EARLY WITHDRAWAL (A Mitch Tobin Mystery Book 1)

by Mark Gannon

  Now in a bigger city, you may not have customers accost you almost anywhere about mundane banking chores, but in a small town, everyone knows where you work and expects you to take care of their business. If they bank with you, they expect you to be their banker wherever and whenever they run into you. It made sense to Sweet Mary to save a few steps and she didn’t think twice about me being dishonest. I headed back to the bank once more but with a deposit. Maybe I could write off the coffee and roll calling it business development. How well could I embellish this for my Sales Report?

  As I stepped out the door, Sweet Mary hollered across the café, “And remember to bring back my bucket.”

  Chapter 7

  Ice Maiden

  Dress code for our bank used to be casual – blue jeans on Friday and western suits the rest of the week. Charlie Gearets, our manager, always believed customers preferred to feel at ease. He thought three piece suits just made locals up tight. To do the Tanner inspection I wore a newer chambray shirt with a bank logo and blue jeans and boots. My complete wardrobe for bank work was western style suits, bolo tie and cowboy boots.

  “Did you forget, Mitch?” a high feminine voice laced with sarcasm came over my shoulder. “Didn’t we have a discussion about dress code just last week? Maybe we need to talk again.” Deb Miller, the newest member of our bank staff and the new assistant bank manager was addressing me. Deb was a recent unwelcome addition to management at Bank of Spearfish, at least unwelcome to me.

  Our bank was a charter bank meaning our location was not a branch but a separate banking organization of its own made up of this single location. A local family, the Dunbars, owns the majority of the bank stock and sit on the Board of Directors. The third generation of Dunbars recently started inheriting which means they became owners of the bank. Robert Dunbar III, better known as Robby, had taken a seat on the board only last year. He was educated at an Ivy League school and felt that what the old family bank needs is a change of pace, a breath of fresh air. Hence, Deb Miller was hired from some large corporate bank on the East Coast.

  Miller’s job according to Robby is to come in and put some professionalism and salesmanship into the Bank of Spearfish. Well she was a change of pace, but she was not a breath of fresh air unless it was an Arctic Cold Front. Her nickname went along with her personality, Ice Princess. “Please step into my office when you get your messages returned,” she demanded. At five feet six and one hundred twenty pounds she is not physically imposing until you hear her voice. Imagine a cross between Attila the Hun and fingers scratching a chalkboard. The strange thing is there are people on our staff that actually seem to like her.

  Moving quickly to my office to distance myself from Deb Miller I ran into one of her fans, Steve Blake. Steve has been a loan officer with the Bank of Spearfish for less than a year. He is one of those soft built men that never made it past the baby fat stage. Steve is not obese, just definitely overweight and soft. His handshake, his greeting, his voice, his mannerisms are all soft. This is all very deceiving because he is hard to the core when it comes to protecting his turf.

  Steve was a shirttail relation of the Dunbar’s and Charlie had been strong-armed into hiring him but Steve didn’t fit the Bank of Spearfish mold and Charlie had been slowly pushing him out the door. Then Deb Miller showed up and Steve became her champion in the bank along with Robby Dunbar. Steve could see the writing on the wall much more quickly than I could. Deb was going to be Charlie’s replacement, and this was Steve’s in.

  Just looking at Steve set my teeth on edge. He was young, neatly dressed, happy to be in a suit and willingly embracing the Sales Culture. I had been in the bank for twenty years and had to earn my customers. Steve liked to sit on the fringe and then try to steal customers from other loan officers.

  Like now, he was buttering up Harley Fields. Harley’s real name was Richard but everyone called him Harley due to his obsession with the Harley Davidson motorcycle. Except for the days it snowed, he rode a bike. Harley was the owner of both the Pizza Hut and Subway Sandwich shop. He was looking to put an addition on the Subway for an upscale coffee shop. Harley was my loan customer for the past ten years since he had first run a small delicatessen. Steve knew he was considering expanding his business, which meant a loan. And in our bank loans mean money as in bigger salaries and bonuses, so Steve was all over anyone who might mean a sizable loan.

