Free The Easy Sin by Jon Cleary

be as coldblooded as their mother. Pheeny was two or three marbles short and she wondered how he would keep his mouth shut after they had collected the ransom money and let Errol Magee go. But that was in the future, down the track, as Pheeny, who never thought beyond tomorrow, would say.
    She and her brothers had been petty crims ever since their early teens. They had never been encouraged to take up thieving; but neither had they been discouraged. Their mother, and their father when he wasn't doing time, had looked upon it as part of growing up, like acne, or in her own case, period pains. Darlene herself had never felt any conscience; if money or clothes or make-up was there to be taken, it was taken. She had never stolen from workmates, but that had been only because it was stupid. Her mother, in the only piece of advice she had given on how to get ahead in the world, had told her that.
    She had never gone in for breaking and entering, as Corey and Pheeny had, but that had been more laziness than conscience. Their father had used guns in his hold-ups, but Darlene had never thought much of him anyway, let alone loved him. When her mother had told her, almost off-handedly, that she was getting rid of their father, she hadn't enquired how or why. He would not be missed, she had told herself, and that had been true.
    Shirlee had supplemented the family budget with stolen credit cards, ATM cards and shoplifting. None of them had ever been caught, not even dumb Pheeny. Of course, Clyde had been caught and jailed half a dozen times, but that was to be expected; he had been a loudmouth and thought he had flair. Flair and the loud mouth had landed him in jail and, finally, in a grave.
    Shirlee had been firm about one thing: no drugs. She knew the money that was in drugs, but that had been her one moral principle: no drug dealing. And Darlene had always admired her mum for it, as if she were a volunteer aid worker. The family had gone on, making adequate but constant money to supplement what Darlene and Corey earned by working, and then had come this big opportunity.
    Now she walked back to the railway station. She passed a newsagent's and saw the billboard: E-Tycoon On Run . She smiled and a young man, passing her, paused and smiled back. She looked at him, puzzled, then gave him a glare that sent him on his way. She had had half a dozen boyfriends, but they had been only passing fancies, one or two good in bed but none of them a long-term prospect. She would wait and see what she could attract with a million dollars.
    In the meantime Chantelle needed to be consulted. She bought a ticket, went out on to the platform and waited for a train. A few minutes and then a loudspeaker announced: “The 10.48 for Central is running fourteen minutes late. Good luck.”
    She had enough sense of humour to smile at the thought of taking a train, no matter how late, to discuss a ransom of five million dollars.
    V
    â€œWhat did you do?” asked Lisa.
    â€œI should have done a lobotomy on him,” said Romy. “When he told me—” Her voice trailed off.
    The two women were having lunch in the pavilion restaurant in Centennial Park. They were surrounded by other diners: women, children, a few older men who looked like retirees: it was not a restaurant that catered for serious dining or serious deals. But both Lisa and Romy Clements looked serious.
    Romy picked at her crab salad. She was a good-looking woman edging towards that mark where her age and her measurements might complement each other. She had an air of quiet confidence and competence to her that made her a success in her job; but today she was a wife and it was a long time since Lisa had seen her so—not unconfident, but unsure.
    â€œWhy are men so desperate for money?”
    â€œCome on, Romy. Not just men. Women, too. I don't think we were—not my generation.”
    â€œNor mine.”
    They sat a moment in satisfied contemplation of their