R Is for Ricochet

you could probably gain entry to the room from the roof. Or escape that way.
    There were three currency-counting machines on one arm of the counter and four currency-bundling machines on the adjacent counter. Open suitcases were lined up on the third section, packed with tightly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills. Under the counter, ten cardboard cartons were lined up, their top flaps open, packed with additional bundles of hundreds, fifties, and twenties in U.S. currency. Each bundle was shrink-wrapped, with paper adding-machine tape circling packets of five. There were two styrofoam coffee cups visible and a pile of empty cups in a wastebasket, which also contained wads of discarded plastic wrappers. Several silver-dollar-size plastic disks with small blades were being used to slit the wrappers.
    Reba said, "Geez. I've never seen so much money."
    "Me neither. It looks like they're pulling bundles from these boxes, removing the wrappers, running the bills through the currency counter, and then re wrapping them for transport."
    She advanced a few steps and checked the total on one of the currency counters. "Take a peek at this puppy. They've run a million bucks through this." She picked up a bundle and weighed it in her hand. "Wonder how much this is. Wouldn't you love to know?" She sniffed it. "You'd think it would smell good, but it doesn't smell like anything."
    "Would you keep your hands to yourself?"
    "I'm just looking. I'm not
doing
anything. How much do you figure is in one of these, twenty grand? Fifty?"
    "I have no idea. Don't mess with that. I'm serious."
    "Aren't you curious what it feels like? It doesn't weigh all that much," she said. She wiped her prints from the wrapper and put the bundle back, surveying the space. "How many guys you think work here besides the two we saw?"
    "There's not room for three. They probably come in weekends when the activity's less conspicuous," I said. I reached out and put my hand on one of the styrofoam cups and nearly moaned in fear. "This is still warm. Suppose they come back?"
    "No one can get to us. The elevator's on hold."
    "But if they find the elevator on hold, won't they know something's wrong? We have to get out of here. I'm begging you."
    "Okay, okay. But I knew I was right about the room. This is incredible, isn't it?"
    "Absolutely. Who gives a shit? Let's go."
    I backed out of the room and into the service elevator. The other set of doors was still open and I stuck my head out into the corridor to assure myself that no one had entered the premises while we were in the room. Reba was having trouble dragging herself away. I said, "Reba, come on!" sounding every bit as tense and impatient as I felt.
    She moved into the elevator as though mesmerized and entered the seven-digit code. The doors on that side of the elevator slid closed. She replaced the wall padding and adjusted the quilted matting to conceal the second set of doors.
    "What took you so long?"
    "It's all so beautiful. Can you imagine having even half the bundles in there? You'd never have to lift another finger as long as you lived."
    "No problem. Your life wouldn't last that long."
    We exited through the elevator doors that opened into Beck's offices and Reba released the Stop Run button. We waited until the service elevator doors closed, and then went around the corner and got back on the public elevator.
    She released the hold button, the doors closed, and we began our leisurely descent. I was nearly sick with anxiety, but she didn't seem affected. The woman had nerves of steel.
    When we reached the lobby level and stepped off, Willard looked up from his desk with a smile. "You find it?"
    I held up my shoulder bag to show our mission had been accomplished. My hands were shaking so badly I thought he'd spot the trembling from across the lobby. I was doing what I could to maintain a semblance of normality until we could ease out the front door and be on our way.
    Reba, true to form, made a point of crossing to his desk, where she stretched up on tiptoe and rested her arms on the counter, holding her injured finger close to his face. "You got a first-aid kit? Look at this. I about crippled myself."
    Willard peered at her knuckle, inspecting the wound that was no bigger than a hyphen. "How'd you do that?"
    "I must have snagged it on something. Sucker hurts. You can kiss it and make it better if you want."
    He shook his head, smiling indulgently, and started opening his desk drawers. While he