  Harley saw me coming and tried to step past Steve. Harley was two years behind me in high school and had been my loan customer ever since borrowing his first dollar for a commercial loan. “Glad you got back. I was just dropping off my updated financials you requested,” he said motioning to a packet in Steve’s hands. “Steve said he would get it to you.”

  “Hey Harley. Glad you made it in with those numbers. I had about decided to stop by for them.” Really I had spaced out his new project entirely. He came up with so many ideas and ran all of them past the bank. He was operating two businesses and I looked at proposals for others about three times a year. Reaching out to the packet in Steve’s hand, “Thanks Steve. I’ll just take those so you don’t have to drop them in my office.”

  Steve said, “Yeah, here you are Mitch. I was just holding on to them for you.” But his eyes said, too bad you showed up.

  Walking past Steve and trying to guide Harley towards my office I said, “Want to come on back and go over these with me?” Harley turned and followed me for a couple of steps and stopped. Steve got the message and moved off to hover by the new accounts desk.

  “I really don’t have time now Mitch. Can I come in later this week?”

  What a relief. I didn’t have time either, but there was no way I was leaving my customer with Steve. “Oh that’s all right Harley. Just give me a call. We’ll go over the numbers then.” It was not going to be later this week, because I had time off coming, but that would work out when I got back. As I walked into my office I threw Harley’s packet on my In-Work basket. By the time I remembered it and looked through the packet, Harley will be on to some other new idea.

  The voice mail light was blinking on my phone and there were two hand written phone messages on the desk. Checking the voice mail yielded an update on a title insurance policy for the Jasper loan, a request to call back a vendor for software the bank didn’t need, a reminder of an upcoming Lions Club meeting and a call from a buddy.

  My E-mail was just as exciting with a form letter from the South Dakota Bankers Association on Compliance Training and a reminder from the Ice Princess that I was late turning in my sales forms for last week. As I finished reading the first one from Deb Miller, another one arrived from her reminding me to review the new dress code policy on the company Intranet. She had cut and pasted the section on a tie and sport jacket being mandatory at all times when in the bank. This was a change from previous policy. Our customers in the past had all been ranchers and they didn’t care if you wore jeans and boots. Now a lot of our customer base was shifting to the high net worth newbies, yuppies and the land developers that were expanding the town. So maybe Deb Miller had a point about changing the work attire, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

  Judy Wren, the senior loan processor stepped in with two files for my review. When I had a loan approved and ready to be closed, I gave a Loan Input sheet to Judy explaining all the details of who was to sign, the interest rate and security. She prepared the loan documents and then it was my job to review the loan docs to see if the docs were prepared correctly. With Judy this was a no brainer. She had been at the bank for twelve years, ever since she graduated high school. Her work was always well done and timely. She knew more about perfecting a lien on security than anyone else in the bank. Judy is like a bulldog. When she gets on something she will not let go until it is done. When you look in the dictionary under persevere it has a picture of Judy.

  That’s great if Judy is on your team or in your corner. If she is on the other team look out. Judy is attractive with auburn hair cut short, blue eyes, nice curves
, great legs and slightly overweight. She is judgmental and labeled me as a troublemaker for playing a practical joke on her during her first week at work. But lately her attitude towards me had softened. I was an old timer at the bank and she was not a fan of the Ice Princess and the new ‘Sales Culture”. She assumed, and rightly so, that I was not into the ‘Sales Culture’ either. Judy liked completing her work on the computer and having little interaction with the customers.

