Uncommon Thief

by William Manchee

  Chapter 13

  The Second Temptation

  Two weeks later

  Between Maria, the upcoming elections and his heavy involvement with the Young Republicans, Fred was able to keep his mind off Candy. Although he would see her briefly every week day, he tried to avoid any lengthy encounters that might lead to trouble. They had become good friends and engaged in many interesting conversations, but Fred knew better than to even suggest seeing her outside of the bank. He simply didn't trust himself around her. On this particular night in mid-October, he was anxious to get home to study. When he pulled into the bank parking lot at 6:30 p.m., it surprised him slightly that Sam wasn't there. The weather had been good, and he expected Sam to be on time. When he wasn’t there, Fred surmised that either Sam had experienced car trouble or one of his banks was late. He wondered if he should go in and get the bags now or just wait for Sam. Then he noticed a note taped to the front door of the bank. Intrigued by the note he got out of the car.

  As he walked toward the bank's front door, he noticed a policeman driving by in his squad car giving him a hard look. He assumed the police knew messengers went in and out of the bank all the time and didn't pay much attention to them. Nevertheless, a chill darted down his spine as he watched the cop disappear over the hilltop.

  Turning back to the note, he removed it from the window, unfolded it and read the message. “Sam called. Will be 20 minutes late. Harvey.”

  Fred considered what he should do. Since he had time to kill he decided to go inside and wait where it was warm. After pulling out his ring of keys, he fumbled around to find the right one. Successfully identifying it, he slid it in the key hole and opened the glass door. Not being in a great hurry he wandered around the lobby for a minute and sat down on a large beige sofa. It was dark with but one small light dimly illuminating the entire lobby area. Scanning the room, he noticed the bags on the floor near the tellers' windows. He glanced outside to make sure Sam hadn’t arrived, then looked over at the plush office of the bank President and decided to sit in his chair. The President’s office was quite lavish, and as Fred leaned back and relaxed, he wondered what it would be like to be in such a position of power and prestige. Not so bad, but how many bank Presidents could you name?

  Startled by a scuffling noise, Fred vaulted out of the chair, walked warily into the lobby, and looked around. He didn’t see the source of the noise, but he knew somebody must be in the bank. He glanced outside again to be sure Sam’s car wasn’t there yet and then scanned the bank lobby once more. Everything seemed normal to him until, to his shock and dismay, he noticed the bank vault. It was open again!

  For several moments, he stood there staring at the open vault in a state of disbelief. An eerie feeling overcame him as his mind contemplated the opportunity the open vault offered him.

  If I took the money I could close the vault, and I’d have until Monday to get away. Maria won’t leave the country with me, but Candy might. Six million dollars is a lot of money, but being a fugitive for the rest of my life would suck. Where would I go? Mexico? Canada? They both could extradite me if they found me. I’d eventually have to go to Argentina or one of the other safe havens for American fugitives.

  A heavy dose of guilt washed over Fred just thinking about stealing the six million dollars he suspected was in the vault. He turned away from the vault a moment and looked outside anxiously for any sign of Sam. The parking lot was quiet.

  Fred sighed and gave his head a quick shake, trying to break himself out of the greedy, foolish trance he’d fallen into. He took another deep breath and gathered his strength. As much as he’d like to have the money, he knew it wasn’t an option. It would be foolish and doomed to failure. It was time to call Sinclair.

  He walked over to the phone and picked it up, but he couldn’t dial the number. He realized if he reported the vault open again, Hamlin would get fired. Fred felt sorry for Hamlin since the poor guy had already lost his family. It would be very easy for Fred to just go over and close the vault for him. Then nobody would ever know it had been left open again. If anyone needed a break, it was Harvey Hamlin, Fred figured.

  Fred tried to think if there was any danger to him in closing the vault. Hamlin had shown him how to do it. He couldn’t think of anything rational, so he decided to go ahead and do it. It would be the honorable thing to do. After checking the front door again to be sure Sam hadn't arrived, he made his way slowly over to the vault and peered inside. Unfortunately, it was dark, so he couldn't see a thing inside. Being unfamiliar with the vault, he didn’t want to make a mistake and set off some kind of alarm.

