On Wednesday afternoon Frank completed his day-end paperwork quickly. He had received no word from Tom since he had left them at the farm, and although he was confident they had arrived home safely, he was anxious to visit them, just stop in for a beer and assure himself that everything had returned to normal.

Leila was working at the sink when he rapped lightly at the kitchen door. She looked up, beckoned to him and went on with what she was doing. "I'm not going to offer you a beer Frank, Tom will be down in a minute, and then we're going to have champagne!"

Tom entered carrying three champagne flutes. He put them on the table and then removed the wine from the freezer section of the fridge. Leila dried her hands on a dish towel and sat down next to Frank. Tom untwisted the wire from the top of the bottle and began to carefully work the cork out with his thumbs. It released with a sharp pop and bounced off the ceiling, then he had to move quickly to begin pouring as the liquid cascaded from the neck of the bottle. He splashed a little in each glass, the effervescence rising to the rim, and handed one to each of them.

"Here's to a job well done," he shouted happily. They tossed off the clear sparkling liquid and Tom refilled the glasses.

"And now," Frank intoned solemnly, "Let's drink to the future."

They finished the bottle slowly now, recapping the events of the day before and discussing news reports.

"What did your wife say when you got home yesterday Frank? You must have been pretty late."

"Actually, no, I wasn't. About an hour. She was watching the soaps and was just as happy I wasn't there to disturb her. I put a couple of library books on the table and she didn't enquire why I was late. She was probably afraid I'd expect her to do some work. What did you do with those garbage bags?"

"We stopped at the dump on the way home like we planned, but there were people there, picking through the junk for stuff they could salvage; you know, storm windows and the like, so we were afraid to leave them. We brought them back to town and I put them out with the garbage this morning. I saw them go into the packer; they're gone Frank."

"Good, and I put the money where I told you. If you ever have to get it just follow the rail fence and you'll find the hollow tree. It's going to be tough to get out of there though, I used a fence rail as a battering ram to put it in."

"All the better Frank, anybody else nosing around won't get it out either. Funny thing though, the first news report I heard last night said there was only thirty thousand dollars taken. I'm sure there was more."

"This surprises you Tom?" Leila interjected sarcastically. "You're the one who always says the news is mostly fiction. They probably don't want anyone else getting ideas. I noticed they were pretty vague about exactly how we got the money out of that truck too."

"That's true, though the news on the t.v. last night mentioned a bomb, and the guys at work today seemed to have a lot of information. They were really excited about it. They even said the guards got off a couple of shots at us."

"Wrong! But I guess maybe we were lucky they didn't. They couldn't hit us at that distance anyway, but when I saw them chasing me with their guns out, I just about shit my pants. It's a good thing the shot-gun was in the cab with the driver."

"Who was too scared to use it." Frank added.

"And what about me? I didn't know anything had gone wrong. If it hadn't been for the curve in the road, I'd have run out onto the highway and almost met them."

"That's true Lee. You nearly got left behind! I was so busy I never noticed that the motorcycle hadn't started up. It was Frank who finally realized it … but when we went back, there was still no sign of the guards. I guess they gave up when we drove off in the truck."

"Or they went to the farmhouse to phone in the alarm. After all, they didn't know the bomb was a phoney."

"They probably don't know yet either. I haven't heard that part anywhere in the news."

"Anyway," said Frank, unwilling to relive those few moments of terror, "We did it, and we got clean away. There's no way we'll ever be suspected. It's a strange thing; I got home yesterday afternoon and I lay down for a few minutes and fell sound asleep. It was just like I was exhausted or depressed or something, but then when I went to bed last night I couldn't sleep at all, I kept reliving it all in my mind, and planning what I'll do with the money and all. It seems like I'm on an emotional roller-coaster or something."

Leila nodded in agreement. "I know, but just think … I mean, what we did! It was the most momentous day of my life. I'll never be over it. It's like we really did win the lottery guys … no, better!" She raised her glass to the two men and tossed off the contents. They laughed at her and did likewise.

That weekend a cold winter wind blew down the river from the north and in two days stripped the valley of its colourful autumn plumage. It now began to adopt its characteristic winter colours, mostly shades of grey. The grass lay crisp and white with frost most mornings now, and Frank had to scrape his windshield before leaving for work. The local children celebrated Hallowe'en and the first days of November brought a hint of snow in the air sometimes, accompanied by a few sparse flakes on the north wind. The inside of the truck was more comfortable at this time of year, the heat of summer and vagaries of the unreliable air conditioning system were past; winter's damp dismal days in the cold storage tank were not yet upon him.

