"Since 1944? I don't believe it. How much did he send? Five hundred a month? That's ridiculous," Gilbert said.
"Two hundred forty-six thousand dollars," Ray interjected. "I took high school math up at FCI Ashland. You ought to try the joint yourself, Gilbert. Improve your grasp of the basics. Vocabulary, grammar…"
Gilbert was still focused on Johnny's giveaway plan. "You gotta be shittin' me. Johnny Lee gave two hundred forty-six thousand dollars of my money to this old bag? I don't believe it. That's criminal."
"I kept an account if you'd care to see it. It's a little red notebook in that drawer over there," Helen said, pointing a trembling finger in the general direction of the drawer where she'd kept Ray's mail.
Gilbert moved to the drawer and jerked it open, pawing through the jumble of items with impatience. He pulled the drawer out altogether and dumped the contents on the floor. He reached down and picked up a small spiral-bound notebook, thumbing through it with his left hand, the gun still in his right. Even from where I stood, I could see column after column, dates and scratchy-looking numbers running crookedly from page to page. "Son of a bitch!" Gilbert said. "How could he do that, give the money away?" He flung the notebook on the kitchen table, where it landed in the dish of stewed tomatoes.
It was Ray's turn to enjoy. He knew better than to smile, but his tone of voice conveyed his satisfaction. "The guy kept five hundred for himself, too, so what is that? After forty-one years that brings the total up to four hundred ninety-two thousand dollars," Ray said. "Figure it out for yourself. If we netted half a million bucks from the heist, that'd leave just about eight grand."
Gilbert crossed to Ray and jammed the barrel of the gun up under his jaw, hard. "Goddamn it! I know there was more and I want it! I'll blow your fuckin' head off right this minute if you don't give it up."
"Killing me won't help. You kill me, you got no chance," Ray said without flinching. "Maybe I can find it, if there's anything left. I know how Johnny's mind worked. You don't have a clue how he went about his business."
"I found the kickplate, didn't I?"
"Only because I told you. You never would have found it without me," Ray said.
Gilbert moved the gun away, his face dark. His movements were agitated. "Here's the deal. I'm taking Laura with me. You better come up with something by tomorrow or she's dead, you got that?"
"Hey, come on. Be reasonable. I need time," Ray said.
"Tomorrow."
"I'll do what I can, but I can't promise."
"Well, I can. You get that money or she's dead meat."
"How am I going to find you?"
"Don't worry about that. I'll find you," Gilbert said.
Helen grimaced, rubbing one gnarled hand with the other.
"What's the matter with you?"
"My arthritis is acting up. I'm in pain."
"You want me to fix it? I can fix that in a jiffy with what I got in here," he said, waggling his gun. He turned back to Ray. Helen raised her hand to attract his notice.
"What?"
"Now I've set down too long. Thing about getting old is you can't do any one thing for more than about five minutes. I hope you don't mind if I stand up a bit."
"Goddamn, old woman. You're just up and down and all over the place."
Helen laughed, apparently mistaking his homicidal wrath for mere ill temper. I felt a bubble of despair rising to the surface. Maybe she was senile along with everything else. He'd kill her without hesitation – he'd kill all of us – but she didn't seem to 'get' that. His threats sailed right over. Maybe it was just as well. At her age, who could tolerate fear of that magnitude? The anxiety alone could push her into heart failure. Me too, for that matter.
Gilbert pointed the gun in her direction. "You can stand up, but you behave," he said. "I don't want you running out of here, trying to flag down help." His tone shifted when he spoke to her, becoming nearly flirtatious. "Patronizing" might be another word, but Helen didn't seem to pick up on it.
She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm afraid my flagging days is over. Anyway, I'm not the one you have to worry about. It's my friend, Freida Green."
At least she'd caught his attention. I could see him suppress a smile, pretending to take her seriously. "Uh-oh. What is it, Freida some kind of hell-raiser?"