"No… no. Nothing's wrong." Grace turned her head, indicating she didn't want to discuss it.
Judi stood there undecided for a second, then shrugged: "Okay. If you change your mind and want to talk to someone about it, I'm available."
For the next three hours Grace worked like an automaton, the shock of what had transpired during lunch having completely numbed her senses. Gradually, sometime between four and four-thirty, she came to the conclusion that it would be far better to go to jail than to wind up a victim of Andy's sadistic torture. She would pay Andy, would give him his money out of the bank deposit. And then, on Monday or Tuesday when the auditors made their month-end check of deposits, she would be forced to confess her embezzlement. Jail, after all, was a safe haven. She would be alive there. Besides, she deserved to be put in jail. At least she couldn't get deeper into the morass of gambling debts that way.
At five o'clock, Grace began totaling up the bank deposit. There was $11,287.10 in checks, all worthless to her, and $4,921 in cash. She intended to make up a separate bank deposit slip showing only $1821 in cash receipts and give Andy the other $3100.
Once she had made the decision and filled out the two different deposit slips, Grace felt a great calmness descend on her. She felt more at peace than at any time since this whole thing had started that first night at the races.
At five thirty, she went into the ladies room to comb her hair before going to the bank. She stared in the mirror for a long period. It was the first time in many weeks that she had inspected herself critically. Her face looked as though she had been ill. No more innocence there, not any longer. No more the clear, direct stare of honesty and sincerity. Somehow or another she had assumed a furtive look… evasive. She swallowed painfully, then went back into the office.
The bank deposit was gone from her desk!
A silent scream of terror shrieked and reverberated through her brain. She spun around. "Judi! My God! What happened to the bank deposit?"
Judi, hearing the tone of panic in the other girl's voice, looked up from her desk in open mouthed amazement.
"What happened to it?" Grace yelled, wanting to run across the room, slap the little blonde, and shake her until she told the truth.
"Grace. Calm down. Jeez, I've never seen you like this. What's got into you? Mister Austin took it. He said he was going past the bank anyway and he'd drop it off."
Grace stood there, the disaster plainly written on her face, then one hiccuping sob was wrenched from her belly. She sat down weakly into her chair, weeping loudly.
"Grace? My God… what's wrong? Are you sick?" Judi came over rapidly, her face full of concern.
Grace shook her head wordlessly.
"Honey, come on. I know you. Something is terribly wrong. Let me help you."
"Take me home, Judi," she sobbed. "Take me home now."
The little blonde didn't hesitate a second. "All right." She quickly took her purse out of the drawer, then reached in Grace's desk and pulled out the other girl's handbag. "Come on," she coaxed, reaching down and pulling her to her feet.
All the way home, Judi kept glancing over toward the white-faced, violently trembling Grace. When they got to the apartment complex, Grace wordlessly slid out of the car, even before Judi cut the ignition, and ran blindly toward her room. Once inside, she locked the door and put the night chain on.
Judi hammered at the door. "Grace… let me in."
"Go away," she sobbed. "Leave me alone." She heard Judi's sigh of resignation through the door, then moments later the sound of the little blonde's apartment door opening.
Whereas an hour earlier she had been calmly resigned to going to jail, now she was in a state of sheer, blind, unreasoning panic. She glanced at her watch, not really seeing it… but realizing that the two hands were fingers of doom moving inexorably toward six o'clock, only eleven minutes away.
Grace sat there, a lonely huddled figure exuding terror, while life swirled on all around her. She could hear radios playing in other parts of the apartment complex, could hear the children laughing and screaming around the pool.
The pool! At that moment a small flicker of hope ignited in her breast. Ricky Karl! He knew Andy! Hope became a raging fire of certainty. Ricky Karl liked her as a woman. He wouldn't let them disfigure her. He would help her. Quickly then, because only eight minutes were left before six, she threw off the chain lock and dashed downstairs to the pool.
She stopped, dead still, when she saw Ricky was nowhere in sight. Then, running again, her high heels beating a rat-a-tat-tat of such urgency on the sidewalk that everyone glanced up curiously, she dashed toward the fat man's apartment section.
She punched the penthouse button on the elevator and prayed all the way during the journey to the top floor that he would be there.
The doors whispered open. R. KARL, the card above the bell read.
She pushed the button and heard soft chimes ringing inside.
There was no answer.
Frantically, she pushed the button again and hammered on the door. Her watch hands pointed to 5:55 now.
It was almost a minute before Ricky Karl opened the door in front of her; she had the impression that he had been standing there all along. Ricky was dressed in a very short karate-type silk gown that gaped open over his hairy chest and belly. It was obvious that he wore absolutely nothing beneath it.
"Well, Mrs. Hope," he purred. "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in."
She didn't want to enter his apartment, especially not with him dressed the way he was, so she stood steadfast and said, pleadingly, "I need your help."
The smile faded from his face. "I never discuss business in the hallways. Come in if you want to talk to me."
Grace knew she must not antagonize him, so she stepped across the corridor, feeling her shoes sink into the deep pile of the expensive carpet. Ricky closed the door behind her, then waddled into the living room. He turned, saw Grace still standing by the door, and jerked his head impatiently.
She followed him into the spacious, well-decorated living room which was easily twice the size of her entire apartment. Original oil paintings were tastefully hung on the walls. An all white couch sat in front of a picture window overlooking the city. He indicated that she was to sit there. "A drink?"
"No… no, thank you. I haven't time." Her eyes darted to her watch, there were less than three minutes left.
"I insist," he said, pleasantly. "Surely you can't be so rushed that you haven't time to enjoy the social amenities."
"Oh, please, Mister Karl," Grace began sobbing. "I don't have time. I'm in terrible trouble."
He paused, pursing his lips, then nodded once, and sat down on the ottoman in front of her. For a moment, revulsion almost overcame her terror, for his testicles like two ripe plums in a furry sack could be plainly seen above his ham-like thighs; it was as though he were deliberately exposing himself to her, she thought, quickly averting her eyes.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Hope?" he asked after a moment.
"Please… oh… please… will you call Andy and tell him that I will pay him the money I owe, but I need more time. Only a week. A week! That's all I ask."
Ricky managed to look shocked. "You mean you actually made some bets and didn't have the money to back them. Why, Mrs. Hope… I'm surprised at you. That's not only dishonest, but very, very dangerous as well. I've known some people who were seriously hurt by doing that. Bookmakers have ways – usually unpleasant ways – to ensure payment."
"He's going to kill me," she sobbed. "Help me. Oh, please, help me."
"Now… now, I seriously doubt that he'll do anything too injurious for fifty or sixty dollars. They don't begin to really get tough until it runs in the hundreds."