François was due to retire on the last Friday before Christmas, somewhat later than he had originally calculated, and Frank and Gabrielle were planning a surprise party for him in the new year. The list of guests from work was not large; Frank and Tom, and Claude the dispatcher, and some members previously retired who had worked with François over the years and knew him well. In addition were all the male members of his large family, and his in-laws. It was to be held in the lounge of his fraternity lodge. Frank, who normally didn't attend smokers was looking forward to this one, he had lost his disappointment over François' retirement, now that he had arranged to be leaving soon himself.

He discovered he had become badly spoiled by Tom's company over the summer. Working hours once merely tedious were now unendurable compared to the way the time had raced gaily along while the two friends had shared their confinement. Now, of course, Frank's future was assured, and he would soon be out of the box forever. The anticipation made him jittery, and sometimes irritable.

For co-workers he was assigned, in quick succession, a number of part-time guards; none of whom suited him, and each seemingly worse than the one before. Had he been feeling as he normally did about the job he would have expressed his concern about the situation, but since he no longer cared about his position he didn't bother to complain to Wells. "A cavalcade of stars" was how he described them to Tom when they discussed work, but despite the dry humour Frank grew more and more disgruntled.

He spent the last week of November working alongside a guard named Miner. They had worked together several times, though always briefly, in the past. He rarely worked for the company, only during peak periods or during summer vacation because he was completely useless as a guard and was too poor a driver to be allowed to drive. Whiner Miner, as he was known throughout the company, lived with his mother, and held no other position than his rather tenuous employment with the guard service. He complained constantly; about his hours, his co-workers, neighbours, noisy children, storehours, virtually everything. He dressed and groomed himself flawlessly, Wells would certainly find no fault with his military appearance, but he was one of those people who had learned from childhood to compensate for his stupidity and lack of ability to think for himself by following even the most petty regulation to the letter, and he watched Frank's every moment to see if he did the same. In dealing with company brass, or even around Claude the dispatcher, he became the most fawning, obsequious sycophant Frank had ever known, but alone in the truck all day he was sullen and barely communicative, watching Frank suspiciously; and uncommunicative whenever Frank was forced to speak to him, which was seldom. He began to find it intolerable. Miner's stupidity and incompetence Frank felt he must learn to live with, it was after all no more than workers in most other fields had to contend with, but the undisguised hostility was more than he could stand, and he resolved to have the guard transferred to another unit. Rather than see Wells secretly after work he waited until near the end of the day and broached the subject to Miner.

"Listen, Richard, it's obvious this isn't going to work out."

Miner glared hotly at him through thick glasses. "What's not going to work?" he demanded stonily.

"You and I, working together. It's evident you don't like working with me, and I don't want to work with you." He held up one hand to silence Miner's objection. "I'm going to ask the dispatcher to change your shift schedule, and if he can't do it I'm going to have to see Wells."

"Oh yeah, Wilson!" Miner exploded, the words seething through clenched teeth. "I have some news for you. Wells isn't going to move anybody. I'm here until at least Christmas, when he's going to find a more permanent spot for me."

The bottled-up frustration of the entire week now erupted in a cold fury. "Are you fucking simple or what?" he growled menacingly. "Do you think if there were any permanent positions coming up that you'd be considered for one of them? Wells will take care of one of his pals first; Chenier or Kowalski, and I'll tell you something else. I happen to know there is a vacancy coming in the near future, and I'll bet you a week's pay that nobody gets made permanent to fill it; they'd have to pay somebody the full-time rate plus benefits if that happened. So smell the coffee, fuck-head!"

Miner smiled in a patient, condescending manner, rolled his eyes upward and shook his head sadly as though it were clear he was dealing with an idiot.

"I didn't say he was going to make me permanent, I said he was trying to find a more permanent spot for me. And, for your information, I do think it's time I was made permanent, I've been with this company for nine years now and if it weren't for the union protecting bad apples like you I would have been full-time a long time ago."

"Bad apples? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means people with an attitude like yours. You flout the rules openly, ignore procedures, made fun of directives, and now, this very minute, you're running down company policy. You're no better than anyone else, what makes you think you can sit there, tie off, sleeves rolled up, and criticize me? And this morning you were reading the newspaper. I think you ought to be fired."

