time before spending any of it. No need to flaunt it immediately and attract suspicion. She knew there was always the possibility the robber would be caught and tell the police about the cut-up newspapers, but then it would still be only his word against hers. She was certain no one in the office had seen her make the switch in envelopes as she stepped into the hall. After all, she’d been practicing it every day that week without being detected.

The robbery rated a brief mention on the local news broadcast that evening, and the following day there was a half-column story buried on a back page of the paper. Loan offices and finance companies were being held up nearly every week, and there were no unusual angles to this one, not from the paper’s point of view. Joyce sighed over her coffee and decided to call in sick. It was a Friday and she felt like having the weekend to herself. Her jaw still ached, and Mr. Melrose expressed no surprise when she told him she’d be staying home till Monday.

“Take care of yourself,” he managed to say. “You’re more important than the money.”

She snorted as she hung up. He must have almost choked on that line!

She spent the rest of the day relaxing and treating her jaw, which seemed a bit better in the afternoon. The swelling had gone down, and a couple of aspirins relieved the ache. She was even thinking about going out to a movie or phoning a girl friend when the doorbell rang.

“Yes?” she spoke through the intercom.

“Police, Miss Ireland. We have a few more questions.”

She sighed and pushed the buzzer, releasing the lock of the front door. In a few moments there was a knock on her apartment door and she opened it without hesitation.

She gasped and tried to slam it shut but he was too fast for her. It was “The Man with the Eyebrows.” His foot in the door, he shoved her back. She opened her mouth to scream and he quickly covered her mouth with a dirty sweating palm.

“No more, little lady, or I’ll break that jaw for good!”

She struggled, trying to get free, biting, clawing, but he held her fast. “I want the money. I came for the money and I want it. Where is it?”

She moaned under his hand and he took it away slowly. “No tricks now!”

“I—my arm! You’re breaking it!”

“I said no tricks, if you know what’s good for you. Now, where’s the money?”

The pain in her arm was excruciating, but somehow she had to bluff him. “Didn’t you get enough yesterday?”

He gave her a violent push that sent her flying across the room to land on the sofa. She turned and twisted, sucking in her breath for a scream—and then she saw his knife.

He held it loosely in one hand, moving it just enough to catch the glimmers of afternoon sunlight through her window. “I’d hate to cut you up, little lady. You know what I got yesterday. Newspapers! Somebody took the money and it could only be you. I’m damned if I’m going to run from the cops for a job I didn’t even pull!”

“If there was no money in the envelope I’m as surprised as you are,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I didn’t make up the deposit—the other girl did.”

She started to rise from the sofa, but he took a step forward and she changed her mind. Now that she had a good look at him, he wasn’t nearly as dangerous as he’d been in those first moments. He still wasn’t good-looking, but the bushy eyebrows helped to accent his deep brown eyes. His jaw was set and firm, the jaw of a fighter. “Cut the stalling and tell me where it is,” he said, but his voice was just a bit softer, and the knife, still in his hand, was not quite so menacing.

“I saw you in the elevator,” she managed to say. “Last week. I didn’t tell the police that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because you were planning to steal the money yourself, that’s why.”

She didn’t answer that. Instead, she asked, “What made you pick on me?”

He shrugged. “I saw you in the elevator.” Then, his eyes hardening a bit, he said, “Let’s cut the talk now. Give me the money.”

“I don’t have it. The other girl must have switched envelopes.”

“For what reason? So the bank would get cut-up newspaper?” He was growing impatient, and the knife moved upward.

Staring at it, Joyce knew she had only two real choices—give him the money and see her dream collapse, or risk the chance that he might kill her. And once she had given him the money, she could not even tell the police without implicating herself. He had her in much the same position she imagined him to be in. So it was give him the money—or—a flash of inspiration!—offer him more money.

“What if I could get even more for you?” she asked softly. “Would you let me keep some then?”

“More? What do you mean, more?”

“If I took more from the office. If I took another bank deposit and just ran with it.”

“And have the cops after you?”

“What choice do I have? If I give you the money, I’ve got nothing.”

He frowned down at her, not fully understanding. “You’re a stupid broad, you know that? The cops would grab you in no time.”

“Look, I’m offering you a deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Spell it out.”

“I’ll get an even larger amount of money for you. And you let me keep what I already have.”

“When?”

“Monday. As soon as the office opens.”

He hesitated, but she could see he was thinking it over. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“What can I do? Tell the police and implicate myself? If I tell them I’ll lose the money anyway. It would be the same as giving it to you.”

“Show me the money,” he said quietly after a moment.

“You’ll take it.”

He put away the knife. “If I’m trusting you, I should get some trust in return.”

She saw that she had no choice, not if she wanted him to go along with her plan. She stood up and led the way into the bathroom. “Remember, there’s much more I can get. If you slug me again and take this, you’ll lose the larger amount.”

“I understand.” He stood away from her, aware of her suspicions. His eyes widened a bit as she lifted off the top of the toilet tank. “Say, you’re a real pro, aren’t you?”

She unsealed the plastic wrapping and showed him the money. “Here it is, and here it stays.”

He thought about that. “If it stays, then I stay, too. I have to protect my investment.”

“You can’t stay in this apartment all weekend!”

“Why not? It’s one place the cops won’t be looking for me.”

She had to admit the accuracy of his statement. “But I—what if some friends of mine come by? What if—?”

“Tell ’em you’re sick, like you told the office. Tell ’em your jaw hurts.” He grinned a little as he said it.

“It does hurt!”

He sat down, making himself at home. “I’m sorry about that, but it had to be done.”

