Three pairs of wet eyes watched the Greyhound bus pull away fi-om the curb.
"So, boys, do you think this might be the right time for us to open our own business? I have aU of Fanny's college money we can use as seed money. I think we can make it I'm tired of the steel mills. How about you? Do you think we can make a go of the construction business?"
"I think so," Daniel said quietly.
"I'm all for it," Brad said.
"Then I say we do it," Damian Logan said as he backed the Nash sedan onto the main road.
Seven years later, Logan & Sons Construction was the biggest company of its kind in the state of Pennsylvania.
Fanny walked down the aisle, taking deep breaths as she looked for just the right seat. She finally chose a window seat near the back of the bus and stowed her small carry-on satchel under the seat in fi-ont of her. She carefully tucked her purse into the small opening at the end of her seat and leaned back, a mystery novel in her lap. Now she could take in her surroundings. She'd been on buses before, but they were school buses or the church bus. This bus was elegant, with its scratchy blue seats and paper towels covering the
headrests. There was a bar at the bottom of the seat in front of her so she could prop her feet up, and she was only five seats away from the lavatory.
Fanny paid careful attention to the passengers as they boarded the bus. Over the next week—the length of the cross-country trip— she was sure she would be on a first-name basis with at least a few of the passengers. She was proved wrong. Most of the passengers were of retirement age, and didn't want to bother with a young girl. The three books she'd brought were her only company. When her eyes got tired she napped or nibbled on snacks she purchased along the way.
Fanny finished the book she was reading and stuck it in her bag. An hour to the Las Vegas stop, and then it was on to Los Angeles, her final destination. All she wanted right now was to wash her face and brush her teeth. It was time to put on a clean blouse and change her undies in the washroom when they stopped. Ten more hours, and she would be in California. She could feel the excitement begin to build as she counted the passengers who had boarded the bus in Pittsburgh. Four besides herself She stared out the dirty window at the dry, cactus-covered landscape. Shamrock was prettier than this barren waste. A lump formed in her throat. For just a moment she wished she was back home in Pennsylvania.
"Ninety-minute layover. Take your time, ladies and gendemen, and get yourselves a good hot meal. I'll announce the departure time over the loudspeaker so don't wander off."
Fanny grimaced when she entered the washroom. The filling station back home had cleaner bathrooms. She did her best not to touch anything as she washed her face and hands with wet paper towels. She ignored the green soap in the wall dispenser because of the grimy buildup around the edges and the spout. She brushed her teeth, using her hand to cup the water, brushed her hair, changed her blouse and panties. Now she was ready for that hot meal the bus driver spoke of.
Fifteen minutes before the departure was announced, Fanny boarded the bus. She setded herself with the three new magazines she'd purchased. Once or twice she looked up as passengers began boarding. The bus was going to be full.
A man, older than her father, sat down in the seat next to her. Fanny was in awe of his natty attire. Out of the comer of her eye she noticed his diamond stickpin and the diamond ring on his pinkie fmger. His nails were blundy cut, his cuticles clean and neat, a coat
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of clear polish on his nails. Her brothers and her father had ragged cuticles, and they had to wash and scrub their hands with Lava soap. She could tell that her seat companion had never done a hard day's work in his life. He looked too manicured, too creased, too polished. And he sucked mints.
"Head count," the driver said loudly. "Have your tickets ready."
Fanny opened her purse for the ticket receipt she'd removed when she got off the bus. It was at that moment the commotion occurred. One minute the bus driver was standing in the center of the aisle, the next second he was on the floor, blood spouting from a head wound.
"Do what you're told and no one gets hurts. We want your jewelry and your money! Don't do anything foolish. This is a real gun. I don't want any heroes."
Fanny's fmgers worked feverishly with the zipper on her purse. In the blink of an eye she had the envelope with her money in it between the pages of her magazine. Her change purse held $4.33. She held it, along with her birthstone ring, a gift from her father, in her hand.