After they had returned to the depot and Miner had left the building Frank entered the dispatcher's office and closed the door. Claude looked up quizzically and motioned toward a chair. Wearing a knowing smile he began with tact. "Nice of you to drop in Frank. How's that boy of yours doing in Toronto?"

"Fine. He got a job writing copy for one of those little community newspapers. There's a chain of them, all owned by the same company, so what he writes for one might go into several. He likes it, says it's good experience. Doesn't pay much though."

"What does?"

"Good point." Frank drew a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about Miner. I don't think it's going to work out."

The dispatcher leaned far back in his swivel chair and put his feet on the desk. He raised his hands, palms forward to indicate submission. "Frank, I know what you're going to say, I've heard it many times in the past, what, eight years?"

"Nine, he said today."

"Okay, nine, and I'd move him if I could. But Wells assigned him personally and I don't think I can talk him into changing things to accommodate you … especially not you! You know, I used to assign all the men, the vehicles, deliveries; I ran the whole board, but Wells, he likes to sit in his office and pull all the strings himself."

"Yeah, just like a fat spider. Thanks anyway, Claude. Guess I'll have to go see Fatso."

"Save your breath Frank. You know, I don't even know why Miner is in so much lately. We don't really need him, we have lots of guys looking for hours right now, and it won't get busy until the Christmas shopping season starts. Wells just came in here one day and told me to assign him to you until further notice."

Frank had stood up and was at the door, he paused and thought for a moment. "Can you think of any reason Wells would want to find the Whiner a permanent spot?"

"Who told you that?"

"He did."

Claude looked dubious. "I kind of doubt that, Wells can't stand him himself. No …" he paused pensively and then proceeded. "I think he's got him there just to keep an eye on you. You better watch your ass for awhile Frank; after awhile he'll leave you alone."

After supper Frank went walking and set out immediately for Tom's house. The couple often went out on Friday evening, but Frank was hoping they would be at home. Their happiness and dedication to one another inspired and reassured him when feeling low, as he presently was. It kept him going to know that he was to have a second chance; the financial ability was there, and his aspirations centered around a new life with a new partner, one that would bear a remarkable likeness to the McDermott's situation.

Tom had returned happily to his studies, attending classes, researching at the library each day, and spending several hours each night in the books. He never complained about the work, and often he would explain with animation some aspect of his education he was finding exciting. Though he worked these long hours, he didn't attack it fanatically, rather he went about with the calm complacency of a man who was happy with his lot in life and absorbed in his work. He had one year to complete for a university degree, and not even the money had altered his plans. His immediate future was set and his advice now to Frank reflected this.

"I don't know what you're so upset about, Bud. It seems to me they're playing right into your hands. Instead of trying to create a situation yourself, you're simply going to react to Wells' intentional harassment. Think about this Frank. Supposing you and I had never hit the jackpot, we just finished out the summer and I went back to school. Wells would be pulling this shit now, and you'd have to just take it, for fear of losing your job. You ought to be feeling pretty smug."

"You're right, … you're right. I just got a little carried away is all. I had planned my big exit you see, how I would build up toward my last day, but I didn't expect to be forced out by the company. I mean, have I been that bad an employee Tom? That they should want to get rid of me, I mean? I guess it's just a blow to my ego or something."

"It's not that you're a bad employee Frank. Didn't you tell me the union was pushing to have some of those vacant positions filled? You have one of those vacancies on your crew now; François leaves, that makes two; and if you can be persuaded to jump to another company or something, they could have a very happy Rat Patrol, all assigned to the same unit, all permanent, and all set to scoop up those cushy overnight runs and overtime deliveries. Get it? I know it must rankle to realize they're doing this to you, especially if you let them think they got away with it, but it couldn't suit your plans better. And don't forget, you'll still have your last day Frank. Boy, I'd like to be a fly on the wall in Wells' office that day. You should get started working on your speech," he quipped at last, and the two men began to laugh.

"I guess it's the waiting too. I'm anxious to get started. It's different for you, your plans are progressing nicely, you're really into your work, got a nice little domestic scene going here too. I'm in limbo. Everything is just as shitty as ever, and getting worse it seems, … and we don't even know how much money we've got."

Tom looked up sharply "Is that bothering you Frank? I mean, that money sitting out there in the woods? Would you feel safer if we picked it up and you could keep a better eye on it?"

