She smoked, and smiled.
She knew how to get the money, but she'd have to be clever, very clever.
The drug made her feel smart. It was time to pull out her ace in the
hole.
Scrounging through her dresser, she found a box of stationery. It was
pretty, rainbow-colored paper with her name across the top. She admired
it for a time, then took another hit from the pipe before searching for
a pen, muttering to herself A little insurance, she thought as she began
to write. Of course, she'd have to tear her name off the top. She
wasn't a fool.
She wrote like a child, slowly, her tongue caught between her teeth as
she formed the letters. When she'd finished she was so pleased with her
neatness, she forgot about the letterhead. There were stamps inside the
box. She hummed as she attached three of them. They looked so pretty,
she added another, then studied her craftsmanship. For a time she
puzzled over the address, then began to write again.
Kesselring, Police Detective
Los Angeles, California
U.S.A.
After some thought, she added "Urgent!" in the corner and underlined it.
She took it downstairs with her, thinking she would find some clever
hiding place. On a detour into the kitchen, she ate an entire carton of
ice cream, shoveling it into her mouth with a serving spoon. Spotting
the envelope, she began to mutter.
"Stupid girl," she mumbled, thinking of her last maid. "Can't even post
a damn letter. Going to sack her." Indignant, she waddled out, and with
considerable effort, bent to push the envelope under the front door. She
went back upstairs and smoked herself into oblivion.
It was a week before she remembered her plan. In her mind she
remembered writing the letter. The insurance. She'd hidden it. Though
she couldn't quite remember where, that didn't worry her. What worried
her was that she was nearly out of food, and drugs. Her last bottle of
gin had been drained. Jane picked up the phone. After a few hours, she
thought, she'd never have to worry about money again.
It was answered on the third ring. "Hello, dear. It's Jane."
"What do you want?"
"ooh, that's a nice way to speak to an old friend."
There was a sigh, bitten off. "I said, what do you want?"
"Just a chat, luy, just a chat." She giggled. Blackmail was so much
fun. "I'm running a bit low on funds."
"That's not my problem."
"Oh, I think it is. You see, when I run low on funds, my conscience
starts acting up. Just lately, I've been feeling bad about what
happened to Brian's poor little boy. I've been feeling real bad about
it."
"You never gave a damn about that boy."
"That's a hard thing to say, dear. After all, I'm a mother. Thinking
of my own sweet Emma, a grown-up married lady now, makes me think about
that boy. Why, he'd be grown-up himself, if he'd lived."
"I don't have time for this."