"Here, girlie, hide this for me," her seat companion whispered. Before she could say yes or no, Fanny found herself holding a stack of money as thick as a sandwich. Without thinking or weighing the consequences, she placed the money next to her own and then folded the magazine.
An elderly lady in the seat in front of them started to cry, begging the man with the gun not to take her wedding ring. "Here's my money, all of it. The ring isn't worth much, but I've worn it for forty-four years, please don't take it."
"Drop it in the bag, lady, and don't give me a story about not being able to get it off."
"Won't somebody help me?"
"Leave her alone, she's an old lady," the man next to Fanny said.
"I didn't ask for your opinion, greaseball," the bandit said. "Sit there and be quiet."
It happened so fast, Fanny later found it almost impossible to explain the circumstances to the police. She felt warm blood splatter on her arms as her seat companion stood to prevent the gunman from hitting the elderly lady. She swore later to the police that she felt the blows her seat companion suffered.
"You killed him! You killed him!" Fanny shouted.
"Shut up, kid. He's just bleeding. Hand it over!" Without hesita-
tion, Fanny handed over her money and birthstone ring. "He needs a doctor. Somebody has to call a doctor," she screamed.
"I told you to shut up. One more peep out of you, and I'm gonna take you with me for a litde fun and games. What's it gonna be, kiddo?"
Fanny clamped her lips shut. The man sitting next to her whispered, "Do as he says. Listen to me, call this number and say Jake needs help. Don't call no doctors. My friends will take care of me. Promise, litde girl."
"Okay. What's the number?"
"Nine-six-four-two."
Fanny repeated the number over and over so she wouldn't forget it. In between repeating the numbers, she kept asking, "Are you all right, are you all right?"
"No, honey, he is not all right. He's bleeding profusely," the elderly woman said. "It was a brave thing he did. Look, I didn't give up my ring! They're gone. Someone has to call the police and a doctor."
"I will!" Fanny said as she crawled over the man sitting slumped in the seat next to her. "I know what to do."
Fanny raced to the front of the bus, stepped over the driver who was bleeding as much as her seat companion. She jumped down the two steps and ran into the bus stop, dropped her nickel in the slot, and dialed the numbers the man had given her, at which point she completely forgot them. "Jake needs help. He told me to call you. He's bleeding real bad. The doctors are coming as soon as I call them." She quickly ratded off what she'd just gone through. "What should I tell Jake?"
"Tell him we'll be there in five minutes. He ain't dead is he?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. He's bleeding a lot though."
Fanny hung up and called the operator. "Please send an ambulance and call the police." She went through her story a second time. "The driver is unconscious, too."
Fanny ran back to the bus. What kind of person was she that she called Jake's friends before she called the police and an ambulance? The driver was still lying on the floor, the passengers were seated, their faces full of shock. The elderly lady in the back was the only one who seemed to have her wits about her. "Are they coming?"
"They said right away." In her life, Fanny had never been this excited. What if the police took her to the station and . . . and grilled her? Jake had told her not to call a
doctor. If he died, would she be
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held accountable? "He's still alive, I can see his pulse beating in his neck. I never saw so much blood."
"Head wounds bleed more than other wounds. He's unconscious. That's not good. That thug got him right on the temple. He could very well die. Why is everyone still sitting on this bus?"
"I don't know," Fanny wailed. "Oh, look, here comes somebody."
"They look like . . . like . . . criminals."
Fanny stepped aside. '*You called us," one of the men said.
Fanny felt something being pushed into her hand. It must be a note that she was meant to read later. She stuffed it into the patch pocket of her circular skirt.
"I hear the ambulance," the elderly lady said.
"Move it, Herbie," one of the men said. "Put him over your shoulder."
Fanny and the elderly lady craned their necks to see where the men were carryingjake. "That's a limousine. He must be somebody important."