  He went into the kitchen and searched all the drawers for a flashlight or a match. Finding none, he remembered a flashlight was standard equipment for bank messengers and there would be one in his glove compartment. He walked quickly to the front door, opened it, and headed for his car. Suddenly, two headlights blinded him. Instinctively, Fred lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the glare. Startled by the light, he immediately panicked, fearing the cop who’d been cruising the neighborhood had come over to see why he was loitering around the bank. What am I going to tell him? The door opened slowly as Fred stood paralyzed with fear.

  Then a voice said, "Fred, what in the devil are you doing running across the parking lot? I nearly ran you down."

  Fred let out his breath. "Sam? It's you. You startled me."

  "Who did you think it was going to be, Bigfoot?" Sam laughed.

  "No, I was expecting you. I just didn't see you coming."

  "Hey, I didn't see you lock the door when you came out."

  "I didn't. I came to get a flashlight. Something's wrong with the night lamp, so it's really dark in there."

  Fred knew he couldn’t tell Sam that Harvey had left the vault open again. He wouldn’t be at all sympathetic and would likely call Sinclair himself. Plus, Fred would have had to explain why he hadn’t already called him.

  "Hmm. I thought maybe they left that there vault open again and you were loadin’ up on some cash."

  "Yeah, I wish," Fred laughed shakily. "Hey, how come you're so late?"

  "Them rascals up at Big Bear don't know how to count. Two of them tellers were out of balance for nearly thirty minutes, if you can believe that." Sam walked around to the trunk of his car and opened it.

  "Yeah, I don't think they hire tellers for brain power," Fred noted.

  "No, them bankers are pretty smart. They get them good-looking chicks to sit there behind the counter and smile pretty at all them young executives who control all them corporate dollars."

  "You think so?"

  Sam reached into the trunk of his car, pulled out the Arrowhead and Big Bear bags, and handed them to Fred. "Sure thing. Haven't you ever noticed that the nicest little building in every town you'll ever travel to is a bank? And if you step inside, you'll find the prettiest women in the entire town sittin' there, ready to serve. Sure enough, women like to be around money, I gaur—an—tee."

  "I guess you're right," Fred said. "That hadn't ever occurred to me before."

  "Well, you best be getting out of here. Ol’ Jim's going to be pretty damn anxious for you to finish your run with all them hot women waitin’ for him."

  "You're right. I better get my flashlight and retrieve those bags."

  "Be careful. Don't trip over anything."

  "I will. . . . be careful, I mean. See ya later."

  "Adios." Sam jumped in his car and drove off.

  After opening the trunk, Fred threw in the two bags without paying any attention to the bags that were already in his trunk and then went to the glove compartment to get the flashlight. Walking quickly back into the bank he locked the door behind him, then turned to peer into the darkness. Breathing heavily, he walked over to the vault and shone the light on it. It seemed like a pretty simple task to push the vault closed and then turn the big wheel. He’d seen Hamlin do it when he was drunk for godsakes, but he was still a little afraid he might do something wrong
and an alarm would go off. Finally, he gathered his courage and pushed the heavy door closed. He held his breath as he spun the big wheel and heard the mechanism engage. Fortunately, nothing happened. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  Fred looked at his watch and saw it was nine fifteen. He was thirty minutes late, so he had to get out of there immediately. He grabbed the bags and moved them near the front door, unlocked it, and then put the bags outside. After locking the front door again, he carried the bags to the car and put them in the trunk. As he was closing the trunk, he noticed something was wrong. He had an extra bag. It looked like one of the bank’s bags, but it was much bulkier than usual, and it wasn’t locked. He counted the bags in the trunk, and sure enough, he had one extra. Slowly, he untied the stray bag, opened it, and gasped. It was full of stacks of hundred dollar bills!

