The light changed and the car pulled forward. Rune didn't answer right away but after a moment said, "So far it's up to two hundred and thirty thousand."
"What?" he asked, smiling uncertainly.
"And counting."
Richard glanced over at Rune then skidded the car to a stop.
In Rune's lap were bundles of money. Stacks of wrapped bills. They were larger than modern Federal Reserve notes. The ink was darker, the seals on the front were in midnight-blue ink. The paper wrappers around the stacks were stenciled with $10,000 in a scripty old-time typeface. Also printed on them was Union Bank of New York.
"Thirty-three, thirty-four ... Let's see. Thirty-eight. Times ten thousand is three hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Is that right? I'm so bad with math."
"Christ," Richard whispered.
Cars honked behind them. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, then pulled to the curb, parked in front of a Carvel ice cream store.
"I don't understand ... what ...?"
Rune didn't answer. She ran her hand over the money, replaying the great scene in Manhattan Is My Beat where Dana Mitchell is inside the bank and opens the suitcase of money--the camera cutting between his face and the stacks of bills, which had been lit to glow like a hoard of jewels.
"Raoul Elliott," she answered. "When he was researching the film he must have found where the loot was hidden. Maybe it was buried there...." She nodded back toward the church. "So he donated a bunch back to the church and they built the home for actors. The minister said he'd been very generous to them. Raoul kept the rest and retired."
Two tough-looking kids in T-shirts and jeans walked by and glanced in the car. Richard looked at them then reached over Rune, locked the door, rolled up the windows.
"Hey," she protested, "what're you doing? It's hot out."
"You're in the middle of Brooklyn with four hundred thousand dollars in your lap and you're just going to sit there?"
"No, as a matter of fact"--she nodded toward the Carvel store--"I was going to get an ice cream cone. You want one?"
Richard sighed. "How 'bout if we get a safe deposit box?"
"But we're right here."
"A bank first?" he asked. "Please?"
She ran her hand over the money again. Picked up one bundle. It was heavy. "After, can we get an ice cream?"
"Tons of ice cream. Sprinkles too, you want."
"Yeah, I want."
He started the car. Rune leaned back in the seat. She was laughing. Looking at him, coy and sly.
He said, "You're looking full of the devil. What's so funny?"
"You know the story of the Little Red Hen?"
"No, I don't. How 'bout if you tell it to me?" Richard turned the old car onto the Brooklyn Bridge and pointed the hood toward the turrets and battlements of Manhattan, fiery in the afternoon sun. Rune said, "It goes like this ..."
MANHATTAN IS MY BEAT
A Bantam Book
All rights reserved.
Copyright (c) 1988, 2000 by Jeffery W. Deaver.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-30756975-2
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.
v3.0
Jeffery Deaver, Manhattan Is My Beat
(Series: Rune # 1)
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