The Bank, page 19
He was as shocked as she was. “No. Nothing.”
“So the bank,” his dad said, giving voice to what they were all thinking. “It’s turned Gary into some kind of Stepford teller. First it hired Victor, now it’s hiding him. What’s going on there?”
No one replied because no one had an answer.
“I want you to stay away from there,” his dad told him. “You, too,” he said, turning to his mom. “There’s something wrong with that place, with those people, and until things are sorted out, we all need to keep away.”
“But you’re right next door,” Nick pointed out.
“And there’s a wall.”
“Do you think they’re going to find Victor?” he asked
“They will eventually,” his mom said. “They always do.”
“What about the people at the bank? You think they’ll go to jail? You think they’ll close the bank?”
His parents looked at each other.
“I don’t know,” his dad admitted. “I honestly don’t know.”
But Nick knew that he hoped so.
They all did.
TEN
1
“There’s someone out there, Mommy!”
Darlene, seated in the saggy center of the low couch, looked up from her phone. Tiffany was standing next to the kitchenette in her pajamas, clutching her blue Dory pillow. The short hallway behind her was dark.
Darlene put her phone down on the seat next to her and stood. This happened at least three nights a week, and there was never anyone there, but it was her duty as a mom to check in order to make her daughter feel more secure. She walked the three steps to Tiffany, took the little girl’s hand, and brought her to the window, pulling back the curtains.
“Look,” she started to say. “There’s no—”
A man was standing outside the trailer.
Darlene let the curtain fall and instinctively backed away. She’d seen the man for a brief second, illuminated by the light above the door that shone onto the yard, and he’d looked big. And threatening. His clothes were dark, and he stood in an aggressive stance, facing the trailer, legs slightly spread, arms out at his sides, like a wrestler facing his opponent.
“Stay here,” she whispered to Tiffany. “Don’t move.”
There was a knock at the door.
The sound made both of them jump.
There’s only one door, she thought, panicked. We can’t escape. We’re trapped.
Her trembling finger attempted to press 911 even as she shouted, “Go away! You’re trespassing on private property!”
“Ms. Altman?” said the man on the other side of the door. He had a British accent, and his voice was unexpectedly calm and soothing. “My name’s Gary Dawes. I’m here from the bank, and I would like to talk to you about the unique financial opportunity we’re willing to offer you.”
Her finger hesitated over the last 1. Was it possible? Could he really be just a solicitor? It was dark outside, but when she glanced at the clock, she saw that it was only seven-thirty, not that late.
She didn’t finish dialing the emergency number. “What do you want?” she called out.
“I told you. I’m from the bank. Would it be all right if I came in?”
“You can stay right there,” she told him.
“Very well. As I said, my name is Gary Dawes, and I’m here representing The First People’s Bank. We’re new in town, and as a gesture of good will, we’re providing special opportunities to selected individuals. I believe you were sent an email—”
“I don’t have email!” she said. “I don’t have a computer! Can’t afford it!”
“Well, that explains the mixup. You see, I’m here to answer any questions you might have about our offer and to walk you through the application process. Although, if you don’t have internet access, we will have to fill out the application at the bank itself rather than online.”
Giving Tiffany’s hand a small squeeze, Darlene edged a little closer to the door. “Application for what?”
“Why a home loan, of course. Wouldn’t you rather live in a house?”
“I can’t afford that.”
“With the bank’s help you can.”
Darlene thought for a moment. Slowly, carefully, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack. She’d braced herself, prepared to slam the door shut if he tried to rush in, but, standing before her, the man seemed neither as big as before nor as threatening. He looked perfectly ordinary, in fact, although perhaps a bit rougher than his refined accent would indicate.
Cautiously, she opened the door wider. “What exactly are you offering me?”
“Zero percent interest,” he promised. “You go out, find a house, we finance it for you, and you pay no interest on the loan whatsoever.”
“I still wouldn’t have enough for the monthly payments.” She gestured behind her toward the trailer’s interior. “This is all I can afford.”
“What if you got a raise? An extra two hundred a month?”
She laughed harshly. “That’s never going to happen.”
His eyes met hers, and the laughter died in her throat. “Let the bank take care of that.”
She felt the way she had when she’d first seen him standing in the darkness outside the trailer. Goosebumps arose on her arms. She glanced protectively toward Tiffany.
“Ed won’t give me—” she began.
“He will,” the man promised, holding her gaze. There was a significant pause. “Are you in?”
“I can’t—”
“Are you in?” There was an insistence in his voice that made her feel frightened.
Darlene nodded meekly.
The man backed down the rickety wooden steps. “Then come into the bank tomorrow and sign the paperwork.” He made a pistol of his thumb and forefinger, pointing it at Tiffany, hiding behind her. “You, little girl, are soon going to have your very own room in your very own house. Aren’t you lucky?” He smiled at her.
