TEN DOLLAR$ A WEEK, by Stephen Wasylyk
3683 Words
TEN DOLLAR$ A WEEK,
by Stephen WasylykMorley remarked, “There is much to be said for a life of crime.”
Bakov grunted. Sooner or later Morley would explain what he meant, and Bakov could afford to wait.
They occupied a pair of the folding beach chairs that were lined up against the wall of the red-brick building, like those on an ocean liner. The landscaped grounds, a smooth green sea, stretched before them to the wrought iron fence and the street beyond that was the edge of the world fancifully called the Golden Age Retirement Center.
The Center was a pleasant and friendly place and most of the presidents had little reason ever to leave its confines even if they were capable of doing so, their mobility hampered by the infirmities of old age, the lack of spending money, or both.
It was morning, the grass still wet with dew, and the heat hadn’t yet penetrated the canopy of trees that surrounded the broad patio. The two men were alone, the others still at breakfast in the dining room.
Morley raised the powerful field glasses from his lap and studied the facade of the balconied apartment house that rose like a wall across the street. He was thin, his shoulders bony against the flowered sport shirt, his face creased and lined below the full thatch of unruly white hair that defied both comb and brush. His eyes were Wedgwood blue and surprisingly young for a man who had celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday only a few days before. Age hadn’t slowed or dulled him as much as the economic system that no longer allowed him to earn a living.
“The woman on the fifth floor, he said, “is there again on the balcony. Every morning at the same time in the sun in her bikini.”
“Bikinis I can see at the beach,” Bakov said.
Morley handed him the glasses. “Not like this.”
Bakov raised the glasses and studied the apartment house. “I do not think I like her all browned. A woman with a body like that should be nice and soft and white, maybe pink, but not burned by the sun.” He let the glasses fall to his lap and leaned back in his chair. Small and heavy, his face sagged in basset-hound folds below a shining scalp that glistened slightly with perspiration. Heat bothered Bakov, even this early in the shade, but he preferred the company of Morley to the sterility of his room. He brushed his fringe of iron-gray hair carefully as if it were something precious. As old as Morley, one of Bakov’s pet annoyances with old age was that it had deprived him of his once magnificent head of curly black hair. He felt that he could, at least, have been allowed to retain that, even if his once square hard body had sagged to resemble the lower half of an hourglass.
“So,” he said, “what to do?”
“Crime,” said Morley. “I should have led a life of crime. I would not be here now. What do I have? A few dollars of pension, a few dollars of Social Security that all goes to this place. I do not even have enough pocket money to take a bus trip into town and if I did, what would I do when I got there with no money?”
“I have money,” Bakov said. “My son sent my five-dollar allowance.”
“It’s not good,” Morley complained. “We have both worked hard all our lives and what do we have? Nothing. We were honest citizens who obeyed the law and it got us nowhere. What little money we managed to put away is gone became of inflation. I will tell you something, Bakov. The director called me into his office yesterday. He wants me to pay him ten dollars more a week or I will have to leave. Where will I get it? Where can I go if I don’t stay here?”
“He is raising the price ten dollars a week? He has said nothing to me.”
“He will.”
Bakov sighed. “Then we will have to leave together. I do not have ten dollars more a week either.”
“You have a son to help. I have no one.”
“No. He has a family of his own. He cannot afford the ten dollars any more than I can.”
“Give me the glasses,” Morley requested.
He studied the apartment house again. “Every morning,” he said. “As soon as her husband leaves, the young man arrives and the shades go down. Think of that. Every morning. You would think that they would get tired and miss a day once in a while.”
“You were young once,” Bakov said. “You know how it is.”
“I was never that bad. Or good.” He put the glasses down and studied the apartment house wall. “Suppose I went to her and told her that I would tell her husband unless she gave me ten dollars a week. It is a small amount. Do you think she would agree?”
“Blackmail?” Bakov’s voice held a tinge of horror.
“Why not? Think of all the people in this country who steal. You read about them every day. Big financiers who manipulate money. Businessmen who don’t pay their fair share of taxes. Politicians who take bribes. Even if they are caught, nothing happens to them. Dope pushers. Confidence men. Bank robbers. I tell you, Bakov, they have the right idea. By the time they are old, they have stolen enough money so that they do not concern themselves with ten dollars a week. I have been thinking and thinking. There was a story in the paper last evening. A man walked into a bank and handed the teller a note saying he had a gun and he would shoot her if she didn’t give him all her money. She did. He ran out and disappeared into the crowd with five thousand dollars. So easy. Do you think he’ll ever be caught in a city this size? Never. I tell you that crime pays. I should have thought of that long ago.”
