by D. K. Greene
“Mister Wilson. Such a pleasure to see you this evening. Do you mind if we discuss your withdrawal in my office?”
Peter follows her to a small windowless room. She pulls the door closed behind him. He sits in one of two cheaply upholstered chairs while she wiggles her voluptuous body through the opening alongside the desk that fills the center of the room. She makes it to her chair and settles into the leather. She leans forward and folds her hands on the desktop.
“Sam tells me you’d like to withdraw the entirety of your savings this evening. Is there anything we can do to keep your business with us?”
Peter looks around the office for a plaque or sign with the woman’s name. It must be a generic office the entire staff uses because there isn’t a single personalized trinket anywhere. He imagines her proper office is the plain desk out front with no privacy. “If you don’t mind my asking, who are you?”
Her laugh is too loud for the space. “Forgive me. I’m Valorie Scruggins. Manager of this branch. Now, about your withdrawal...”
“I’m not switching to another bank,” Peter announces.
Valorie’s voice lilts nervously. “Well, that’s good to hear. With the quantity of your request, I’d worried we’d offended you.”
“This is a great bank.” Peter leans forward, wanting to express the importance of his request. “I still need my cash.”
“If you’re planning on making a large purchase, have you looked at our auto loan and mortgage rates?”
Peter knows the Scruggins woman is just doing her job, but a fluster of agitation is building up, anyway. He wants the ability to tell Oliver he’s taking action the next time he calls. “It’s more of an investment thing. Not something I need a loan for since I have the money. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh, I do!” Valorie pulls a piece of paper out of an office supply organizer on the desktop. A pen appears from the inside pocket of her blazer and she makes a note. Valorie is not nearly as graceful a note taker as Jeanne. The pen is cheap and drags dry lines dotted with globs of ink across the page. “Unfortunately, with the number of electronic transactions we do, we don’t keep that much physical cash on hand. The best I can do tonight is a five-thousand-dollar withdrawal. I can send a request to our main branch first thing tomorrow for the remaining funds. They should be able to release your balance by the end of the week. Is that acceptable?”
Peter stares at her while he processes the information. It would be acceptable for her to empty the teller’s tills and whatever they have in the vault so he can leave with full pockets. But if she truly doesn’t have it, there’s plenty he can accomplish with five grand. “How will I know when the rest of my money is ready?”
Valorie hands him a business card with one of six phone numbers circled. “It will be here Friday afternoon. Call me before you head down. I’ll make sure it’s stacked and counted before you get here.”
Peter takes the card from her, noting that the bank is so cheap she shares a business card with five other people. She picks up the office phone’s handset and relays the agreement to the teller out front.
Valorie hangs up and smiles. “It will be just a few minutes.” She busies herself sorting the Post-Its, so they’ll be perfect for the next person dragging a customer into the space. Her eyebrow raises as she steals a glance at Peter.
“You look like you want to ask me a question.” Peter can feel the corner of his mouth rise a bit in response to her curiosity. The sensation catches him off guard.
Her giggle reminds him of cheerleaders he wasn’t brave enough to ask out in high school. “We rarely handle cash transactions this large. We do a lot of certified checks and wires, but not cash. It feels just a little like a bank robbery, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been in a bank robbery.” Peter rubs his chin as he wonders what she’s getting at.
Valorie erupts with girlish laughter and her cheeks flush. “Mister Wilson, you are funny.”
“Please, call me Peter.” He tries to look cool. He thinks the banker might be flirting with him. “You said you’ll be working Friday when I come get the rest of the withdrawal?”
Her blush deepens. “What kind of manager would I be if I took Friday off while everyone else has to work?”
“Are you a coffee drinker?” Peter’s still preoccupied by her blazing white smile. If he’s going to spend more time with her, he will want the glow to dim a bit.
“With three coffee shops five minutes away, it’s impossible not to be,” she answers.
“When I call, why don’t you bring me the money at the coffee shop on the corner instead of me coming here? It might make for a more personal banking experience.”
She bats her eyes at him. “You want me to deliver it to you?”
“Sure. If you have one, bring a briefcase to put the money in until the hand-off. Then, it really will be like a high-roller heist.”
Valorie’s blush extends down her neck and into her ample cleavage. Peter notices her breath quicken as she considers the idea. A moment later she gushes, “Well, in the movies the person doing the drop gets paid.”
“True,” Peter agrees.
“So, what are you going to get me?” Valorie leans forward, resting her folded arms against the desk.
“Whatever you want, milady.” He gives her his best secret-agent wink and adds, “As long as it’s on the coffee shop menu and the total is less than fifteen bucks. I’m not made of money, you know.”
They laugh together. She overcomes the light moment and asks, “You’d trust me to walk around with your money like that?”
“You’re a bank manager. Isn’t that what you do all day, anyway?”
“I suppose so. But what will stop me from running off with the cash?” Her smirk is devious.
Peter feels confident. “It’s not enough cash to get far on, really. But it’s enough that if you lost it, it’d be bad for business.”
