“Wibber’s a hick.”
“You say that because you own him. But you can’t own everyone, Sam. Not everyone. I hoped that being drafted into the Army would teach you that.”
“The Army’s no different than anything else, baby. Only bigger.” He sipped his drink and stretched out on the bed. “And before I get through... it’s going to be three quarters of a million bucks poorer.”
The thought seemed to please her. She spread her robe on the bed so that the air would get to her bare legs. She sipped her drink.
“Sam?”
“Eh?”
“I didn’t fix anything to eat.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“I thought maybe you could take me out.”
“Sure, baby. Sure”
“Sam, honey—”
“Eh?”
“Sweetie.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
Travis lit a cigarette, following her every movement, as she got out of the robe. She wore nothing but a bra and panties underneath. They were very brief and very white against the mahogany brown of her skin. Travis said, “You’ve got one hell of a body, baby.”
“It’s not bad,” she admitted. She unfastened the bra, teasing him, walking toward the bathroom like a stripper on a stage.
Lila finished undressing in the bathroom with the door closed and while he listened to the shower running Travis sipped his drink and smoked. It was only a matter of days now. Nine, to be exact, and there was still one gaping hole in his plan. But he was confident that he would find a way to plug it. He had to. This was the big one... the million dollar heist that would make him a legend.
Travis laughed out loud. In exactly ten days he and Lila would be in Mexico with all the time and all the money in the world, and nothing to do but live it up.
“That’s the coolest I’ve been all day,” Lila said as she came out of the bathroom. She was naked. Water still glistened on her body. Her breasts looked very big and cold and dominating. There was a strong scent of gardenias in the room.
Travis put down his glass and stared at her, fascinated. She opened her mouth. He got to his feet and pulled her to him.
“Sam, don’t, you’ll get all wet.”
“Who cares?”
“Sam—” She melted against him, whispering fiercely, her eyes tightly closed.
There was a knock on the door.
“Christ—” Travis released Lila, removed an Army .45 automatic from the drawer of the bedside table, and went to the door. Without opening it, he said, “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Open up.”
“Who?”
“Wibber.” The voice was clattery. “For Christ’s sake, open the door.”
Travis stuffed the .45 into his hip pocket, released the night latch, and stepped back as Wibber came into the room. He said, “What’s the idea coming here?”
For a moment Wibber stood there rooted, his puffy eyes slitted, riveted on Lila.
She hadn’t expected Travis to open the door. It had happened so quickly that she was still frozen by the bed, completely naked, water dripping from her body onto the napless carpet.
“My God, Sam. My God,” she moaned slowly. Her eyes pleaded. “Don’t you even care?”
Travis said acidly, “Shut up and get your robe on. Nobody asked you to stand there.”
Savagely, Lila pulled the cheap chenille spread from the bed, used it to cover her nakedness. Walking into the bathroom, she slammed the door.
Wibber eyed the water on Travis’ khakis. He licked his lips. He said, “I sure picked a bad time.”
“I told you never to come here without calling first.”
“I figured you’d want to hear what I got to say.”
“Whadda you mean?”
“It’s about the guy we picked up last night. The one that was... bothering... your wife.”
“I didn’t tell you to beat the guy.”
“You said you wanted him out of town.”
“Yeah. But I didn’t tell you to beat him. We don’t want any trouble right now.”
“Don’t worry.”
“What about him.”
Wibber reached for his handkerchief and grinned. “Only that the bastard is the answer to our problem.”
Later, after they had discussed Wibber’s idea, Travis forced his mouth into something probably meant to be a smile and said, “It might just work.”
“Hell. I know it’ll work.”
Wibber was pleased. It made him proud that Travis liked his plan. Not that it actually was his plan— White had given him the main idea and he had simply added the details — but at least now maybe Travis wouldn’t think he was the only guy in the world with any brains.
Travis said, “One thing bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“How do we know he’ll go along?”
“He’ll go along.” Wibber grinned out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve done some checking. The guy’s got a record. And he’s obviously down on his luck.”
“That ain’t no guarantee he’ll come in on a heist like this.”
“We got the best guarantee in the world.”
“What’s that?” Travis looked at him.
“A chance at three quarters of a million bucks.”
10
On Thursday morning, the day the rig was supposed to be ready to roll again, Womack went to a loan company on Mainstreet.
A perspiring, slightly bald man with distrustful eyes stood behind a waist-high counter that ran the full length of the room. Beyond the counter was a row of four wooden desks, three of which were also occupied by perspiring, slightly bald men. At the fourth desk a girl in a white blouse and pleated white skirt sat working an office calculator. In one corner was an open, chest-high partitioned office with a cardboard Manager sign affixed with tape to the opaque, pebbled glass.
Womack stopped in front of the man behind the counter and said, “I’d like to borrow some money.”
“Do you have an account, Mr...?”
“Womack.”
“Have you borrowed from us before?”
“No.”
“What amount would you like to borrow?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“I’m sorry.” The man smiled thinly. “We limit first borrowers to one hundred dollars. If you would like to fill out this application...”
Womack looked at the form. “How soon can I have the money?”
“Are you a resident of Valerie, Mr. Womack?”
“No.”
“Of Arizona?”
“California.”
“Oh.” The man looked at him distrustfully. “It normally takes three to four days to process out-of-state applications.”
Womack looked at the form again. It reminded him of the complicated, meaningless forms he was required to fill out upon entering the reform school.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll be leaving town today or tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.” The man’s eyes narrowed further. “If you would care to speak to our manager, Mr. Marmor...”
“No thanks.”
Womack gave the man a hard look and headed for the door. He walked down Mainstreet to the ABC Garage. White was standing by the big tractor, wiping his hands on a grease rag, a wad of tobacco stretching one cheek out of shape. He smiled and kicked one of the big tires with the toe of his shoe. “All ready to roll. Plenty of guts, too. I had ’er out on the road this morning.”
“How’s the compression?”
“Went up two or three points at least.”
“That’s good.”
They went into the cluttered office. White presented Womack with the bill. The estimate had been fairly close. The job came to a little over one hundred and eighty.
Womack said, “Can I mail you a check? I’m a little short on cash.”