Blood risk

we decide on a split."
        Everyone was in agreement on that, except Miss Loraine, who didn't like it but didn't argue either.
        While Simonsen, Paul Norton's partner in the airfreight business, was conveniently out having supper, they opened the three suitcases in Norton's office and counted the money, which they found totaled $341,890. Estimating Bachman's additional medical bills at more than four thousand dollars, they settled on splitting $335,000.
        Which wasn't bad, either.
        Miss Loraine looked at her $67,000, frowned and said "I thought it was going to be a lot more than this."
        "It'll keep you," Tucker said.
        "Not for long."
        "A girl of your talents? You'll build it into a fortune before the year is out."
        "Does anyone have something I can put this in?" she asked.
        Norton said, "Paper bag do?"
        She took the brown paper bag from him and tucked her cash away inside it, not having bothered to respond to Tucker.
        Harris said, "I want to know what you're going to do, what your plans are."
        "That's my business," she said.
        "It's all of our business," Harris said.
        She looked around, saw them watching her, set her lips tighter and said, "Will each of you tell me what you intend to do when we split?"
        "Of course not," Harris said. "You're the intruder. You're the one we've got to be sure about."
        Paul Norton, sitting behind his dilapidated desk, tilted back in his chair and drinking a bottle of India Pale Ale, had thus far maintained a low profile. Now, however, he said, "You could stay here with me for a while, Miss."
        She looked at him, her face unreadable, her eyes cold, and she said, "I don't even know you."
        Norton blushed, his face reddening except for the white scars on his cheeks, and he said, "Well, I sure didn't mean there were any conditions on the offer, if that's what you mean. I've got a nice apartment here on the field with two bedrooms, and the guest room has its own private bath, real snug. You wouldn't have to see me at all for days if you didn't want to."
        Tucker said, "I thought you never wanted to know anything about my business or the people I deal with."
        "I don't," Norton said, raising both hands, his big palms flat, and pushing them off. "I wouldn't listen to her even if she tried to tell me, and I'd throw her out the first time she got in a talkative mood. I'm just trying to help her, that's it, that's all."
        She stared hard at the pilot, obviously on the verge of turning him down, then seemed to catch a glimpse of the shyness behind his tough-man front, knew that he hadn't anything in mind but helping her. She said, "Well, I guess that'd be all right. I need to go to ground for a while and think."
        "It still doesn't answer my question," Harris said impatiently. "What will you do when you leave here?"
        The woman turned, her face tight, anger boiling up.
        Before she could say anything Norton said, "Well, Mr. Harris, that's a long way off, don't you think? She'll need time to consider that. You can't expect an answer this instant."
        Pete looked at the pilot and knew there would be no arguing with him. He shrugged and said, "The hell with it. I'm going to use my split to buy into a little business, and I'm retiring. What do I care what she does?" He turned and walked out of the office.
        It was 5:29 p.m. on Thursday.
        

----
        
        At 9:04 that same evening, his arm in a sling, carrying a small, cheap suitcase and slightly whoozy from pain killers, Tucker entered his tenth-floor Park Avenue apartment. He was dressed in a new black suit which didn't exactly fit him, in a new shirt, new tie, new shoes. Despite his wounds he was feeling well.
        He went directly to the closet, opened it, stepped inside, opened the small wall safe. He tossed his Tucker credentials inside and took out his real papers, pocketed those. He opened the cheap suitcase and lifted out a large number of money bricks, depositing them one at a time in the safe. When that was done, he closed the safe, spun the dial, shut the suitcase and shelved that.
        In the hallway he stopped and looked at his Edo shield, touched the beaten copper, the flared silver rim, the hand-carved ivory inlays, and the coolness of the materials, their worn edges, calmed him.
        In the bedroom he found Elise sitting