"I do keep an eye on it. When I go for my walk I usually slide by and just check it over, to make sure animals haven't uncovered it so that the box could be seen or something. But the snow's coming and I won't be able to go near it without leaving tracks. Besides, haven't we waited long enough? I think we could quite safely use a safety deposit box now, couldn't we?"

"I thought we'd leave it there until spring, but I don't care. We have never been even remotely suspected of having that money, so if you'd feel better, go get it on Tuesday and we can count it up. I'm going to stash our share in the attic, but you can do whatever you want with yours."

Frank got up to go. "Are you sure about this Tom? It's not a bad idea or anything, is it?"

"Naw, it'll be fun. Time to cash the lottery ticket."

"Okay. I'll see you guys on Tuesday; ten o'clock." Frank slipped out the door quickly and headed for home. Anyone watching him leave could have surmised something about him had changed. He had a purposeful stride, and an air of resolve that gave him the appearance of a man on important business.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

By Monday afternoon Frank could barely contain himself. He had successfully ignored Miner all day, and there had been no confrontations, each had gone about his work with a minimum of conversation, Miner with a sullen solemnness, Frank with suppressed elation. This could possibly be his last week with the company! And no-one but him suspected it. He caught himself whistling jaunty tunes on several occasions, and often had to cover a secret smile when he thought about the money. He had decided after leaving Tom that he would go to the stash Monday evening after work. It would be near dark then and the area would be deserted. If he waited until tomorrow he would run the risk of meeting the old lady or someone and it would look mighty suspicious walking through the woods carrying a tool box. He had rehearsed his actions mentally a hundred times as the three days crept by, until finally quitting time Monday arrived.

He drove first to a tool rental outlet where he rented a chainsaw. The clerk checked it to be sure the fuel and chain oil reservoirs were full, and started it before giving it to him. He put the saw in the trunk of the car and drove to the trail site. He transferred the saw from one hand to the other occasionally as he walked through the forest. The load wasn't heavy, but it threw the body out of balance, tiring the muscles easily. "The load will be balanced when I come out," Frank grinned with satisfaction, "I'll have something in each hand."

He went directly to the log fence and removed the cedar rail he had used to ram the box into the log. He pushed it into the cavity until he felt it bump against the metal container. Marking the spot on the rail he removed it, then laying it on the ground next to the log, calculated the exact location of the box. He added several inches for safe measure and started the saw. The thin veneer of the log wall was easy to saw through and by moving to the other side to complete the cut Frank soon had the old tree in two pieces. He used the fence rail to lever the heavy empty portion out of the way. There was the tool box, shiny new and unmolested. He slid his fingers into the spaces at the sides and attempted to pull the box out. It wouldn't move. He tried wiggling it sideways at one end, then up and down, but without success. It was getting quite dark. Frank took up the saw once again and began a second cut, this time a couple of inches to the other side of the box. This completed, he lifted his foot to the center of short log he had created, and pushed. It rolled easily and he kept it going until the tool box was standing upright inside. He gave it a sharp kick with the toe of his boot and felt it move slightly. By kicking and pushing he got it to slide freely and was able finally to dislodge it from its resting-place. He picked up his prize and the saw and set out for home, the travelling slower now because of the darkness, though he knew the trail well. He locked everything in the trunk and arrived home a few minutes later.

"What's all this mess?" Diane demanded of him as he pulled off his boots, the coarse chips of wood spilling out of the tops onto the floor. "Sawdust," she accused. "Where did you get that?"

Frank started unvoluntarily, and hoped he had appeared too occupied with removing his coat to answer immediately. "A big branch fell down in Tom's backyard. I was helping him cut it up. That's why I'm late."

"Well you might show a little consideration for your wife for once. Here I have dinner all ready and you don't show on time. No wonder I never feel like making meals any more."

"I used to be on time every night," he shouted into the closet as he hung up his coat and cap. "I don't remember any meals being ready though."

"Another one whose time has come," he thought smugly as he pushed the center of the bifold door.

When he had finished eating Frank began to remove plates and cutlery from the table as was his usual practice.

"I'll do that, I'd like you to go and get me some milk at the store. And my papers, please."

"All right," he replied, and put on his winter coat and gloves before stepping out the kitchen door. He contemplated for a moment whether he should take the car, but decided that would be too out-of-character, and he would be gone a few minutes only. There was no reason to worry about his precious cargo. He returned immediately from the store and could see the blue glow of the television through the living-room curtains. He stole quietly up the steps and peered in the window. No-one. He stealthily opened the car trunk, determined that all was as he had left it, and then clumped up the stairs. He put the scandal sheets and the carton of milk on the counter, and when he put his coat away he saw Diane, intent on a television sit-com. He picked up his current novel and took it to bed with him.