She jumps with surprise when the office door swings open and Sam comes in with a thick envelope that looks ready to burst. It takes him a second to pick up the flirtatious vibe in the room, then he shoots Peter a look that says he’s been trying to get Valorie to blush like that since his first interview.
The bank manager stands, smooths her jacket, and straightens her collar. She snatches the envelope from Sam and hands it to Peter as if she’s a maiden handing him a sacrificial offering. He rises from his seat, taking it in both hands to feel the weight of it. He shoves it in the front pocket of his sweatshirt without counting it.
“Until we meet again.” He bows low. As he straightens, he winks at Sam, who is easily flushed as red as Valorie, but it’s clear it’s not because he’s feeling flirtatious.
“I look forward to our meeting Friday, Mister Wilson.” She does her best to sound professional but twirls her hair in her fingers like a girl fifteen years her junior. Her smile is as genuine as it is broad.
Eighteen
The constant rain comes with some advantages. Peter pulls a baseball cap low on his head and walks into the grocery store. He isn’t out of place dressed in the heavy clothing, even indoors. This time of year, hats, hoods, and scarves are out in full force, obscuring the appearances of even the most innocent bystanders.
Without turning down his collar or lifting his cap he searches the aisles until he finds the tall kiosk full of preloaded gift cards. He doesn’t want to seem overly suspicious. With the holidays coming, he hopes a handful of Visa gift cards seems close enough to normal that no one will remember him. He selects a stack of fifty and hundred-dollar cards and heads toward the register.
Fidgeting, he waits his turn. Even though he knows it’s crazy, he swears the checkout girl is watching him. The urge to bolt from the line is strong. He could put the cards on the rack and forget the whole thing. Just as the anxiety threatens to consume him, another woman touches his arm.
“I’m open on lane two. You can come with me if you don’t want to wait.”
Peter
follows her in silence until she stands behind her register. He hands her the stack of cards, holding his breath as she shuffles through them. He counts them up in his head. It’s over nine-hundred dollars. An icy trickle of sweat rolls down his spine. It’s too much. She’ll know.
“Looks like someone will have a nice Christmas.” A signature holiday smile weaves its way across her mouth.
A blank expression is what she receives in return. It takes a minute for her words to sink in. She doesn’t seem to notice, having turned her attention to the register. Finally, it clicks. He hands her a wad of cash. “Kids, you know?”
She glances up from the register’s scanner. “You must have a lot of kids!”
“Oh, they aren’t mine,” he sputters. A nervous laugh erupts from Peter’s chest. He thinks quickly. “Nieces and nephews. I’d just give them cash, but nobody goes to pick out toys at the store anymore. Everything they want is virtual.”
The clerk chuckles. Her hair bounces off her shoulders and her rosy cheeks lift so high, her eyes crinkle.
“Apparently, you can’t download Spoti-tunes with a twenty-dollar bill.” He rocks back on his feet and gives an animated shrug. The woman hands him the activated cards and their fingers touch. They smile at one another a second too long.
She snaps back to the moment with a start. “Oh! I almost forgot to give you the receipts. They show the activation information. Hold on to them and come back to see me if one of them doesn’t work.”
“Can I come back even if they do?” He doesn’t know what’s come over him. Peter feels more alive than ever. Customers from the next lane peek over the partition when the cashier laughs again. She notices the extra attention and ducks behind her register. “You’re welcome back anytime. Mister...”
“Ryan,” Peter concocts on the fly. She repeats the name. They bid one another farewell. He fights the urge to ask for her number. She’s cute, but in his attempt to flirt, Peter’s given her a name long out of circulation. There’s no way he can go back to explain the mistake. Besides, he’s got work to do.
As he drives across town, he passes by a giant office supply store. The awful weather has shorted out part of the sign and now it blinks into the darkness with the words Off pot. He turns on his blinker before pulling into the strip mall. Before he turns, he realizes if he’s going to pretend to be a killer, he has to space his purchases out. If anyone were to get suspicious, he wouldn’t want them to find him on security tapes all around town on the same day.
Instead, Peter rolls down the window at a stoplight. The rain spits at the side of his face. He reaches into the shopping bag and retrieves the receipts from the gift cards. A quick glimpse around the intersection to make sure no one has pulled up, then he dumps the slips of paper out the window. The rain saturates them instantly. Before he pulls away, the receipts have become nothing more than a heap of wet pulp.
Once home, he pulls the couch out into a bed and fans the cards across the mattress. He wraps them in the bedsheets and tucks them in tight, so they won’t slip around as he pushes the folding mattress into place. After rearranging the cushions on the sofa, the task is complete. Peter heads to the bedroom where his list waits.
Warmth seems to radiate from the dresser handles as he touches them. He realizes the moist heat is from his hands, dripping wet from the weather and warm from the blood flowing through his fingers. He backs away to strip off the soggy clothing he’s wearing and dries his hands on a shirt peeking out of the hamper.
Standing in his t-shirt and boxers, he feels like he’s standing in front of a woman for the first time. He takes a deep breath and tries to push the nerves fluttering in his stomach away. When he opens the drawer, the list looks up at him. Peter draws it out gently, careful not to bend the pages. A black marker from his nearby desk finds its way into his hand and he watches it cross out the first line.