  Deb Miller insisted everyone in the bank was a Sales Consultant even the loan processors. Deb had even started requiring everyone in the bank make the occasional unsolicited sales call. “You know what she wanted me to do today?” I guessed ‘she’ referred to Deb Miller. “You know - the Ice Princess. She wanted me to sign up for the ‘Sales and Service’ course offered by SDBA (South Dakota Bankers Association). Like I want to learn that crap.” Did I mention Judy is direct and speaks her mind? “Does she think I have time to listen to tapes and go to those night classes? I have enough to do already.”

  Here Judy paused to let me commiserate with her. After allowing me to make the tsk tsk noise and shake my head she dropped the files on my desk. “Here’s the Peterson and Weng file. You better take a look at the guarantees on Weng. You didn’t indicate who was to sign the corporate guarantee and I just assumed it was Bud Weng.”

  “Thanks Judy. And yes it was Bud. You must have gotten the titles from Peterson to finish that up.” Judy had me call them twice to get a copy of their vehicle titles so she could finish the security agreement. She hated calling the customers herself. “So did you sign up for the course?” I asked innocently.

  With a look of disbelief that I would even ask Judy said, “Are you kidding? She can ask until hell freezes over, I’m not going to one of those sales classes.” The emphasis on the word ‘sales’ dripped with disgust. With that she made an abrupt turn and flew out of the office. Judy was not one to waste time with idle talk when there was work to be done. Letting Judy bad mouth the management was not good form on my part. If the bank ownership wanted to embrace a sales culture then I should support the sales culture also. Maybe next time Judy said something I would cut her off - -- well maybe not.

  It was three pm and only an hour until the lobby of the bank closed. No matter what the Ice Princess wanted, I was not about to run home to change into a tie and sport jacket for just another hour in the bank. By the time I did that, there would only be fifteen minutes to closing. I should just make a sales call on some unsuspecting customer and escape the bank for the rest of the afternoon. She could just lump it.

  . Instead of escaping I pulled out my notes from the Tanner inspection. I needed to boil an afternoon of inspection into numbers and a few words on a bank form. Entering one hundred and ninety buffalo cows, one hundred and eighty buffalo calves and ten bulls with corresponding values did little to convey the situation. Some comments on the capital expenses and short pastures helped to give a picture to the file.

  Ned’s numbers when I finished his ratio was one dollar of collateral for every one dollar of loan commitment. I had figured this in my head before ever making the inspection and it is the reason I had brought up the discussion about a possible mortgage on the ranch. One to one was not near good enough. The bank policy called for a minimum of two dollars of collateral for every one dollar of loan commitment. The bank was short collateral and if Ned wanted more operating money the bank would call for additional collateral. And the only additional collateral Ned had available was his real estate.

  About the time I was finishing comments on the Tanner file, Charlie Gearets, the bank president, popped into my office. Charlie was a very fit sixty-three year old standing about six feet tall. His warm smile lit up his blue eyes under his thick sandy blond hair. He was the epitome of the small town community banker. Charlie had been with the bank for forty years, his only employer in his adult life. He knew everyone in the town and the surrounding area. “What’s up Mitch? Did you and John get the refreshments all nailed down for the ride.”

  Charlie knew what everyone in the bank was up to on any given day. He continued with, “I saw Harley dropped off some more paperwork. One more business idea? Does he ever run out of ideas?” With sarcasm slipping into the tone Charlie continued. ”You better be careful, I see Steve trying to suck up to Harley. Steve will loan Harley the money, increase his own loan portfolio volume and up his sales count whether Harley’s idea is any good or not.” Charlie didn’t change much. He might appear affable to the community, but he was hard and conservative on banking.

  “Charlie – you trained me better than that. I’ll get on Harley’s request and make sure it gets a solid review. Harley has been a good customer for many years and he deserves our best effort.” A little sarcasm of my own slipped in. “It would be a shame to have Harley get his advice from Steve.” My desk was overflowing but Charlie ingrained in me that you take care of the customer – first, last and always. Because people knew Bank of Spearfish operated on Charlie’s business dogma, the bank was the dominant local community bank.