"Bang on the window, lady. I have . . . bang on the window, make them stop," Fanny shouted as she ran down the aisle with the magazine in her hand. "Hey, wait! Wait!" she shouted. It was too late. The tires of the long black car squealed on the pavement just as the ambulance careened around the comer. "Oh, no!" Now what was she supposed to do?
Three hours later, the passengers still sat huddled together in the bus depot. They'd all given their statements to the pohce, and were waiting word from the bus company. It took another hour before the passengers were told a new driver wouldn't arrive until the following day. Accommodations were available at a local boarding-house, where dinner and breakfast would be paid for by the bus company. Insurance forms would be handed out first thing in the morning.
"This is a very thrilling adventure," the elderly lady said breathlessly. "Do you know who those . . . those people were, young lady?"
Fanny debated a moment before she replied. "No, I don't know who they were." It was the truth. "The police weren't even interested in the man sitting next to me. They only wanted information on the two robbers. I'm glad you didn't have to give up your wedding ring."
"Thanks to that kind gendeman. I do hope he's all right. It's not good when you're rendered unconscious," the woman fretted. "We'll
never know if he dies," she added as an afterthought. Fanny blanched. Death was something she was unfamihar with.
"Ladies, we're going to take you to your accommodations. There's a jitney waiting outside. If you want to take your luggage, see the man in the blue uniform. It will take a while to unload everything. It might be best if you just take your carry-on bags."
Fanny couldn't wait to get into her room and shde the bolt. She unpacked her entire carry-on bag as well as her purse. She removed the envelope with her eight hundred dollars from the magazine and put it back in her purse. Jake's packet of money stared up at her. For the first time she looked at the comer of the bills. Gingerly, with her index finger, she started to count them. One-thousand-dollar bills—and there were about two hundred of them. She dropped the packet and watched it bounce off the chenille bedspread onto the floor, then she kicked it under the bed. Fear, unlike anything she'd ever experienced, rushed through her. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
She had just enough time to wsish up before the bell rang for supper. The meal was hearty, conversation at a minimum. Fanny passed on the chocolate cake and returned to her room, where she spent the next hour writing down different combinations of numbers in the hope that one of them would be the number Jake had given her. She would have to stay in Las Vegas, she realized, until she found a way to return the money.
In the morning, Fanny was at the drugstore the moment it opened. She called all the numbers on her list, seriously depleting her pocket change. No gruff, gravelly voice responded. She tried a second set of numbers and then a third with the same results. Maybe if she didn't think about it, the number would come to her.
Outside in the bright sunshine, Fanny looked up and down the business district for the closest bank and the newspaper office.
The Nevada Savings Bank was cool and dim, the brass railings polished to a high sheen. The deep burgundy carpeting and navy blue upholstered chairs displeased her. She decided a man had decorated the bank. The thought made her grimace.
"Can I help you?"
He was tall and thin, with wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously on his nose. He looked like a banker. He also seemed to blend in with the oppressive ftuiiishings. "I'd like to open a safety deposit box."
"Large, medium, or small?"
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"Small," Fanny said firmly.
"Come this way, miss. I need you to fill out a form. Will you be the only one with access to the box?"
"Yes."
Fanny filled out the form, signing her name in two places. She paid five dollars for a year's rental, accepted the receipt and the key, and followed the banker down four steps to the vault. She watched carefiilly as he fit his own key into the lock and then asked for hers. A moment later she had an empty metal box in her hands.
"You can use that room over there," the banker said, indicating three wooden doors to her left. "I'll wait here for you."
Fanny took a deep breath before she opened the box. The packet of money slid ft-om one end to the other when she closed the lid. The box secure in her grasp, she carried it out of the small cubicle.
"Just shde the box into the slot and give me your key again," the banker said. Fanny did as instructed. "Don't lose the key. Miss Logan. If you do, we'll have to drill the box and it will cost S25. We'll notify you at the end of the year when the rental comes due. Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"Not today, thank you." Fanny shpped the key into her change purse. Her breathing returned to normal as she squared her shoulders and departed the bank.