Tiffany didn’t reply but retreated further into the trailer, holding the Dory pillow in front of her face.
Darlene closed the door.
2
Kirk Halpin pulled into the Burger King drive-thru behind a Dodge Ram pickup so wide that it barely fit in the narrow lane, and from his shirt pocket withdrew the folded scrap of paper on which he’d written everyone’s order. Jean, he remembered, wanted a salad, but the others’ preferences were a jumble of hamburgers with or without various condiments that he couldn’t have possibly committed to memory. He himself wanted a chicken sandwich, but he wasn’t sure which one, which was why he’d volunteered for the lunch run today. It would give him time to peruse the menu and make a decision.
The man in the pickup finished ordering and pulled away, but before Kirk could drive up to the speaker, his door was yanked open. Strong hands grabbed his head and jerked him out of the car. His left elbow hit the armrest on the door; his right arm twisted painfully as it was pressed between his body and the seat. There was a ferocious smell of sweat and something even more unsavory, and then he was dumped hard on the cement. With the car still in gear and his foot no longer on the brake, the Nissan rolled forward, gaining a little bit of speed on the slight incline and drifting to the right until it smacked into two of the cement-filled metal poles that separated the drive-thru from the parking lot.
The man who had pulled him from the car helped him to his feet. In contrast to his overpowering body odor, the man was dressed professionally in black slacks, white shirt and blue tie. There was something off about him, though. The untamed roughness of the tanned, lined face did not match the civilized veneer of the clothes.
“You’re going to need a new car,” the man said. “Did you know that The First People’s Bank is offering auto loans at zero percent financing?” He smiled, revealing several missing teeth.
Kirk pulled away from him. “It’s just a dent.” The car’s engine was still running—he could hear it—which meant that the minor collision had not caused any major damage. He started walking toward the vehicle, taking his phone out as he did so, intending to take a picture of the lunatic who’d accosted him so he could share it with the police.
Suddenly, the man ran past him, hopped into the car, slammed the driver’s door shut and sped backward, burning rubber and nearly knocking Kirk over. The back bumper slammed into another pole, and then the Nissan was speeding forward, past the speaker, around the corner of the Burger King.
“Stop!” Kirk yelled, running after him.
But the man did not go far. He made a U-turn in the street, steering into the parking lot on the other side of the drive-thru lane, accelerating as he headed straight toward the cinderblock wall that separated the Burger King from the transmission shop behind it.
Kirk slipped between two of the poles and ran into the parking lot, waving his arms and screaming for the man to stop.
His car hit the wall head-on with an ear-splitting crash that completely collapsed the front of the vehicle and sent metal parts skittering across the asphalt. Smoke billowed upward from the engine beneath the crumpled hood, and orange flames were visible from within the smoke.
Somehow, miraculously, the man emerged from the wreckage unscathed, exiting the open driver’s door and straightening his tie as he walked toward Kirk.
“I’m calling the sheriff!”
“Why?”
“Why? You destroyed my car!”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?” Kirk looked around for witnesses, but though there were three cars parked in the lot, they were empty. Back in the drive-thru line, the Ram pickup was gone, and apparently there’d been no other vehicles behind his own.
“You think anyone’s going to believe that an officer of the bank hijacked your car and crashed it into a wall for no reason?”
Oh, there’s a reason, Kirk thought. You were trying to get me to sign up for a loan. And when they see you, when they see that you look like a toothless fucking convict, they’re definitely going to believe me.
But he said nothing. He’d heard things about this new bank. Nothing specific, exactly, but there seemed to be a general uneasiness on the part of people, and the other day both Joey Accordia and Beto Gonzalez had expressed regret about switching their accounts over to First People’s. When he’d asked why they didn’t just switch back, neither had answered and both had seemed strangely unsettled. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, but now that reaction seemed entirely understandable.
The man stopped in front of him. “Look. A crazy person assaulted you, stole your car and totaled it. Not your fault. The insurance company will give you some money, and you can supplement it with a loan from the bank and get yourself a better car.”
“I don’t want a better car!” Kirk pointed. “I want that car!”
The man chuckled harshly. “Good luck with that.”
Kirk used his phone to snap a quick picture.
With one swift movement, a rough hand reached out, grabbed the phone from his hand and threw it hard on the ground, smashing it. Just to make sure, the man stomped on its corpse with a heavy scuffed shoe.
“You can use some of that loan money to get you a new phone, too,” he said.
Laughing raucously, he walked back toward Burger King, as, with an audible woosh, the Nissan was engulfed in flames.
3
Alfred Murdoch took his usual break at the eighth hole, after hitting two under par for the first time this afternoon. This was the section of the course that abutted the park, and there was a shared restroom at the border of the two that he liked to use because it was clean and always empty, unlike the dirty overcrowded men’s room by the pro shop.
