On the Rocks

Myrna had more than smooth curves and silky blonde hair. She had the loot – all one hundred grand of it.

There was only one problem – the dough was supposed to be ours. Then Myrna ran out on me, taking the cash with her. I guess the only thing stronger than love is money. But I refused to believe that, and I refused to believe she didn't love me. I know I still loved her despite what she had done. And that's why I had to find her - that, and the hundred grand.

Then, I read the paper. It said the law had found Myrna hiding out in a deserted shack on the beach. After they arrested her, the cops ransacked the tiny cottage searching for the stolen money. They found nothing. When they questioned the blonde, she took the fifth.

I knew I couldn't be seen anywhere near Myrna, or the cops would likely implicate me as an accomplice. But that didn't stop me from looking for the goods.

At first, I tried the easily overlooked places – you know, the places you'd never bother to look because you figure it shouldn't be there. Like someone told me once – if it ain't where it's supposed to be, then it's probably somewhere where it shouldn't.

I looked around the apartment. I checked everywhere in the kitchen – the cabinets, the oven – we never cooked at home and had little use for appliances. I kept a few beers in the fridge and some ice in the freezer, but that was it - nothing. I even looked under the mattress, the couch cushions, and underneath the carpet in the living room – still nothing. What a jerk I was. How could I be so stupid!

If Myrna ran out on me, why would she hide the money in the apartment unless she planned on coming back? And that didn't seem likely. I poured myself a scotch on the rocks. I looked long and hard into the glass as I swirled the ice around in the booze. Then it dawned on me.

There was a cozy, secluded little place down at the shore where we used to hide when we wanted to get away from it all. I took a walk out onto the rocks, about two hundred yards away from the shack to the spot where we used to hang out and sunbathe. Deep into a crevice underneath a large boulder is where we kept a small stash of pot, protected inside a coffee can and well above the high tide mark. That had to be where she hid the dough.

I removed a large rock, opening the doorway to the little cave.

Then I reached in underneath the big boulder and pulled out a gold Lavazza coffee can. As I was about to open the plastic lid, a dark shadow loomed over me from behind. I heard someone smugly comment, "We knew you'd lead us to the stash if we cased you long enough."

Story, Cover, and Photograph Copyright © 2022 by Michael DeFrancesco