Weep for Me by John D. MacDonald

familiar with the accounts. How does it look on quantity?”
    “This is a very rough guess. I think we can take an average of five thousand apiece out of at least forty accounts.”
    “The danger is being found out and grabbed. But we can limit that. We don’t touch that cash. If they grab us, we can make complete restitution. That always counts for you. Usually, with a hundred-percent restitution, all you get is a suspended sentence.”
    “We can’t keep it here, can we?”
    “We may have to. I don’t like it, though. Any ideas?”
    We sat in silence and our eyes met. I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. That whatever was between us, or would ever be between us, was not love, but something else that was not a basis for trust.
    “Let’s wait until we get some of it. Then we’ll decide.”
    “No. This has to be planned. Every part of it. New identities, new names with documentary proof of birth dates and so on. Every part of it. Or I don’t play.”
    “The money will be bulky, won’t it?”
    “Quite. Two hundred thousand in the size bills we want will fill quite a large suitcase.”
    “How about this, Kyle? Are we going to go by car? I think that would be best. An inconspicuous car. Get it into Mexico. We can leave it there.”
    “So?”
    “You and that girl. Your five thousand. Can you get hold of enough of that to buy a car?”
    “It’s a joint savings account. Yes, I can withdraw enough.”
    “There must be garages to rent in the area. We can use the trunk compartment of the car for the suitcase. Keep it locked, keep the garage locked. When we have to put money in the suitcase, we can drive out into the country and do it, or just take it to the garage. Then, if we have to leave on short notice …”
    I thought it over, nodded. “That’s smart.”
    “What do I do first?”
    “We’ve got to have a master record, so we won’t have to depend on memory, Emily. Check the bank statements. Make a list of the forty accounts we’re going to tap. Smuggle out signatures. We’ll get the first batch of checks made up. Varying amounts. You see, if I get big cash deposits one day, I can safely run through a big one.”
    “Tomorrow I’ll make out the list and bring some checks out of the files.”
    “We’ll have to get a car. I’ll get the money for it. Saturday I’ll take a train over to Syracuse and buy it for cash out of a lot.”
    “Not in your own name, Kyle. We’ve got to have new names, new identities. Something sober and honest-sounding. Mr. and Mrs. Walter C. Marshall.”
    “Disguises?” I asked.
    “They’d have to be terribly simple, Kyle.”
    “I don’t think, for me, one is even necessary. I look like a million other guys. I’ve got a pair of glasses I used to wear before a small prescription change, when I got the heavy rims. The old ones are rimless. Make me look studious. I’ll be O.K. But how about you? You’re pretty unusual-looking. How do you feel about being a blonde?”
    “Let me show you something.”
    She went to the chest of drawers and then into the bathroom. It took her ten minutes. My jaw sagged as I stared at her. She had pulled her dark hair back tightly, fastened it at the nape of her neck. She had used herlipstick in a way that changed the shape of her mouth, and with eye shadow she had darkened her upper lids. The passive, brooding look was entirely gone. She looked older, less exciting.
    “How do you do, Mrs. Marshall?” I said.
    She smiled and I laughed. It was almost good laughter. Not quite. There was a nervous note in it and I heard it stop too abruptly.
    When she came out again, looking as before, I said, “That will be enough. That will be excellent.”
    “Can you establish identity soon enough to get the car on Saturday, Kyle?” she asked.
    “Maybe not. I’ll try. If it turns out to be a week from Saturday, we can keep whatever money we get next week in my room or here.”
    “Then we’re set,” she said.
    “You sound as if you were