Jackson Oxenhandler arrived at his office for the closing, with ten minutes to spare. His secretary had already set out all the documents on the conference room table, and he checked them once more. He liked for his closings to go smoothly.

His partner, Fred Ames, stuck his head in. "You're working right down to the wire, huh? I like that."

"Gotta bring in some bucks for you to squander while I'm gone," Jackson said. "I'll bet you're off to Vegas tomorrow."

"Tonight," Ames said, grinning. "I've got all your personal stuff ready to sign. It's on your desk."

"After the closing, you and the girls come in; I'll need you all for witnesses."

"Got it."

The receptionist came to the door. "Everybody's here, Jackson."

"Send them in," Jackson said, then stood and shook everyone's hand-both real estate agents, the sellers and their lawyer, and the buyers, who were his own clients.

For the next forty-five minutes, everybody methodically signed documents, stacks of documents. Money, in the form of cashier's checks, changed hands. There was some quibbling about a couple of contingencies in the sales document, and Jackson made small changes, making everybody happy.

Finally, when everything was signed, everybody left, the sellers with a large check and the buyers with the deed to a very fine beach house.

Jackson went into his office, and Fred Ames and two secretaries followed him.

"You know the drill," Fred said, setting the documents on his desk. "Does this document accurately reflect your wishes?"

"It does," Jackson said, and started to sign.

When he was done, and the document had been properly witnessed, Ames set two plastic document wallets on the desk. "The policies came this morning; everything is in order."

"Put them in the safe," he said to his secretary, handing her the wallets. "Everything else, too." They complied, and he shooed them out of his office. He picked up the little recorder, found his notes and began to dictate. He went rapidly, knowing his secretary could follow his rapid speech. An hour and a half later, he stood up, straightened his desk, and left his office. He laid the cassette on his secretary's desk.

Fred stuck his head through the door of his office. "You're really going to do this, huh? After all these years as a bachelor?"

"Looks that way," Jackson said, grinning. "You know, at the closing, nobody said a word about me being in a white suit with a carnation in my lapel?"

"I explained to them," his secretary said.

"Oh. All right, I'm out of here. See you all at the courthouse, and after that, in three weeks."

Everybody waved goodbye.

Jackson drove to the travel agent's office in the shopping center near his office. He had to wait a minute for a parking place outside their door, and as he waited, he noticed a van drive by. "Environmental Services," he muttered aloud to himself, chuckling. "Janitors, I'll bet. The further inflation of the English language. One day, it will explode."

A woman left a parking space and he pulled in. Inside, the receptionist smiled. "You look sensational," she said.

"I know," he replied, giving her a smile.

She handed him a fat envelope. "There you are: tickets, itinerary, reservation confirmations, the works. And a little gift from us: a guide to the best restaurants."

"You're an angel," he said.

"Have a wonderful honeymoon!"

He left the agency and went back to his car. He spent five minutes going through everything in the envelope, making sure that the tickets, reservations and itinerary were perfectly accurate. Satisfied, he started the car and headed up the boulevard. He crossed the south bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, also known as the Indian River, and in another five minutes reached the bank.

He parked the car and got out. An armored car was unloading at the front door, and the guards gave him a look. He laughed. What bank robber would be wearing a white linen suit?

Only two tellers were open, and there was a line of half a dozen people at each. He got into line behind a blond man of his own height-well over six feet-wearing Bermuda shorts, Top-Siders and a yellow Polo shirt.

The man glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "You look as though you're dressed for a wedding," he said, smiling.

"Guilty," Jackson said, raising his hands.

"Your own?"

"Guilty again. You a local or a foreigner?"

The man laughed. "A foreigner, I guess. I'm down here to buy an airplane from Piper, in Vero Beach."

"Which airplane?"

"The Malibu Mirage."

"Not the turboprop, the Meridian?"

"I'll have to make some more money before I get one of those."

"I fly myself, but I rent. Couple more years, I might spring for something nice. Where you from?"

" New York."

"What do you do up there?"

"I practice law."

"I do the same down here, when I'm not getting married. Have you done your flight training yet?"

"Finished this morning; I'm just picking up a cashier's check, so we can close on the airplane."

The line moved forward, and the man became engaged with the teller.

Something made Jackson look toward the door. Four men were standing there, wearing blue jumpsuits, yellow hard hats, masks and goggles. Each of them was holding a shotgun at port arms. One of the men racked his shotgun, and everybody turned and looked at him.

"Everybody be real calm," the man said from behind his mask, "and we'll be out of your way in just a minute." He turned to the men beside him. "Get started," he said. The three men walked rapidly toward an area of desks, where the bank's officers worked. Immediately behind the desk was a large vault, open.

Jackson noticed the blond man standing beside him. "Looks like we're witnesses to a bank robbery," Jackson said softly, without moving his lips.

"Just do as they say," the man said.

"You bet," Jackson said. He looked to his left to see the men in jumpsuits returning from the vault. Two of them stood guard as the third pushed a hand truck laden with canvas bags. They were going to pass within three feet of him. Jackson concentrated on trying to remember what the men looked like. He could hardly tell Holly he had witnessed a bank robbery and not noticed what they looked like. They ranged from about five-seven to six-feet-four and were identically dressed. What with the masks and the goggles, he could tell nothing about them but their height and weight. The tallest one had some gray hair visible at the nape of his neck. Holly was going to be pissed when he told her about this, and that wouldn't be until they were on the airplane. He wasn't going to have his wedding day ruined by a bank robbery.

As the men approached, one of them backed into Jackson, then whirled around to point the shotgun at him. "Watch it, you stupid sonofabitch!" the man said.

"You watch it," Jackson said, fairly pleasantly. "You bumped into me."

The man made a sort of snarling noise and swung the butt of the shotgun at Jackson 's head.

Jackson saw it coming and leaned backward. The shotgun butt brushed against his chin as it passed, and the man, having missed his mark, lost his balance and fell against Jackson.

Jackson pushed him away, hard. "Get off me!" he said.

The man recovered his balance and brought the shotgun to bear on Jackson.

Jackson heard two things, nearly simultaneously. The blond man to his right yelled, "No!" and the shotgun must have gone off, because his head filled with the noise and something huge and heavy seemed to strike him in the chest.

As he flew backward he saw only a stretch of ceiling. He didn't feel it when he hit the floor.