Thirty-eight
Frances realized too late that she was still holding one of the cash bags.
That was unfortunate—she couldn’t claim to be a lost grandma with this in hand.
So, when asked, she went for the excuse that she was security and trying to save the day.
Given her uniform and her age, she hoped that might be believable.
But the cop rolled his eyes and cuffed her.
She was manhandled up to the main floor, dragged up the stairs without regard for her shins.
They were met there by Mark Wachtel and Rocco Vitali.
Mark brushed past, in an obvious hurry to get to the vault to find out what had happened on his watch.
Rocco, however, stopped to sneer at her. “How did you get in here?”
“What do you mean?” Frances asked with feigned innocence.
“Someone used my badge. How did you get my badge?”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have a badge.”
Rocco stepped forward. His eyes were fire. “Listen, you old hag, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day. I will not stop until I’ve buried you and whoever you are working with. Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re just an ugly old bag of bones.”
This was where ’roid rage came in handy, Frances would discover. “Look what an ugly old bag of bones can do,” she said, and startled everyone by kicking Rocco in the balls so hard that he doubled over.
“She assaulted me!” he shrieked, pointing at her. “That old lady assaulted me!”
She was carted out the casino doors and into a waiting cop car.
While she was being read her Miranda rights, she spotted two policemen waving a cleaning van away from the casino as patrol cars tried to slide into its spot.
She recognized one of the cops waving the van through.
It was Trojan. She hoped that one, no one grabbed his pants and yanked them off, and two, that this meant her friends had made it out.
She was taken to police headquarters, where two detectives came in to question her.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, Mrs. Deluca,” said one.
“This is where you need to tell us everything you know. Who helped you, who set this up. We are looking at some very serious charges. Now look, we know there are bad actors out there who will take advantage of the elderly, and someone has taken advantage of you. Help us get these guys.”
“What would you like to know?” Frances asked in the frailest voice she could muster.
“Let’s start with who asked you to go get that bag of cash. Who are you working for? We’d like his name.”
They had no clue how she’d come to have that bag of cash.
They didn’t have anyone else. They didn’t know.
The girls had gotten away, and Frances thought her head might explode with joy.
On the inside, she was laughing. No, she was chortling.
Oh, how she wished she could join the girls.
Were they popping champagne? Were they counting the money? How much did they get?
“Mrs. Deluca?”
“Yes?”
“Who are you working with?”
She squirmed in her seat trying to compose herself. “No one. I was trying to find a way out because someone said fire, and the door was open.”
“The door to the vault,” the detective said.
“No, an art room. There were lots of paintings. Very nice paintings. And an étagère. I’ve been looking for one just like it. I’ve seen one on the Wayfair website but it was too expensive.”
“The room with the safe?”
“Yes, that one. The safe was open, too. But I didn’t open it. I don’t know how to open things like that.”
The two detectives looked at each other. One said, “Let’s start again. Who are you working for?”
“Oh, honey, I’ve been retired so long, I don’t even remember.
I used to be an accountant.” She could feel bubbles of laughter popping up in her.
It was so easy to be a dumb old woman, wasn’t it?
She suddenly wondered if all the older women in the world knew this secret—that no one expected them to know a thing.
This was absurd! Four old women had just pulled off the heist of a lifetime.
And it had been her idea! Well, the heist anyway.
Edie had the target. A team effort, all the way around. She was so, so proud of them.
“I meant now. Who are you working with now?”
“Now? Well, I’m talking to you, Detective.”
The man pressed his lips together.
“You had a burner phone on you,” the other detective said.
“What’s that?”
“An untraceable phone.”
“Is it? Oh, I don’t know, I don’t understand technology. I just go to the store and buy whatever is the cheapest. You can get some really good deals if you watch the sales at Walmart.”
The detective sighed. He sounded just like an exasperated Aaron sounded at times. The bubbles of laughter grew bigger, and before Frances could stop herself, she burst and began to laugh. She laughed so hard that tears spring from her eyes. She laughed so hard that her ribs ached.
She could not stop laughing like a crazy old woman.