  A wave of fear washed over him as he tried to figure out what was happening. As he was reeling from the shock of finding a bagful of money, he noticed the police car he’d seen earlier drive by. The officer gave him another hard look. Fear gripped him like a vice. He quickly closed the trunk, got in the Impala, and cautiously drove toward the parking lot exit. When he got to the street, he looked back, relieved to see the cop was driving away. After he’d driven a few blocks, he pulled into a Jack-in-the-Box and parked between two cars where he could be inconspicuous. He needed time to think, and there was nothing suspicious about going out for a burger after dark.

  How did a bag of money get in my car? Somebody is obviously trying to set me up! Whoever it is, they must have already robbed the bank. That’s why the bank vault was open. If I hadn’t already closed it, I could have gone back and put the bag of money back. Damn it! They left me some of the money, so the FBI would think I was the bank robber! Shit! What do I do now? If I call Sinclair and tell him the truth, what are the chances he’d believe me?

  Fred began to shake. His stomach was twisting into knots, and he felt like throwing up. Think! Don’t panic! There has to be a way out of this. Maybe I should just hide the money and act like nothing happened. The FBI won’t have any evidence against me if they can’t find the money.

  Fred started the car and drove back to the freeway. He was now a full hour late. As he drove back to LA, he wondered how he’d explain his tardiness. The logical thing would be to fake some kind of car trouble. Let's see. . . . I could pull out a spark plug wire and then call AAA, but what if they sent someone from the motor pool out to get me? How would I get rid of the money? What if I ran out of gas? No. . . . they wouldn't buy that since the car was filled up before I left. Then, the perfect solution came to him.

  Fred looked in his rearview mirror and saw that the road was clear behind him. He pulled over on the shoulder of the freeway, walked behind the Impala, and pulled out his pocket knife. Kneeling down, he opened the hole punch and then stuck it firmly into the tread of the tire. Instantaneously, one corner of the car began to sink as air rapidly escaped from the tire.

  Immediately, he pulled out the spare tire and began to change it. Luckily he had changed his own tires many times and was pretty good at it. When the task was complete, he threw the deflated tire in the trunk and sped off. At the next gas station, he stopped to call Jim.

  "Hello, motor pool," Jim said.

  "Jim, this is Fuller."

  "Where the Dickens are you, Fred?"

  "I got a flat tire."

  "Oh, what bloody rotten luck. Have you fixed it?"

  "I had a bitch of a time, but it's fixed now."

  "Where are you?"

  "Just outside of Pomona. I should be back there about nine forty-five or so."

  "Okay. I'll tell Sinclair. He's been asking about you."

  "Okay. See you in a few minutes."

  Jim seemed to have bought his story pretty much, so now all Fred figured he had to do was get rid of the money before he checked into the motor pool. As he drove into downtown LA, he wondered who had actually robbed the bank. He thought it had to be Hamlin, but he had no way of confirming that suspicion.

  Fred couldn’t believe he’d been dragged into the robber’s scheme, whoever he was. There had to be a way out of it, but he couldn’t think of what it could possibly be. No matter what he said or did, everyone would presume he’d been in on the heist because he’d been at the bank and now was in possession a bagful of money.

  I’m screwed! If I get rid of the money and deny I ever had it, someone might see me ditch it and call the police when they discover what it is. That would be my luck. What’s going to happen Monday when they open the vault? Will I be a suspect? Ha! The number one suspect, surely. Maybe I should make a run for it during the night? I could be in Mexico or Canada long before Monday morning, but what about Maria? She said she wouldn't leave the country, even to be with me.

  Suddenly, Fred looked up and saw he was almost past his exit. He made a hard right, his tires screeching, and he narrowly missed the yellow protective barrels in front of the dividing wall. “Don't be stupid,” he mumbled to himself. “All I need now is to get into an accident with a bagful of stolen money in my trunk!”

  As he neared the motor pool, he took a detour to where his car was parked. It was two blocks away, and he was sure no one would be there at this hour. He pulled up next to the maroon Falcon, jumped out, and took a look around. A car was driving by, so he waited until it passed before transferring the bag. When the street was clear, he made the switch. The bag of money seemed very heavy. He wondered how much money was in it as he closed both trunks. Then he drove over to the motor pool.

  As he pulled in the driveway, he noticed Jake had just pulled up to the gas pump too. He was surprised to see him in the motor pool at this late hour, so he decided to ask him what had happened.