“So you want to rob a bank?”
“Why not? All it would take is a little nerve, and that I have.”
“You have no gun and together we do not have enough money to buy one. And if you had it what would you do with it? With your arthritis, you could not hold it properly and you also know nothing about guns.”
Morley pursed his lips. “I have been thinking about that. I would not need a gun. I could make up a small package and tell the girl I had a bomb inside. I think she would give me the money.”
“You sound serious.”
Morley raised the glasses and studied the apartment house for a long time. “I am serious,” he said. “Think for yourself. Here we sit, two old men who need only ten dollars a week or we will be thrown out into the street. We will have to find a small apartment somewhere in a poor neighborhood where we will be afraid to go out because we will be robbed and we will slowly starve to death because food prices keep going up and up. For just ten dollars a week more we can stay here where it is pleasant and they take care of us as well as they can. It is not the finest place in the world but would you want to leave it, Bakov?”
“I think not,” Bakov said. “They are a little annoying sometimes with their chess tournaments and checker games and card parties but that is because I have never liked those things.” He glanced around. The other beach chairs were beginning to fill up as the residents of the home began to circulate. “We are with our own kind here. I wonder how many of the others can afford ten dollars a week more.”
“I do not know and it may sound hard, but I do not care. I am thinking only of myself. All night I lay awake thinking only of myself and I have reached a conclusion.” He handed the glasses to Bakov. “Look at the sign a few doors from the apartment house and tell me what you see.”
Bakov took the glasses and held them to his eyes. “What is so interesting about the car-wash place?”
“The other direction.” Morley said impatiently.
Bakov swung the glasses, held them steady and put them down slowly. “You mean the bank?”
“I mean the bank. It would not even cost us carfare to get there.”
“Us?”
“I would need your help.”
“But I know nothing about banks.”
“It is not necessary to know anything about banks to rob one. Do you think the people who do things like that know anything more than we do? They just go and rob.”
“Just go and rob. You make it sound easy. There are bank guards and policemen and they have guns and they can shoot.”
“It is easy,” insisted Morley. “That’s why so many do it. I planned it all last night. How we could do it and how it will work.”
“And if we get caught?”
“We will not get caught.” Morley shrugged. “And if we do, what can they do to us? How much longer do we have? A few years in prison won’t matter. At least then we will not have to worry about ten dollars more a week.” He took the glasses from Bakov and studied the bank, smiling a little. “But we won’t get caught. I have considered it all very carefully. I have thought of finance companies, retail stores, bars, even the car-wash place. None are as good as the bank.”
“If you wish to rob someone, I suggest Greenbrier, the butcher in my old neighborhood. He has robbed everyone for years, the crook.”
“You are not paying attention. How much money can a butcher have?”
“These days? All the money in the world.”
“Forget Greenbrier. The bank is best. It is a small one, with one entrance, and at noon the sidewalks outside are crowded. The guard or the police will not shoot into a crowd. It will be easy to get away.”
“On my legs with the varicose veins and the elastic stockings, you expect me to run?”
“You are not to run,” Morley said impatiently. “You are to walk slowly so that you will not attract attention. If there is any running, I will do it.”
Bakov sniffed. “You will run yourself into a heart attack.”
A white-haired woman, supporting herself with a cane, tottered to the chair alongside them and collapsed into it gratefully as if achieving another small victory over time. She smiled at them.
Morley leaned toward Bakov. “Let’s go to my room. I do not want Miss America here to listen.”
Morley’s room was a warm cubbyhole on the second floor. Morley sat on the bed. Bakov took the one chair.
“I am not sure this is right,” Bakov protested.
“The bank will not miss the money,” Morley said. “They have insurance for things like that. Besides, we will not be taking a million dollars. A few thousand will do, only enough to see us through the next few years. You and I will not be around much longer, Bakov. Every day someone else goes, sometimes two or three.”
“I feel fine,” Bakov said “I could go for another twenty years. So could you.”
