Free Murder in Mount Holly by Paul Theroux Page B

set an example for their country? Okay, call it illegal if you want. It’s all relative. But I’ll tell you something: it broke my heart to fight the Germans. I was in that war and, Goddamit, I couldn’t help but think that they knew what they were doing all along. I knew it in my heart. I said to myself, CharIie, it’s all relative . . .”
    â€œI’m not being an old sceptic,” said Miss Ball, “but when we get the money, what do we do with it? I mean, it won’t be ours, now will it?”
    Mr. Gibbon shook his head in impatience. He had the feeling he wasn’t being understood. “We’re not going to steal the damn money. We’re just going to transfer it. I suppose we could give it to our favorite charities. Personally, I’d like to see a company like Kant-Brake, a company that’s got a heart and thinks about the country, get a little of the dough. I’d like to see the V.F.W. get a little, the Boy Scouts a little, the White Citizens Council a little—spread it around, you see? Lots of people are entitled to it. We’ll be fair . . .”
    â€œI’d like to see the D. A.R. get a little bit. They deserve it. They’re dedicated.”
    Mrs. Gneiss did not name her favorite charity. She had some reservations about the robbery. It sounded like a lot of work. Give the You-Know-Whos a few swift kicks. They’d learn. Why rob a bank? And, if they went through with it, it seemed only fair that they themselves should be entitled to some of the cash. She thought of truckloads of Hershey bars, gallons of vanilla ice cream, a new television and, in general, goodies in return for their pains. But she kept silent.
    â€œSo it’s settled. We knock off the bank and in the process we might have to break a few eggs—that’s how you make omelettes, eh? I’ve got my old trusty .45.”
    â€œYou mean you might shoot your gun?” Miss Ball asked, her eyebrows popping up.
    â€œRight,” said Mr. Gibbon. “How do you like them apples?”
    Information was needed. Plans had to be made. The next two months were spent poring over detective novels and thrillers, watching spy movies, preparing dis guises, masks, and learning to pick up items without leaving ­fingerprints. Miss Ball was in charge of disguises, Mr. Gibbon had the novels, Mrs. Gneiss had television robbery-movies. Mrs. Gneiss watched all the programs on TV just the same, so it was no extra trouble. It just meant changing channels once in a while. When a detective story was over on one channel, another was starting on another channel. She flicked the knob and settled back with her food.
    Mr. Gibbon continued working at Kant-Brake. He was excited about the robbery—it compared favorably with his best experiences in the army. He read the pulp thrillers during the lunch hour and earned the title of “professor” for doing so. The other employees credited the reading and contentment to “Charlie’s new lady-friend.”
    At the end of two months they met again, and this time used the stump of a candle for light. They had a map of Mount Holly in front of them. The Mount Holly Trust Company was marked with an X, and an escape route plotted out on it with one of Miss Ball’s E-Z Mark crayons, which she had cleverly snatched from the kindergarten.
    Plans were going well, said Mr. Gibbon. They had picked the masks they were going to use, the gloves and special shoes. And they had the escape route decided in advance. There was only one problem. They didn’t know where the safe was. They had no floor plan of the bank.
    â€œOh, shucks!” said Miss Ball. “How can we rob a bank if we don’t know where the money is?”
    â€œBut the employees know,” said Mr. Gibbon.
    â€œA lot of good that does us,” Mrs. Gneiss said.
    â€œNow just keep your shirts on,” said Mr. Gibbon. He explained his plan. What they would do was kidnap