Howard nodded, ran the back of his hand across his mouth and gave Steven a quick fatherly hug. ‘I’m getting out of here myself soon. I already know I’ll feel like the Passaic River tomorrow morning so don’t expect me on the dot of eight.’
Steven was amused. In the three years he had worked at the First National Bank of Idaho Springs, he had never expected Howard Griffin on the dot of eight.
Mark grabbed a book of matches from the large fishbowl on the bar. The bar’s phone number was printed on the back so he could call later to check out when the Casparellis were on. He fancied listening to the old Italian duo fire up their amazing rendition of some Art Tatum or Fats Waller tunes over the weekend.
Outside, they loped lazily towards the pizza place. Remembering his list of perks, Mark tallied number three – great pizza – then turned to Steven. ‘So, you opened the safe deposit box.’
‘Guilty,’ Steven answered. ‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘And what was in there? Not my tuna sandwich, I hope,’ Mark teased.
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t tell what it was, so I-’ Steven paused and glanced behind him quickly, ‘-I took it with me. It’s here in my briefcase.’
Mark laughed hard, nearly doubling over. ‘You’re a felon,’ he said, still laughing until the realisation sank in and he stared at Steven. ‘Christ on a plate, you are a felon. You just robbed your own bank. I can’t believe you robbed your own bank.’
‘I didn’t rob my own bank,’ Steven said defensively. ‘I already offered to close up tomorrow night; I’m putting the stuff back. This is more like archaeology than larceny.’
‘Sure, Indy. And what do you mean by “stuff ”?’ Mark was curious now too. ‘Were there multiple unidentifiable deposits made into Mr Haggardy’s account?’
‘Higgins,’ Steven corrected, ‘and yes, there were two things and I don’t know what either of them are. You can help me when we get home.’
‘Oh sure, of course, drag me off to prison as well, why don’t you? It’ll be a great opportunity for me to brush up on my spirituals while I’m bashing rocks on a chain-gang with you.’ Mark turned into the pizza restaurant with Steven close behind.
Waiting at the take-out counter, Mark asked, ‘How did you deal with the security camera?’
‘I made a point of finishing my paperwork before Howard left. That way, I could start mopping and dusting the lobby while he was still there. Tomorrow, his security tapes will show me entering Chapman’s old safe with a bucket and a dust rag.’ The pizza arrived and as Steven paid for it with his credit card, he told Mark, ‘Don’t let me forget to write this cheque tonight.’
‘What? Your Visa bill?’
‘Yeah, I can finally get it to zero. I want to send the cheque first thing tomorrow – no, to be sure I’ll put it in the box tonight. I’ll sleep better knowing it’s already on its way.’
Mark shrugged. ‘Congratulations. And I’m thrilled you decided to celebrate by robbing your own bank.’
‘Are you going to be able to lay off that any time soon?’
‘Probably not, but if I do, I’ll let you know.’
Later that evening, the pizza eaten and the kitchen littered with peanut shells and beer cans, Steven and Mark slumped in their living room with Steven’s unopened briefcase on the floor between them. Mark yawned and stretched. ‘Well, let’s open it.’
‘All right.’ Steven lifted the briefcase to the coffee table near the sofa and opened it. ‘Here they are.’ He reached into one side of the bag and pulled out a wooden box.
‘That’s rosewood,’ Mark observed, leaning forward in his chair and reaching for the box. ‘It certainly isn’t native to these hills.’
‘No,’ Steven answered, ‘and I don’t suppose this cylinder is either.’ He held a long cylindrical container aloft for a moment, then placed it on the table. ‘I can’t explain it, but this one makes me feel strange, almost like it wanted me to open the drawer.’ He chose his words carefully as he continued, ‘Like it wants me to open it now.’
‘I think you’ve had one too many.’ Mark came across the room to examine the cylinder. ‘Sheez, it’s heavy,’ he said, surprised, then, looking strangely at Steven, added, ‘You know, you may be getting me a little spooked here, too, because it does feel odd. It’s like I’m compelled to see what’s inside.’ He sat on the edge of the sofa and sighed. ‘Well, there’s no point robbing the bank for nothing. Let’s go.’
Steven reached first for the rosewood box. It was a six-inch cube, with twin gold latches holding the top in place. Looking closely at the hinges, Steven feared he would have to pry them apart, but when he pulled on one, it opened smoothly. He felt his heart race and wiped his hands on his jeans before tugging gently on the lid, holding his breath as he did. It also opened easily, as if it had been oiled every month for the last century. Inside was a piece of velvet-like material over padding, protecting what looked like A rock. An ordinary piece of rock.
‘What is it?’ Mark asked.
‘My best guess,’ Steven said as he reached into the box and removed the stone, ‘is that it’s a rock.’
Mark laughed and said sarcastically, ‘No, officer we left all the cash, but couldn’t part with this rock. Oh, sure, we have a whole bunch out in the yard, but look at this one, a dead miner chose this one.’
‘Knock it off,’ Steven said, irritated. ‘What do we know about geology? This might be an enormous hunk of something really valuable.’
‘Sure,’ Mark answered, ‘and it might be a rock. Haven’t you heard of mercury poisoning? Some of those miners were flat-out bozo. I think one of them came into your bank to give a permanent resting place to his favourite rock, Betsy.’ Despite his sarcasm, Mark could not deny that a curious sensation began to creep along his spine. He looked again at the stone before turning his attention back to his roommate.
‘Well, let’s open the cylinder. Maybe there’s something more exciting in there.’
Steven’s hopes were renewed when he picked up the container and began unscrewing the cap. With his first turn, the mood in the room changed. Something was happening. The cylinder hummed with an energy all its own; the air shimmered, almost as if an industrial-sized humidifier were pumping invisible steam into their living room. Mark’s expression was impenetrable, a grim mask of determination, while Steven’s was guilty, like an eight-year-old who’s regretting stealing a few penny candies. ‘I’m closing it,’ he announced suddenly.
‘No. It’s okay.’ Mark moved a little nearer. Steven changed his mind and continued unscrewing the cap. With each turn, the energy level in the room increased. Mark, uncomfortable, looked for something to do with his hands.
‘I’m afraid to touch anything, it’s like there’s static electricity everywhere.’ The room shimmered and Mark was certain he saw various objects, the fireplace tools, a paper plate with a floral print and a bright silver beer can, moving in and out of focus. ‘It must be something radioactive. I don’t understand it. It’s-’
‘No,’ Steven interrupted, ‘it’s cloth. It’s some sort of strange cloth. Move the coffee table. We’ll unroll it on the floor in front of the fireplace.’ Mark hastily pushed the coffee table against their sofa, then, a little nervously, backed himself across the room to stand on the hearthstone. In the kitchen the telephone rang, but both men ignored it, transfixed by the strange piece of rolled material. Steven knelt down and began spreading the cloth. ‘Look at this, it unfolds lengthwise as well.’
‘Go ahead,’ Mark encouraged, although he didn’t sound completely convinced this was a good idea. His arms were held tightly against his chest, his hands clenched into fists and tucked under his chin. He looked as though he might, at any moment, claw his way up the chimney to safety.