Morley gestured impatiently. “That is wishful thinking. We are concerned only with now, the present. Only with ten dollars a week for a little bit of time longer.”
“I did not think I would turn criminal in my old age.”
“You did not think that ten dollars a week would be such a big thing in your old age. When you were younger, you kept your money in the bank?”
“When I had it, which wasn’t too often.”
“The bank used your money to make a profit. They paid you a little interest. All you are doing now is collecting more interest. Didn’t you always feel you were entitled to a greater return on your money?”
“I suppose so.” Bakov rubbed his face thoughtfully. “Just how do you intend to do this thing?”
Morley reached into a drawer and brought forth a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. “This is my bomb,” he said triumphantly.
“It looks like a shoe box covered with paper.”
Morley’s face fell. “That’s what it is. But the girl in the bank will not know what is inside.”
“What is inside?”
“Nothing,” Morley admitted. “I do not think I need anything.” He reached into his shirt pocket and handed Bakov a slip of paper. “Here is my note.”
Bakov squinted his eyes and held the paper at arms’ length. “I have a bomb in the box. Place all your money in the paper bag. Give no alarm until I have gone or I will blow the whole place up so that everyone will die, you included.” He studied the note. “It is a little wordy, perhaps? You don’t have to tell her she will die if you blow up the place. She knows that. I would leave that part out.”
“Just what I need.” Morley said testily. “A literary critic. She will get the message. That is all that matters.”
“Okay, you give her the note. Where is the paper bag?”
“Right here.” Morley handed him a grease-stained paper sack. “I got this in the kitchen this morning.”
Bakov’s nose wrinkled. “You had to get one they used for fish?”
Morley gestured impatiently. “It is good enough. She puts the money in it and I walk out.”
“Then what?”
“You will be waiting outside the door. I will slip you the paper sack so that even if I am caught, there will be no evidence.”
“The guard will shoot you.”
“Not as long as the teller thinks I have a bomb.”
“He will chase you outside.”
“He will do nothing in the crowd. He can’t take the chance.”
“It is a crazy scheme.”
“That’s why it will work. Do you think that other people have better ones? I have always studied these things in the newspaper. They are no different.”
“They will collar me when you pass me the money.”
“No one will notice. You will just cross the street and come back here. When I get away, I will join you.”
“You will join me in jail.”
“No,” Morley said. “They do not expect old men to rob banks. They think old people are good only for shoplifting. Only the girl will get a good look at me and she will be frightened. We will be just two old men from the retirement home out for a noonday walk.”
Bakov sat quietly.
“Ten dollars a week more,” Morley said. “That’s all we need. The bank will not raise too much fuss over a few thousand dollars.”
“It is a madness,” Bakov said. “I can’t believe you intend to go through with it.”
“Of course it is a madness. All brilliant ideas are a madness. And I will go through with it. I am going to do as others do. I am going to take what I need. If you will not help me, I will do it alone.”
Bakov ran a hand over his face, tugged at his collar and fingered his precious hair, his face settling into even sadder folds. “All right,” he agreed finally. “If you insist on going to jail. I will go with you so you shouldn’t be lonely. Is today a good day?”
“Today is as good as any other. Let us go down and sit in the chairs until it is time.”
It was after twelve when they walked across the grounds and through the gate, Morley ahead, Bakov following.
Morley clutched his empty shoe box to his chest, his paper bag folded in his hand. They made their way slowly across the street, meticulously observing the traffic-lights; Morley erect and shoulders back, Bakov slouching and shuffling slightly.
At the bank’s revolving door, Morley turned and gave Bakov a significant look.
It was quiet inside, people standing in line before the tellers windows with preoccupied expressions on their faces. Morley looked over the tellers. All three were young, their smiles automatic as they greeted each customer. There was little to choose among the three. Morley joined the line nearest the door.
His palms were wet and he could feel a tightness in his stomach, like a massive dose of indigestion, reminding him he had forgotten to take his stomach pill that morning.
It had all sounded so simple when he explained it to Bakov. It didn’t seem so simple now.
Ten dollars more a week, he thought.
He was fourth in line. The man ahead of him was tall, blocking his view of the teller. Morley felt a touch of irritation. He moved slightly to one side. The teller was young, a bright and lively girl with short blonde hair and a healthy glow to her skin. The line moved forward.
