By Gil Brewer
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Additional info for A Taste for Sin
Anyway, that’s how it’s got to be. I don’t want a divorce. I want the money, and I’m going to have it. ” “A million dollars. ” She spoke grimly. “There’s always over a million in cash in the cash vault. The insurance company has a clause in the policy that tells exactly how much they can have. I know all about it. The other vaults are record vaults. They’re more valuable than the cash vault but not to us. They don’t mean a damn thing to us. And the City Trust can have one million and one half dollars in the cash vault.
The insurance company dictated the bank’s policy. George was often there alone at night. I’d always thought banks had guards. Alone in the bank with the cash vault open. It had never occurred to me that a man walked around the streets with the keys to the front door of the bank jingling in his pocket along with car keys, house keys, the keys to his girl’s hotel room. She’d said this was perfectly normal. I could see it might be, if the vault door were closed, because that could only be opened when the time clock said so; which in this case, according to Felice, was seven-thirty in the morning.
She looked so terrific, I felt like dragging her across the seat and the hell with everything. Let the car smash. She turned and smiled. I reached over and gave her a hell of a horse bite. ” The car swerved, dove crazily at the ditch. She yanked it back and we drove the other way, going seventy-five now. She hit me with her fist on the shoulder, looking at me, laughing. ” She pulled the wheel. The car fish-tailed, tires screaming on asphalt. We were doing eighty-five, then ninety, ninety-five, then one hundred.
A Taste for Sin by Gil Brewer