  "Sinclair put you back on a route, I see?" Fred noted.

  "It looks that way, doesn't it?" Jake replied coldly.

  "I didn't know there were any routes that came in as late as mine."

  "Well, you don't know a lot of things, Fuller."

  "I guess there's no chance you'll ever get that chip off your shoulder so we can be friends."

  "There isn't a chip on my shoulder, Fuller. I just don't like you."

  "Well, if you ever figure out why, let me know. I'd be interested."

  Before Jake could launch another verbal grenade, Jim walked out from Sinclair's office and said, "Hey, you made it?"

  "Yeah, finally."

  "Unload your cargo and bring me your car."

  "Okay."

  Fred proceeded to unload the bags on the loading dock and then drove back over to the gas pumps. Jim took his keys and opened the trunk. As he examined the tire, Fred held his breath.

  "Looks like you ran over a nail. I'll send it to the garage in the morning to be fixed."

  "Okay. Sorry I kept you so late. See you Monday."

  "Oh, before you go, Sinclair wants to see you."

  "Sinclair?" Fred said soberly.

  "Yeah. He said to come by and see him before you left."

  "Oh, okay."

  After Fred picked his heart up out of his shoes, he reluctantly wandered over to Sinclair's office. Sinclair was sitting at his desk filling out a report when Fred walked in. "Sir, you wanted to see me?"

  "Yes, Fuller. You had a rough night, I see."

  "Yes, sir. I kinda did."

  "Well, I am glad you know how to change a tire. Some of these drivers don't, you know."

  "Really? Well, I've had to change my own tires plenty of times, so this was no big deal."

  "Oh, thanks for calling us and telling us you were going to be late. We were worried about you, and it was good to hear from you. You've got a lot of common sense for a kid your age."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Okay. Have a good weekend."

  "Yes, sir. See you Monday."

  Feeling relieved, Fred turned to leave when Sinclair started speaking again. "Oh, Fuller, you didn't happen to see Harvey Hamlin at the bank, did you?"

  F
red hesitated a second, trying to retain his composure. Then, he turned around slowly and gave Sinclair a blank look. "Hamlin? The cashier at San Bernardino?" he asked innocently.

  “Yes, you’ve met him.”

  "Right. No, sir. The bank was deserted when I got there. As a matter of fact, it was pitch black. I had to use my flashlight to find the bags."

  "Oh really?"

  "Yeah. The night lamp was out."

  Sinclair gave him a pensive look. "Gee, that's strange. You’d think somebody over there would notice something like that and take the time to change a light bulb."

  Fred shrugged. "You’d think. . . . So, why did you ask if I saw Hamlin?"

  "Oh, his ex-wife called looking for him. Apparently, he didn't come home from work. He was probably out at some bar somewhere."

  Fred shrugged. "Did you say ex-wife?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Huh. He told me his family just left him.”

  “No. The divorce was over a year ago.”

  “Really? Well, I must have misunderstood him.”

  Sinclair gave Fred a hard look that made him feel uneasy. Fred wondered what he was thinking. Then abruptly Sinclair said, "Okay, that's all, Fuller. Goodnight."

  "Thank you, sir. Goodnight."

  Fred walked quickly to his car, opened the door, and fell into his seat. Now what? He looked at his watch and saw it was 10:00 p.m. Where should I stash this money? My apartment is out of the question, and I obviously can’t leave it in my car. What about Ventura at my parents’ house? No, if the FBI came after me, they might search all of those places. Where can I put the money so no one could ever find it, yet it would be kept safe for later retrieval? What about a safety deposit box? Wouldn't that be ironic, the bank's money in the bank? No, that wouldn't work because there would be a record of me depositing the money into the safety deposit box the day after the robbery. That wouldn't be too cleaver.

  There has to be a better place. What about if I bury it somewhere. I could get a trunk, line it with plastic, and bury it deep beneath the earth in some secluded place. Where is a good secluded place? Perhaps up in the mountains? Hmm. . . . no, better yet, the desert. There would be less chance the money would decay in a dry environment. But where in the desert?