Morley glanced outside. Bakov was standing near the door, peering into the bank, his bald head glistening. Fool, thought Morley. He will attract attention that way.
The man ahead of him was at the teller’s window now. Morley craned his neck slightly to study the girl again.
Her face no longer had that healthy glow. It was white. She was stuffing money into a bag, not counting it out.
Not counting it out.
A little warning flashed through Morley’s mind. The girl had counted carefully for the other two customers, taking time to do it twice. Why should she now be stuffing the money into a bag?
Her eyes were fixed on her moving hands as if she were afraid to look up and Morley thought he noticed a slight tremor.
The man reached across the counter and took the bag from the girl. She glanced up, her eyes met Morley’s and he saw fright and an appeal there.
The man turned away. Morley followed, not knowing why, sure that the man had forced the girl to give him the money but not knowing how he had managed to do it.
That was my money, Morley thought angrily. He had no right to take my money.
The man moved quickly toward the door. Bakov stepped inside the bank, his eyes fixed on Morley. He lifted a hand and stepped forward, right into the man’s path. The man cursed and pushed and Bakov staggered backward and fell heavily his eyes wide, his mouth open.
Morley recalled a trick from his long-ago youth when he used to walk up behind another and swing a leg out, hooking his victim’s ankle and forcing it in back of the other calf so that it caught there and the victim would tumble and fall. It required luck and timing and Morley had been an expert at it. He did it now and the man pitched forward, his head striking the massive brass frame of the revolving door with a dull cracking sound, the bag in his hand coming loose and scattering wads of banded bills all over the bank floor. A small revolver clattered as it slid across the marble.
Behind Morley, the teller finally screamed and a uniformed guard came running up.
Bakov painfully pushed himself to his feet and looked down at the man. He looked at Morley and shrugged. “So what else is new?” he asked shakily, his face pale.
* * * *
It was a nice morning, the grass still wet with dew. Morley and Bakov sat in their usual chairs.
Morley peered through the field glasses. “She is there again,” he said. “Still in the bikini.”
“I am not interested,” Bakov replied. “I ache too much. It is not good for an old man to be pushed like that.”
“The man is paying for it. He is now in jail. Can you do anything more to him?”
“You might be in jail instead of him.”
“I think not. You notice that if I hadn’t tripped him, he would have got away. There was no one to trip me. I still think it was a good idea. They never even asked me why I was there. I tell you, Bakov, that at seventy-five, you acquire an automatic innocence. No one looks at you, no one pays any attention to you unless you drop dead in front of them. Why did you come into the bank? You spoiled the plan.”
“I was going to stop you. Men like us are too old to start a life of crime. We would not be good at it.”
“I disagree. We have many people here with many talents. I could form a gang…”
“That would be fine,” Bakov said dryly. “We could use motorized wheelchairs for our getaways. Don’t talk foolish.”
“So you would suffer instead?”
Bakov shrugged. “After seventy-five years, a little more suffering couldn’t hurt. We would have managed.”
Morley sighed. “At least we will not have to worry for a while. The bank manager told me he will pay a ten percent reward and it should be about a thousand dollars. And then that newspaper will send me a check for my exclusive story of how I captured the robber. It is not often that a senior citizen becomes involved. They do not know I was angry because he took our money and pushed you. So we can stay here for another year or so.”
“We can stay even longer,” Bakov said. He reached into his pocket and handed Morley a banded stack of money. The band read $1000. “I picked it up from the floor when I fell. Do you think they will miss it?”
“Of course, but there were many people there. Anyone could have taken it.”
“I think we should return it.”
Morley thought for a moment. “There is no hurry. We will hold the money. We do not need it now. Perhaps we will never need it. When our time comes, we can leave instructions to return it to the bank. We can consider it an interest-free loan.”
“Ah, well,” said Bakov, settling in his chair. “We can now sit and watch in peace. Give me the glasses.”
“There is one thing we must do,” Morley said.
“What is that?”
“Get another pair. Your eyes are not the same as mine and I must always change the focus.”
Bakov bristled. “It is annoying to me, too. We will buy them this afternoon.”
“After the noonday crowds,” Morley said. “There will be many bright young girls out walking.”
“Yes, bless the bright young girls. It is a good thing you did not rob the bank.”
“Why not?”
“You would have been caught and what is there to look at in jail?”
- Writer