When she grasped that he really was going to stay, her mind was awash with possibilities. She imagined herself assaulted, or murdered in her bed. From there it was not too difficult to imagine herself running away with this wild, untamed man. “I don’t even know your name,” she said.

“It’s Dave. That’s as much as you need to know.”

“Mine’s Joyce. Joyce Ireland.”

“I saw it in the papers.”

She was nervous with him, as nervous as a girl on her first date. “Do you want—can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, why not? It’s going to be a long weekend, baby.”

They had a drink and then, because it was nearly time to eat, she took out two steaks she’d been saving for a special occasion. “You haven’t told me anything about yourself,” she said. “Where you come from, what you do.”

He shrugged. “I was in the Army for a while. When I got out a friend and I stole a car. I ended up with a year in jail, and I guess that fixed my life. I’ve been running and robbing ever since.”

“But—but you’re so well dressed!”

“It’s all an act. When you’re trying to get close enough to ladies to snatch their bank deposits, you don’t dress like a bum.”

They had another drink after dinner and she talked about herself—about her mother and her childhood and the lonely life she’d led till now. “I suppose that’s why I wanted the money,” she said. “Once I guessed you were going to steal it I wanted it for myself. I imagined all the glamorous places it could take me.”

“Where’s that?”

“Oh, Miami or Las Vegas or maybe even Paris.”

“You got big ideas.”

“You have to have in this world, I guess, because everybody else does. Until this week I thought I’d be spending my whole life at Worldwide, working for Mr. Melrose.”

She expected him to share her bed that night, but he curled up instead on the living-room sofa. She could hear his snoring through the bedroom door before she finally dropped off herself …

On Saturday she had to go shopping, and she asked if he would accompany her. He debated for a few moments and then shook his head. Too risky. She was a bit surprised that he trusted her to go out alone, but then she remembered the money was still in the toilet tank. She was the one who must trust him.

But he was there when she got back, watching a college football game on television. She went to the bathroom and checked the money, and that was there, too. She had trusted him and he had trusted her. Perhaps it was the start of something.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” she said that evening while they were eating.

“You’d be bored with it.”

“No. No, I wouldn’t.” She looked away, and when he didn’t answer she said, “You know the first thing I noticed about you?”

“What?”

“Your big bushy eyebrows.” She laughed and he laughed too, and he leaned forward a little to kiss her. His lips tasted salty—and exciting.

On Sunday afternoon she teased him into driving to the zoo with her. But he watched the animals with studied detachment, and she knew he was thinking of his own time in prison. The afternoon was not a success. When they got back to the apartment he was anxious to talk about the plans for the following day.

“How much money can you get on a Monday?”

“Collections and payments won’t be too large, but we might easily have a couple of thousand left over from late Friday business. Mr. Melrose always insists on depositing before three o’clock, even on the days when the bank is open later. He keeps what’s left over in the office safe.”

“So how much?”

She sighed. “Maybe six thousand or so.”

“Will he know you took it?”

“Probably. Especially when I don’t show up for work on Tuesday. I’ll take the bank deposit down and just keep going. With the other money it’ll give us more than ten thousand, Dave.”

He averted his eyes. “You wouldn’t like running with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m no good. I’m a crook.”

“I guess after last Thursday I’m a crook, too.”

They sat up late Sunday night, watching an old movie on television. In the morning she packed a small suitcase, taking her two favorite dresses and the few items that would be important to a new life. That was all.

He drove the car downtown and she sat by his side, increasingly nervous. “I’ll have to get us another car,” he said, “This one will be hot.”

“You mean steal one?”

“Why not?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“You’re stealing, aren’t you?”

She tried to explain. “But it’s just from Mr. Melrose and the company. In a way they owe it to me.”

“Well, somebody owes me a car, too.”

The money—the $5,275—was in its brown envelope on the seat between them. She was sliding out when she decided to leave it there. It was too late to stop trusting him now. “I’ll be down a little before three,” she said. “Be ready.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting.”

She stood at the curb and watched him drive away, and somehow it all seemed right.

Mr. Melrose welcomed her with a smile and words of sympathy. The brunette, Sue, muttered something and bent her head over a ledger. Joyce went to her desk and began opening the morning mail. Before long it had settled down to be a day like any other Monday.

At 2:30 she totaled up the bank deposit and announced, “There’s almost five thousand, Mr. Melrose—$4,934.”

“Good,” he said. “Joyce, I’ve decided I’ll be going down to the bank with you for a few days—just as a safety measure.”

Her stomach turned and she had to steady herself against the desk. “That’s hardly necessary, Mr. Melrose. The robber’s not likely to try it again so soon.”

“No, but another one might. No sense taking any more chances. I’ll go with you.”

They walked out to the elevator and waited in silence. Her mind was whirling as she tried to think of a way out. Dave would have the car by now. He’d be waiting for her. She had to shake free of Mr. Melrose and take the money with her. Otherwise Dave would think he’d been double-crossed and take off with the original loot. And she’d be left with nothing.

The elevator arrived, and it was empty. As they rode down in silence her eyes darted about the closed car, looking for a sign that would tell her the way out.

The indicator light went from 3 to 2 to 1, and then the car stopped with a little bump. She looked at the light and saw a B under the 1, and knew what she had to do. Mr. Melrose was not gentleman enough to let her out first. As he stepped out of the car she quickly pressed the B and the
Close Door
button and prayed.

“Hey! Joyce! What the—!”

Then his voice was silenced by the closed elevator door, and she was dropping to the basement. Fast, fast. Every second counted.

She’d been there only once before, looking for an old filing cabinet, but she remembered her way. She was suddenly like a child, running in the near-darkness between piles of dusty boxes, finding her way out. It was the way out of all her past, of childhood and mother and self. The only way out.