Free Nobody Dies For Free by Pro Se Press Page B

chance of such worries causing much of a problem. Monroe’s
instincts were telling him that Scythe was already enraptured by
the idea of that three-hundred grand and greed would overshadow
caution. When the afternoon had been spent thinking and waiting and
evening was there, Monroe got up and went out. He had another task
to complete before picking up the money the next day. He knew he
would probably be followed and he had already figured out how to
get what he needed without his true intentions being suspected. He
would not even be driving this time, as the things he sought could
be found only a few blocks away.

Chapter 7: Line
and Sinker
     
     
    Fenwick’s Tavern is an
old-fashioned Boston pub. In business since shortly after the
revolution, the place is something of a landmark. It had also been
one of Monroe’s favorite watering holes in his younger days and he
could recall its interior layout even after many years away from
the place.
    Monroe walked the seven
blocks to Fenwick’s and went inside. It was a weeknight and the
joint was only half full. He walked in and wondered if Simon Scythe
was watching him from across the street. It did not matter if he
was, Monroe decided, as long as he did not follow him inside.
Monroe went to the very end of the bar, far enough back that he was
sure he couldn’t be seen clearly by anyone looking in the front
window. He ordered a scotch and took a few slow sips. After nursing
that drink for fifteen minutes, he left the half-empty glass on the
bar with a generous tip. He went not to the front door to exit, but
to the back of the bar where the restrooms were. Hoping it had not
been remodeled since his last visit to the place, he entered the
men’s room.
    Monroe entered the second
stall, closed the door behind him, and forced the window open,
making a space large enough for him to slip through. He landed six
feet below the window in the narrow alley that separated the rear
wall of Fenwick’s from the rear wall of the building that had its
back to the tavern and its front facing out on the parallel street.
That parallel building happened to be a shoe store, expensive and
fashionable, but it was the shop three doors down which interested
Monroe.
    He entered the pharmacy and
began to search the shelves, having already written his shopping
list on the fabric of his mind. He selected a few small cans and
several bottles, all common over-the-counter remedies for minor
ailments, paid for them, and went back outside. Returning to the
alley between the shoe store’s rear and the spine of Fenwick’s,
Monroe hid the bottles and cans in his jacket pockets, climbed back
into the tavern bathroom through the still open window, and made
sure to flush on the way out of the stall, for the sake of realism,
despite not having made a deposit.
    He went back to his
barstool, had a second round of scotch, tipped again, and left the
place for the walk back home.
     
    ***
     
    When he arrived at his
apartment, Monroe went straight to his bathroom and shut the door
behind him. It was the smallest room in the place and the one which
he had searched thoroughly enough to be absolutely certain that
Simon Scythe had not bugged or otherwise rigged for surveillance in
any way. He took the pharmacy wares from his jacket and placed them
in the medicine cabinet. He undressed, showered, and left the
bathroom to retire for the night, satisfied that the prelude to the
acquisition of the briefcase of cash had gone well.
     
    ***
     
    The bank business went as
smoothly as the trip to Fenwick’s and the pharmacy had. The bank
manager had the money ready, three thousand little portraits of
Benjamin Franklin, neatly stacked in bundles and bound in paper
wrappers. Monroe signed for the cash, had help from the bank
manager placing it into the briefcase he had brought with him,
assured the manager that he did not want a guard to see him to his
car, drove the Lexus back to his apartment, and carried the case
undisturbed up to