  Suddenly, he remembered Devil's Canyon where he’d been bitten by the snake. That’s the place! Fred hadn't been there for six or seven years, but he knew it would be the perfect hiding place. No one will ever find the money at the Devil's Canyon Mining Camp, if I can just remember how to get there.

  He knew Devil's Canyon was about four hours from LA, so he had to get going. Suddenly a car turned onto the street about a block away. It traveled slowly like it was searching for something. Fred wondered if it was the police. Of course, the assholes who set me up probably called the cops and told them I’d robbed the bank. He started the engine and took off like a bat out of hell toward the on-ramp to the freeway. The car sped up and gave chase.

  Traffic was light at this time of night, so he made good time. He looked in his rear view mirror and saw the car was still following him. In fact, he was only a few car links behind. If it was a cop he would have already pulled me over. It must be one of the people who set me up. They just want to keep tabs on me, I guess.

  Fred has seen many chase scenes on TV so he knew exactly how to lose the asshole who was following him. There was an exit ahead that he knew well because he’d gotten off there many times to get snacks. He moved over to the left lane and floored it until he was going about 80 mph. The car behind changed lanes and accelerated to keep pace. Fred stayed in the left lane and just as he was almost parallel to the exit ramp her swerved violently across three lanes and onto the exit ramp.

  Angry motorists honked their horns, tires screeched and Fred was jolted up and down violently. He feared he was going to crash but somehow he managed to keep all four wheels on the pavement. The car that had been following him tried the same maneuver but failed miserably as cars to his right blocked his path to the exit ramp. When the car finally made it to the shoulder a fence prevented it from exiting the freeway.

  Fred parked behind the convenience store and waited to make sure the car following him didn’t find a way off the freeway. He knew the next off ramp was two miles down the road and there was no direct way back to where he was, so he felt fairly safe. As he was sitting there, it occurred to him that Maria would be worried about him, so he decided he had better call her. He got out of his car and went inside to a pay phone.

  "Hello?" Maria answered.

  "Baby doll, how are you?"

  "Fred, what happened to you?"

  "Nothing. I got a flat tire and didn't get back to the bank until late."

  "Oh no! Are you alright?"

  "Of course I’m alright. I know how to change a tire."

  "I was so worried about you."

  "Nothing to worry about, but I am kind of tired."

  "Maybe you should go home and go to bed."

  "Yeah, you're probably right."

  "Okay. Go home and go to bed and sleep late. I won't call you before eleven."

  "Okay," Fred said, yawning.

  "Goodbye. I love you."

  "I love you too."

  Luckily, Steve was on a road trip with the UCLA Band, so Fred didn't have to worry about checking in with him. After he got back into the car, he opened the glove compartment and took out a map of California. He mapped out the route to Devil's Canyon in his mind and started the car. He didn’t dare get back on the freeway right away, so he took several surface streets that paralleled the freeway for a long time until he felt it was safe to get back on it and continue his journey.

  For the first time that evening, he began to relax as he got out onto the open road. Maybe everything will work out. After a while it occurred to him that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch. Maybe I should call Candy and see if she's hungry since I'll be going right by her place. Wouldn't she be surprised? Maybe she’d like to go to Argentina for a bite to eat.

  He laughed. The idea of seeing Candy excited him. He knew he should be feeling guilty about it, but he wasn’t. If he was destined to be a bank robber, maybe Candy would be a more appropriate companion, he rationalized. He certainly didn’t want to drag Maria into the quicksand he had fallen into. He couldn’t do that to her.

  When he got to Palm Springs, he stopped at a gas station and looked up Candy's phone number. He dialed and waited.

  "Hello?” Candy said.

  "Candy, this is Fred."

  "Fred?"

  "Yeah, Fred Fuller."

  "Oh, Fred, what's going on?"

  "I am in town and thought maybe you would like to get something to eat. I haven't eaten since lunch, and I hate to eat alone."

  "Well, I already had dinner, but I would certainly be happy to keep you company."

  "Would you? That's great. Where do you live?"

  "Why don't I meet you somewhere?"