Telling Bruce to wait and watch his clubs, Alfred trekked across the green to the restroom. There was no door, just a privacy wall, and he walked around it, through the open entrance. He’d never encountered anyone else here before, but when he stepped inside, he heard a noise from the stall. Stepping up to the first of the two urinals, he began unzipping his pants—
And spotted a figure in his peripheral vision with gray hair and pale skin passing from left to right, from the stall to the doorway.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a naked old lady standing barefoot in the center of the dirty cement floor, hands on her hips in a Peter Pan pose. Unnerved, he turned toward her.
“You want me to suck it?” she asked. She nodded at his open fly.
“No!” he said, automatically zipping up.
“Want to stick it in my pussy?” She turned around, wiggled. “Or see if it fits in my ass?”
“No! Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” He no longer had to go to the bathroom, and he tried to think of a way to get past the old bat and out the door without forcibly pushing her aside. The last thing he needed was to face some trumped-up assault charge from a crazy woman.
“I don’t think your wife would like it if I blew you,” she said. “Your kids, either.”
So that was it. She was going to try and blackmail him. Well, it wouldn’t work. “Get out,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Help!” she screamed. The sound echoed off the empty walls.
“Quiet down!” Alfred hissed. He stepped forward, waving his hand to shush her, and she backed up, her eyes widening in mock fear.
“Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded, a little too loudly.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“You’re not getting the full return from your investments that you should be,” she said, and the contrast between her suddenly reasonable tone and her naked wrinkled body was jarring. “We’ve been looking at your portfolio and have noted that the funds in which you are invested have underperformed by nine point six percent.”
“Who is ‘we’?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry. The First People’s Bank. I understand that you have a checking account with your credit union—and that’s fine—but your investment portfolio, your very large investment portfolio, is being managed by a New York firm who are not doing right by you, primarily because they can’t possibly tailor their approach to your specific needs here in Montgomery, Arizona. Which is why we think it would be advantageous for you to allow First People’s to manage your financial assets. Thanks to deregulation, banks are back in the game, and as investors ourselves, our ears are much closer to the ground than any outside manager.”
It made no sense. This naked old lady was here to convince him to let the new bank take over his investments?
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
“Would it help if I sucked you off?”
The sudden shift startled him, caused him to step back.
“Not back there!” she yelled, her voice echoing. “I don’t like it back there!”
“Shut up!” he hissed.
She smiled. “All we’re asking is that you give us a chance. Let us go over your portfolio with you and show you how we can better manage your financial investments.”
He took a step forward and to the left, intending to walk around her, but she slid to the side, blocking him. She pinched the nipple on her sagging right breast, ran her tongue over her lips.
“What do you want?”
“I told you. Come to the bank so we can discuss strategies for minimizing your risks and getting you better returns. Your finances are being mismanaged and rely too heavily on ventures and speculations completely at odds with both your long- and short-term needs. The First People’s Bank is ready to offer a plan tailored specifically to you. All you need to do is meet with one of our investment specialists and hear us out.”
After a short discussion, Alfred agreed to show up at the bank tomorrow with all of his paperwork and go over possible investment approaches. The woman finally let him pass, and he strode back across the green to where Bruce was waiting. Of course, there was no way in hell he was going to do any such thing. The fact that an institution would hire that old hag to try and sexually blackmail him guaranteed that it would not receive his business. Hell, it shouldn’t even be in business, and the first thing he was going to do after finishing this round with Bruce was report The First People’s Bank to the Better Business Bureau, the state attorney general and whatever government entity oversaw banking operations.
They didn’t realize who they were fucking with.
He reached Bruce, still watching over his golf bag, and from behind heard a loud shrill whistle.
The old lady, still naked, took two fingers from her mouth and waved at him from the front of the restroom. “Thanks for letting me get you off!” she called.
Alfred turned away, simultaneously angry and revolted.
“So,” Bruce asked calmly, picking up a nine iron, “are you switching over to First People’s?”
4
Tess smelled smoke.
She mentioned it to Deke, but the Cowboys were in the middle of a play, and he nodded absently, not taking his eyes off the flat screen, although a few minutes later, during a commercial, even he detected the odor. It was definitely a fire rather than a barbecue, and both of them sniffed the air in an effort to determine its origin. It seemed to be coming from outside, and they walked into the front yard to discover that their roof was burning.
“Call 911!” he ordered, rushing over to the hose and turning it on.
“My phone’s inside!”
“Go to Suzie’s!” Water was gushing from the hose, and he put his finger over the opening to make it spray, aiming up at the flames on the roof.
Tess ran next door to Suzie’s house, yelling, “Fire! Fire!” But even as she did so, she wondered if she should have run inside to get her cell phone instead. The blaze was not yet out of control, and she could have grabbed some family photographs at the same time, or the punchbowl her mom had given her as a wedding present, or something else with sentimental value that could not be replaced.