Although Frank found it impossible to concentrate on his reading, he realized he hadn't felt so much at ease since the robbery. Things were going smoothly forward now, he could feel it, and he fell into an untroubled sleep that was interrupted only when Diane came to bed at about two-thirty. He was therefore up at an early hour and spent some time with his book and a pot of coffee before setting out for the day. His first stop was at the equipment rental store where he returned the saw and collected what was left of his deposit. Next he backed his car carefully into Tom's laneway until it was parked behind the front corner of the house. He and Tom and Leila lingered over another coffee before they went out together, in high spirits, to retrieve the package they had anticipated for so long.

The other two stood beside him as he opened the trunk, revealing the large blue container. Frank grinned at his friends, then reached inside and grasped the handle, and tugged it toward him. He lost his balance, the box came away so effortlessly, and he released his grasp in order to recover with a few short steps backward. He looked at Tom, his face filled with amazement, which turned then to a look of horror as he realized the full impact of what he knew for a certainty.

"Tom, …. Tom," he was breathless, unable to speak. "There's something gone very wrong." He reached for the box once more and began to fumble clumsily with the latches. "Jesus, God, this box is empty!"

"It can't be," the two others peered into the trunk as he opened the box. Nothing.

"Someone got to it after all," Leila suggested in wonderment.

Frank shook his head in silence, unable to form words. His face was the colour of wet ashes, his mind raced in hopeless bewilderment, struggling to make sense of a cognition too enormous for his mind to grasp. "I can't think …. can't think," then at last, "no, nobody got to it. I know that. I had to cut the log into three pieces to get at it, then kick it to loosen it! Besides, I carried it to the car. You'd think I'd have noticed it was empty then, wouldn't you? No, that's ridiculous, that box was full of money when I put it there last night. No, I…

"Last night?" Tom interrupted him.

"Yeah, I decided…." his eyes met Tom's for a second and lit up in a sudden flash of understanding.

"Diane!" they said in unison as they both rushed to get into the car.

"Wait." shouted Leila, "Tom might as well stay here, there's nothing he can do that you can't." She pulled at Frank's sleeve. "Stay calm, that will be very important now. Find out what's happening, and then call us, okay?"

Frank nodded blindly, then stalled the car by putting it into gear too quickly. He waited a moment, took a few deep breaths and tried again. He managed a weak smile at Leila through the glass before he drove off. He couldn't figure out how it had happened. It was all so impossible. Diane had been in bed asleep when he left that morning. He was beginning to think it more likely that someone had robbed his car during the night. After parking the car in the laneway he inspected the area around the trunk latch to be sure no-one had tampered with it.

That was when the plain grey sedan pulled in behind him. The driver was a man about Frank's own age and build but more athletic-looking, and dressed in a jacket and tie. Two men stepped out of the car and walked toward him; a larger, heavier, and older man smiled at him as he approached. He reached into his pocket for the badge Frank knew must be presented next. "Why don't we go inside Frank, where we can talk."

Frank murmured something incoherent and progressed unsteadily up the stairs. They followed him into the kitchen.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

"You're going nowhere right now," the younger cop bristled at him.

The older policeman continued into the living room but returned right away. "Frank," he said kindly, "it appears to me you're involved in something serious here, and it's only fair to caution you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence. Understand?"

Frank nodded dumbly. He was becoming frantic.

"Now, you don't have to answer any questions and you can have a lawyer present."

"Yes, I understand all that," he blurted desperately. "Please," he pleaded with the older man.

"Okay, but leave the door open. My partner will be where he can see you."

Frank had already begun edging away, he now ran headlong through the corner of the living room and down the hall. He was aware for an instant of Diane's image, seated on the chesterfield, a pile of money packets neatly stacked on the coffee table in front of her. But Frank hadn't the wits to process this information; his need was more deep-seated, urgent and irrepressible. He very nearly didn't make it, fumbling frantically with fasteners and clothing, racing against the tremendous pressure building within him, his body threatening to expose his ignominy and fear at any instant. He made it though, and under the belligerent and scornful sneer of the young cop he evacuated a powerful steam of scalding liquid, lowered his head in fear and frustration. Disillusionment and despair swept over him and in shame he wept.