  "Okay. There's a Denny's right off the freeway. Would that be okay?"

  "Sure. I'll be there in ten minutes."

  "Okay. Bye."

  "Bye."

  Now that they were actually going to meet outside the bank, Fred began to wonder what he was going to say to her. What will my excuse be for wanting to see her? Where will I tell her I was going? I could tell her I was on my way to bury a bag of money in a mining camp in the middle of the Mojave Desert. That would certainly get her attention, but that would be a little risky at this stage of the game.

  Without resolving his dilemma, Fred jumped into his car and headed for Denny's. When he arrived, he got a booth and waited.

  After about fifteen minutes, Candy arrived. She was wearing a white halter top, red shorts, and white tennis shoes. When she spotted him, she smiled brightly and walked briskly to his table.

  "Hi, Fred."

  "Hi, Candy."

  "Gee, it was sure a surprise to get a call from you tonight."

  "I’m sorry I called you so late, but I w
as passing through town and thought of you."

  "Well, it's about time you thought of me. I was beginning to think you didn't like me."

  "No way! I think you're great. You just blew my mind with that incredible proposition you made."

  "Well, perhaps I was a little premature in hitting you with such a radical idea."

  "I was very flattered that you would consider such a relationship with me, but I didn't know how to deal with the gravity of the proposal."

  "I'm sorry. It must have really been a shock to you since we hardly knew each other."

  "How could you know whether I could deliver my end of the bargain anyway? Getting into law school isn’t easy. I may not even be accepted to law school. If I am, I still have to graduate and pass the bar. Then I have to find a job and I am not necessarily going to get rich overnight."

  "That didn't concern me. You have an aura of success about you. Besides, even if you didn't get rich, I kind of like you, so our time together wouldn't have been a total loss."

  "Why is it that the women in my life are so sure of themselves?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Maria told her mother she was going to marry me after our first date."

  Candy smiled. "You see what an effect you have on women."

  The waitress came over and asked them what they would like. Fred ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and Candy ordered a banana split.

  "So, what are you doing in Palm Springs tonight?"

  "Well, I’m going to play golf with a friend in the morning,” he lied.

  “I didn’t know you were a golfer.”

  “I’m not very good at it, but it’s fun to play.”

  “So, does your stopping tonight mean you’re considering my proposal?”

  "Perhaps," Fred said cautiously. “If you are really serious about it. I wasn’t sure if you were just teasing me or not. I’m not really good at reading women.”

  She laughed. “I’m not teasing you. I’m dead serious. I’m a pragmatist. It would be a good way for both of us to get what we want.”

  Fred gave her a hard look. “Then I guess we need to start getting to know each other better."

  Candy smiled at Fred and began to laugh. "You little devil. I knew you'd come around."

  "You knew I would?" Fred questioned. “How is that?”

  "I just did."

  Fred shook his head. "You're amazing. I'd sure like to know what makes you tick."

  "Shall we go to my place so you can examine me more closely?"

  Glancing at his watch, he saw it was ten minutes to twelve. “Actually, it’s pretty late now. I’ve got an early tee time. Can I get a rain check for Sunday night?"

  "I suppose so," Candy said, “but you sure you don’t want to spend the night with me now? You could leave early in the morning and still make your tee time."

  "That is very tempting, but I probably would have trouble getting up in the morning after a night with you."

  She smiled wryly. “Well, that’s true. So, what time on Sunday can I expect you?"

  "How about four or five o'clock? We can spend the evening together. I'll take you to any restaurant you want.”

  "Any restaurant? It's dangerous to give a woman carte blanc, Freddy boy."

  "I like to live dangerously. As a matter of fact, my life is becoming more perilous each day."

  "It's fun, though, isn't it?" she said giggling.

  "I don’t know. I haven't made up my mind yet."

  She winked at him. "Don't worry. You're going to love it."

  "I’m sure I will. . . . But, I should go now."

  They both got up and walked outside to Candy's car. Before she got in, Fred put his arms around her, and they kissed for the first time. It was a pleasant kiss, long and sensual. When it was over, Candy sighed and said, "Not bad for a Boy Scout."

