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The navy blue trainers had some mileage on them.
“Six months is a long time to wait to divide it up,” the eldest said, eyeing the carrot-top. “In the meanwhile, why do you get to keep the money? We didn’t vote on that.”
“Don’t you trust me with it?”
“What do you think?”
If the one with the gingery thatch took offense, he didn’t show it. “Well, look at it this way. I’m the one taking all the risks. Despite our pledge not to talk it up, if one of you lets something slip, and somebody who wears a badge gets wind of it and starts snooping, I’m the one holding the bag.”
The other three hadn’t missed the emphasis he placed on that certain word. They exchanged glances of patent mistrust toward the self-appointed banker, but no one argued with him. The youngest gave another one-shouldered shrug, which the redhead took as consensus.
“Once you get your share,” he said, “you
can’t go spending cash like crazy. No new cars, nothing flashy, nothing—”
The older one cut him off again, testier than before. “You know, I could well do without these instructions of yours.”
“No call to get touchy. Anything I tell you is a reminder to myself, too.” The redhead fashioned a placating smile, but it wasn’t in keeping with his eyes, which reflected the meager moonlight like twin straight razors. He then turned to the nail-biter, who was running out of fingers on which to chew. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop with the nervous fidgeting. It’ll single you out like a red neon arrow.”
The older seconded that. “He’s right. If you come across as nervous, you had just as well confess.”
The nail-biter lowered his hand from his mouth. “I’ll be okay.” His Adam’s apple forced down a hard swallow. “It’s just…you know.” He looked down at the bag. “I still can’t believe we actually did it.”
“Well, we did,” the redhead said. “And when you report for work on Monday morning and are informed that the safe was cleared out over the weekend, you’ve got to pretend to be as shocked as everybody else. But don’t overreact,” he said, raising his index finger to underscore the point.
“Just a soft ‘holy shit’ will do. Something like that to show disbelief, then keep your trap shut. Don’t do anything to call attention to yourself, especially if detectives start interviewing all the store employees, which it’s certain they will. When your turn comes, you stay ignorant and innocent. Got that?”
“Yeah.”
“Got that?” demanded the older.
“Sure. I know what to do.” But even as he acknowledged his responsibility, he dried his palms by running them up and down his pants legs, a gesture that didn’t inspire confidence among the other three.
The older sighed, “Jesus.”
The nervous one was quick to reassure the other three. “Look, don’t worry about me. I’ve done my part, and I’ll continue to. I’m just jumpy, is all. Out here in the open like this.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm that encompassed the pasture and deserted stretch of country road. “Why’d we stop out here, anyway?”
“I thought we should come to an understanding,” the redhead said.
“And now we have.” The oldest one started up the embankment and gave the nervous one a warning glare. “You had better not screw this up.”
“I won’t. By Monday I’ll be okay.” He wet his lips and formed a shaky grin. “And six months from now, we’ll all be rolling in clover.”
As a group, they climbed out of the ditch, but the adjourning optimistic prediction didn’t pan out.
By morning, their plan had been shot to hell.
One of them was in the hospital.
One was in jail.
One was in the morgue.
And one had gotten away with the haul.