Fanny's next stop was the local newspap>er, where she wrote out an ad to be placed in the classified section of the paper. She was assured the ad would run in the late afternoon edition. She paid for a five-day run. She read and reread the ad before she sHd it across the counter. The ad was simply worded: Young lady with magazine is waiting for you to claim it. Identification is required. Call 6643.
Outside again, Fanny crossed the street and wsilked dovm three blocks to the bus depot. She was surprised to see almost all of the passengers waiting near the ticket agent's counter. She waited for her turn to speak with the agent. A young girl was arguing with the agent. "I called yesterday and you said that was the price. Why is it five dollars more today? I don't have five extra dollars. That's what you told me. I have to get to Los Angeles, my grandmother is expecting me."
Fanny stepped aside, allowing the person behind her to go in ft-ont of her. The young girl had tears in her eyes. On an impulse, Fanny said, "You can use my ticket. I have to stay here for a few days. Don't even bother telling that man. If he lied to you, then he doesn't deserve your courtesy."
"Are you sure? You don't even know me. Why would you give me your ticket? Is there a catch to it?"
"No. I just have to get my bags from the bus. Do you have baggage?"
'Just this bag I'm carrying. I can put it under the seat. If you're serious about the ticket, I'll gladly accept it. Here's the money."
"No, you keep the money, you might need it. I have enough money to get another ticket when I'm ready to leave. Is your grandmother sick?"
"No, she's getting married."
Fanny whooped with laughter. "Are you the flower girl?"
"Yes I am. I love her and she's so happy. I couldn't say no. Thanks again."
"I hope you catch the bouquet," Fanny said.
"I hope so too."
Her bags stowed in the back of a taxicab, Fanny returned to the boardinghouse to wait.
Wait she did, for six straight days. By the end of the week, Fanny thought she would go out of her mind with boredom.
Finally she took the initiative and called the biggest newspaper i
n Los Angeles and made arrangements to run her ad for two straight weeks. She agreed to wire the money by way of Western Union. She also made the decision to run the ad again in the Nevada Sentinel. It was all she could do. Her duties for the day taken care of, Fanny stopped at the Otis Pharmacy, took her seat at the counter, and ordered a ham and Swiss sandwich, coleslaw, and a cup of coffee. While she waited for her food, she opened the morning edition of the paper. Two stools away from her own, a man sat down and spoke to the waitress. "Bess, do you know anyone who might be interested in a temporary job for a few weeks? My secretary is going back East to her brother's wedding. The position might turn into a permanent one if she decides not to return. If you do hear of anyone, tell them to stop by my office."
"I might be interested," Fanny blurted. The man was staring at her with clinical interest. She was glad now that she'd asked the landlady to allow her the use of her iron and ironing board. The mint green linen dress was fashionable, as were her spectator pumps with the small stacked heels. Because of the intense desert heat, she'd piled her hair on top of her head, an arrangement that made her, in her opinion, look five years older. The pearl drop earrings, a gift from her two brothers, were the finishing touch.
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"I don't believe I've seen you before. Are you a new resident? Dedn Rollins, I'm an attorney." Fanny reached across the counter to grasp his hand. She exerted a fuU measure of pressure the way her brothers had taught her. She thought she saw grudging respect in the attorney's eyes.
"I'm Fanny Logan. Yes, I'm new here. I don't honesdy know how long I'll be staying here, so I would have to say if you're looking for a temporary replacement, I can help you. I have a good secretarial background. I can type over 60 words a minute with no mistakes and my shorthand is about 120 words a minute. I'm staying at Mrs. Hershey's boardinghouse."
Devin stared at Fanny for several minutes. She looked like Sal-lie—the same bluebell eyes, the same blond curly hair, but there the resemblance ended. This young woman had a heart-shaped face and dimples. "Stop by my office if you're interested. I'm located at 66 Carson Street, second floor."
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