Pulling the marker through buy prepaid cards with cash shouldn’t fill him with excitement, but his hand trembles. His breath catches in his chest and he snaps the cap back on the marker’s head, tossing it on the desk as his heartbeat pounds in his ears. This project, as crazy as it is, has given him a confidence he can’t explain.
Placing the list tenderly back into the drawer, he’s enveloped in joy like he’s never felt before. He thinks about the cashier and closes his eyes. Their interaction unfolded so naturally. He’d been funny. She’d been receptive. He realizes it’s one of very few exchanges he’s had with a woman that’s left him feeling utterly pleased with himself.
He’d also felt a glimmer of charisma with the banker. Valorie. Her eyes had filled with something. Urgency? Lust? She’d liked the idea of pretending to rob the bank, hadn’t she?
Both women said they wouldn’t mind seeing him again. The statements were casual and sincere. Not the forced politeness he normally experiences with women, or the repulsive hounding of journalists. He can’t remember another time in his life when anyone has seemed so eager to get to know him personally.
Something about him must have changed when he wasn’t looking.
The dresser regains Peter’s attention, and he thinks about the list. Was that it? Maybe his dad had been right about him all this time. Maybe in the lottery of nature versus nurture, he’d lost on both counts.
Peter shakes his head hard, demanding he return to his senses. Rain-soaked clothes are strewn around the room. He picks up the damp cloth and attempts to mop up the saturated puddle his dripping body has left in the carpet.
Cursing himself as he goes, he wonders how he’s become such a freak. He turns off the light and tries to close the door on the haunting feelings of pleasure and confidence that cling to the papers hidden in his dresser. The sensations were so gratifying, the aftermath of them makes his skin crawl.
When the urge to open the drawer and re-read the list tugs at his thoughts, he decides tonight, he’s going to sleep on the couch.
Nineteen
Jeanne’s leg, the one crossed atop the other, bobs up and down. Her flat-heeled shoe dangles off her toes as if it’s holding on for dear life. Her brown stockings are so thin, Peter can see the tiny imperfections in the skin around her ankle. He wishes he could reach out, draw her delicate feet into his lap and massage them until she melts.
“You mentioned you’d been learning about taxidermy?”
Peter wishes she weren’t always in such a rush to pull him from his thoughts. “Yes. I’m still doing some research. It turns out, it’s one of those things you can learn at home at your own pace.”
“I’m glad to hear you’ve done some exploring. Most people I talk to say they want to try things, but never follow through. Actually, I pulled information on some free online classes for you, just in case you needed encouragement to look into it further.” The therapist pulls out a manila file folder encasing a thick sheaf of papers. She leans over, stretching to reach the recycle bin.
“Even though I’ve got some stuff down, more information never hurt anyone.” The folder is diverted and soon Peter holds her token of affection. He decides she’s spent time on this research because she cares about him. She wants to see him succeed. Peter’s heart thumps in his chest as he silently promises her he will.
“Why don’t you tell me a bit about how you’re doing? How are things going with your father?”
The chair he’s sitting in seems suddenly uncomfortable. “We got together a couple times for that work party, but I haven’t seen him in a few days.”
“How long until he’s fully released?” Jeanne writes a note.
Peter wonders if she’d like to meet his father. Ollie isn’t exactly the parent most girls would want to meet, but Jeanne has such an interest in people, he thinks she might enjoy it. “I’m not sure. They pulled him off work crew because...” He thinks of a reason. He can’t tell her Ollie has refused to offer up another body. Or that the reason for the refusal is that Peter’s been ignoring his calls.
Tracing his fingers across the folder in his lap, he takes a
deep breath. “Budget cuts.”
“And here you’ve taken all this time away from work to be with him. That probably doesn’t seem fair.” Her frown accompanies sad eyes. Her upset at the disappointing news is visible.
He appreciates the way she thinks things through. She has a way of putting herself in someone else’s shoes, deducing how they might feel in a situation. If Peter were cut off from his father against his will, he’s sure she’s right. He’d be upset. “No, Jeanne. You’re spot on. It doesn’t seem fair at all.”
“What will you do now? Go back to work?” Jeanne gazes at him intensely, awaiting his answer.
“No, I don’t think so.” Charles is another person whose calls Peter’s been dodging. “I’m learning so much about this taxidermy stuff, I think I want to focus on it for a while. Maybe if I put solid time into it, I’ll get to where I understand it enough to decide if it’s right for me. Give it a shot before I go back to my cubicle.”
Jeanne writes another secret remark. She looks Peter in the eye so deep, he can feel her search his soul. “You know, when people with a criminal record have a plan and support network, they can go on to be very productive members of society. I think it’s great you’ve taken an interest in your dad’s talents. It’ll serve him well while he’s re-integrating into normal life.”
Peter laughs. “I don’t know that my dad’s life will ever be normal. He’s a little weird.”
Her smile is soft, turning up the very edges of her mouth. “Everybody’s a little weird, Peter.”
“Not everyone.” He feels his skin flush. His thumb twitches, rubbing against the rough paper of the folder. “You aren’t weird.”