I slowed as we approached Main Street. Looking ahead, I saw the bank guard, his rifle slung over his shoulder, standing outside his sentry-box. There were few cars on the street: not more than a dozen people were wandering aimlessly, shop window gazing.
I pulled up in front of the bank.
The guard straightened, peered, then recognizing Manson, he gave him a salute, then he saw Glenda’s gun. His round, middle-aged face turned the colour of mutton fat. He clawed at his gun. The hammering sound of the automatic rifle exploded in my ears as Glenda shot him.
‘Out!’ she screamed. ‘Get the bank open!’
Shocked, I slid out of the car, ran around, opened the trunk and grabbed up the plastic sack. My hands were shaking as I found the neutralizer, aware people were shouting. As I pushed the button on the neutralizer, and as the bank doors swung open, I saw a cop come running down the street, gun in hand. He paused, stared at us, recognized Manson, then saw Glenda’s gun. He fatally hesitated as she fired a short burst at him. He went down, clutching his chest.
‘Get in!’ she screamed, and herded Manson and me into the bank. ‘Shut the doors!’
I flicked on the neutralizer, and the bank doors closed.
‘Where’s the vault?’ she demanded.
‘Over there,’ and I pointed.
She ran through the invisible alarm beam to the vault doors. By breaking the beam, she had unwittingly alerted the Sharnville station house, the Federal Bureau’s local office and the Los Angeles police. Within minutes, every available policeman in the district would be surrounding the bank.
She hammered on the vault door with the butt of her gun, screaming, ‘Harry! I’ll get you out! Hear me, Harry!’
I grabbed Manson’s arm and hissed to him, ‘When I say run, run like hell and hide!’
Glenda spun around, glaring at me.
‘Open up or he’ll get it,’ and her gun shifted to Manson.
‘To open the vault, the lock releases are on the second floor,’ I said, and moving to the elevator, I used the neutralizer.
The elevator doors swished open, and I stepped inside.
For a brief moment, she hesitated, then shoving Manson forward into the cage, she followed him.
Another mistake! If she had stayed with Manson in the bank’s lobby, I would have been hamstrung.
This was an automatic elevator. There wasn’t a lot of room. While she was shoving Manson against the side of the cage, I pressed the second floor button, and then the fourth floor button.
This was a deadly risk, but a good chance.
The doors closed, and the elevator rose swiftly to the second floor, stopped, and the doors opened.
This was my moment of truth!
My heart was pounding as I watched Glenda back out of the elevator, covering Manson and myself with the gun.
‘Come out!’ she shouted.
The opening of the elevator cage was narrow. Before Manson could move, I stepped in front of him, moved out of the cage and stood, blocking the entrance.
‘Get out of the way!’ Glenda screamed, suddenly sensing she had been outwitted.
‘Glenda! It’s either Harry’s life or my life,’ I said. ‘Shoot me, and Harry dies too.’
As I heard the elevator doors close, I shouted, ‘Run!’
‘You bastard!’
Was she going to shoot? Sweat ran down my back as we faced each other.
‘Glenda! I’ll open the vault! I’ll get Harry out!’ I shouted at her.
She looked to right and left, fury, frustration and fear contorted her face. Then seeing the stairs at the end of the corridor, she turned and began to run blindly towards them with the futile hope of catching Manson, her only hostage.
I overtook her in ten long strides, and brought her down, my arms around her waist. The gun flew out of her hands as she thudded to the floor.
She lay there, stunned, while I picked up the gun. Her hands covered her face, and she began to sob.
Over the sounds of her sobbing, came the sound of police sirens as police cars converged on the bank.
Captain Perrell of the L.A. police, who had arrived by helicopter, sat behind Manson’s desk.
Manson and I sat facing him.
Deputy Sheriff Tim Bentley stood behind Perrell.
Perrell was very much in charge. He was a man who first got his facts right, then made quick decisions.
When I had opened the bank doors, and had let him in with a flock of policemen and plainclothes men, he had asked abruptly what was going on. He eyed the automatic rifle I was holding, and a plainclothes man sidled up, and took it away from me.
‘There are four dangerous men trapped in the vault,’ I told Perrell.
He absorbed this information without a change of expression.
‘There is a woman on the second floor. The gun is hers: she is one of the gang,’ I went on. ‘She is unarmed, but dangerous.’
Perrell snapped his fingers, and two plainclothes men, drawing their guns, started up the stairs.
I felt a chill around my heart. I had loved Glenda. Maybe there was still a shred of love left.
‘These guys in the vault armed?’ Perrell demanded.
‘Yes, and one of them is a moronic, vicious killer. They are all highly dangerous.’
‘Right. We’ll go up, and take a look at this woman.’
There was drama on the second floor as we emerged from the elevator. One of the plainclothes men was peering around the door of Manson’s office. The other was preparing to move in.
‘Hold it!’ Perrell snapped.
‘She’s out on the ledge,’ the taller of the cops said. ‘She’s ready to take a dive.’
Through the open window of Manson’s office, we heard a loud moan of excitement from the crowd below.
Perrell moved cautiously into the office. I followed him.
Glenda was leaning against one of the windows, her back to us. She was looking down at the crowded street.
‘Let me talk to her,’ I said urgently, and pushing by Perrell, I slowly approached the big open window through which she had climbed.
‘Glenda!’ I spoke gently. ‘Come on in. I’m getting Harry out. He’ll want to talk to you.’
At the sound of my voice, she looked around. Her face was white, her eyes sunken, her lips drawn back in the snarl of a trapped animal. I had loved this woman, but there was nothing now in her face that had sparked my love. She was a vicious, crazy-looking stranger.
‘You stinking devil!’ she screamed at me. ‘Here’s yours!’
She lifted her hand, and a small .22 automatic levelled at me.
There was a bang of a gun, just behind me, as Perrell shot her. With horror, I saw blood and a smashed skull as she reeled and fell to the street.
There was confusion. Screams from the street below: men shouting. I staggered over to a chair and sank into it I heard vaguely, as if in a dream, Perrell snapping orders, but what he was saying didn’t register. There was more confusion: men moving around... voices.
I saw her again on the golf course; remembered the wonderful dinner she had cooked for me; recalled that moment when I had first made love to her: saw her in the bikini, sitting on the sand, waiting to betray me.
‘Larry!’ Manson’s voice jerked me upright. He was standing over me. ‘They want me to open the vault! I keep telling them we have to wait until Monday morning!’
I pulled myself together.
‘I can open it.’
He stared at me.
‘What are you saying?’
‘Okay, Lucas,’ Perrell said curtly. ‘Let’s talk it out’
So, sitting around Manson’s desk, I told them. I kept nothing back. I told them the whole sordid story, aware that a cop, sitting in a corner, was taking down, every word I was saying. I was past caring. I knew what I was saying would be front-page news tomorrow, and I knew I was finished in Sharnville. At the back of my mind, I thought of Bill Dixon. He would have to find another partner. I just didn’t care anymore.