  Candy drove off and Fred got back in the Falcon to finish his journey. He headed east out of town into the Mojave Desert. He had pinpointed pretty much where he thought Devil's Canyon was located, but he was not sure exactly. It was going to take a little searching to find it.

  At 3:00 a.m. he got to Hackberry State Park. Then he remembered the road was just three miles ahead. It was a dirt road, and the night was very dark. He put his headlights on high beam and proceeded down the road. After about thirty minutes, he began to wonder if he was on the right road. To him, all the little dirt roads out in the desert looked alike. Fortunately, he had inherited his father's sense of direction. It was amazing, but once he had traveled to any particular place, he could almost always find his way back, even years later.

  After a while, he began to recognize the distinct landscape of Devil's Canyon. It was a desolate place, fifty miles from the nearest civilization, the perfect hiding place for his newly acquired stash. Finally, he passed the broken sign welcoming visitors to Devil's Canyon Mining Camp.

  He drove through town toward the assayer's office, parked near the front door, and got out. After retrieving his flashlight from the glove compartment, he walked over to the door and tried the handle. It wouldn't budge. He remembered from his first visit, however, that a swift kick would open the door. Sure enough, it did.

  Once inside, he shone his light all around. The laboratory looked like it hadn't been touched since he’d been there many years earlier. Now, where would be the best place to leave the money? I could put it in one of the barrels, but if someone visited the lab, they might take the barrel as a souvenir. No, the best place would be under the floor.

  He went to his car and got a large screwdriver and a hammer out of the tool box. After prying up three or four slats, he placed the bag in the crawl space under the floor. The bag was made of a tough plastic material, so he was confident the money would be well preserved. As he started to put the bag in its place, he realized he didn't even know how much money it contained, so he pulled it back out and dumped it on the floor. He counted it quickly: eighty-five stacks of hundreds, each containing $10,000; twenty-one stacks of fifties, each containing $5,000; and thirty stacks of twenties, each containing $2,000—for a grand total of $1,115,000. He stared at the money for several minutes and then shook his head. He’d always thought someday he’d be a millionaire, but he never dreamed this would be the way it would happen.

  He deposited all of the money back in the bag except for one stack of twenties and a stack of fifties, which he took for expense money. From watching Perry Mason mysteries on TV he knew he couldn’t be spending money on luxury items or it would arouse suspicion. He would have to wait until he got out of law school, and then he could spend the money more readily. Assuming I make it to law school and don’t end up rotting in prison.

  Looking at his watch he saw that it was 5:00 a.m. He needed to get out of there immediately, so he secured the bag under the floor and nailed the slats back securely. Before leaving, he marked one of the slats with three notches to make it easy for him to find the money when he returned later to retrieve it.

  After burying the money, he drove straight home to Santa Monica. At 9:11 a.m. he walked in the door of his apartment, went directly to his bedroom, and crashed.

  At precisely 11:00 a.m. Maria called. "Hi, honey. How did you sleep?"

  "Like a log," he replied sleepily.

  "How do you feel?"

  "I am still pretty tired. I think I'll sleep a few more hours."

  "Okay, but don't forget we've got tickets for the football game this evening."

  Suddenly, he became alert. He loved college football. "Oh, that's right! The game's tonight. We’re playing USC. I'll pick you up at five, okay?"

  "Alright. Go back to bed."

  "Thanks. Goodnight."

  Maria didn't care much about football, but she tolerated it for Fred’s benefit. In talking to Maria, he had momentarily forgotten the events of the previous day. Although it had only been a few hours since he’d returned home from the desert, it all seemed a bit fuzzy to him. Was stashing a million dollars in the desert just a drea
m? He hoped it had just been a dream. Then he remembered the expense money. He climbed out of bed and walked over to the chair where he had thrown his coat. Slowly, he stuck his hand in one of the pockets. It was empty. He felt a glimmer of hope as he gently stuck his hand in the other pocket. The hope faded quickly, though, when he felt two neatly wrapped packets of cash. He pulled them out and stared at them, still having trouble getting his head around the reality that he was a now an unwitting bank robber—and a millionaire.