  Chapter 8

  Teller Trouble

  There was a tap on my office door and I knew who it was before I looked up. The perfume told me Nancy Allen was in the vicinity. In a soft husky voice she said “Sorry to interrupt Mr. Gearets, but there is a customer out here who would like to see you. I think it is that Mr. Larson. Do you want to step out or shall I tell him you’re busy?” Nancy tipped her out of date bouffant hair to one side as she appeared to wait with baited breath for Charlie’s decision.

  I was expecting a quick response from Charlie so we could finish our discussion. A glance in his direction startled me as I observed puppy dog eyes taking in the well preserved fifty something body. To my knowledge Charlie hadn’t looked at a woman like that since I met him.

  “Tell him I’ll be right out,” Charlie said.

  Nancy nodded and gave out a breathy “Sure Mr. Gearets. Anything you say.” A three word sentence rarely carries that much innuendo. Nancy pulled her tight sweater down like she was adjusting the fit and anyone watching knew that sweater was fitting just fine. Marilyn Monroe hip action carried her away as Charlie just stared with appreciation.

  “Charlie.” No response. Oh Man! This could be a problem. “Hey Charlie. You were saying?”

  With an embarrassed self-conscious grin Charlie turned back to me. “Where were we? Oh – uh - yes. Loan committee. I haven’t seen any credit display from you yet. Are you going to have any write ups ready for tomorrow’s meeting?”

  “I know you want them by now so you can review them, but I haven’t gotten anything cranked yet.”

  “Hard to vote at committee on loaning out bank money if I don’t know whether we’ll get it back or not. The only way to know is to review the credit ahead of time. Trying to figure it out during loan committee just takes a lot longer and you know I don’t want to be in committee any longer than necessary.” With that Charlie went on to see what the customer wanted. I nodded my head in agreement with Charlie. He had given me the same short sermon in different versions for twenty plus years. And I also knew his reason for wanting Loan Committee to be kept short – the other loan committee members.

  Charlie headed out into the lobby to greet his customer, Bill Larson. The hearty, “Hey Charlie!” boomed back to my office. Larson’s large voice went along with his physical size. The man was a couple inches over six feet but didn’t look tall because he was large bodied – not fat - just big chested and beefy framed. His square jaw pushed into life like the rest of him.

  Matter of fact everything about Larson was big. He had a large ranch that he wanted to make bigger. He had a helicopter and wanted a plane. If he was eating a sirloin steak he wanted a porterhouse. Larson showed up shortly after Charlie lost his wife and must have pushed into a part of Charlie’s life that was empty. Charlie was the Larson champion in the bank. Normally Charlie thought if you were a buddy with someone you didn’t handle their credit. He felt you lost your objectivity
. But Charlie handled all of Larson’s credit requests and was his friend besides. Larson was leasing the old Jackson ranch and had his eye on the ones on either side of him. One of those neighboring ranches belonged to Ned Tanner.

  Chapter 9

  Closing Duty

  Lucky for me Deb Miller (aka Ice Princess) was kept busy for the rest of the afternoon. I had caught up my sales report embellishing a sales call for investment money from a contact at the café, the waitress, and added John’s and my coffee tab to my expense account. Things had quieted down so I could finish a credit display and got a grunt out of Charlie when I threw it on his desk.

  My phone calls had been returned. Harley’s loan information was piled up with about three other loan files that were going to be tucked into my temp drawer. Ok – junk drawer. All files are to be locked away in fire proof filing cabinets every night. This procedure is to protect the bank – imagine trying to collect on loans if the original notes, loan agreements and other legal documents were destroyed in a fire. Since the fire proof cabinets were all locked before Judy and the gang left at five, these remaining files in my office were not making the security trip tonight (and a lot of other nights).

  It was approaching six pm and the bank was almost empty. The tellers left by five except the drive up teller who stayed until six pm closing. Charlie as usual grabbed his briefcase full of home work for the night and left. Yuck – how could he stand to take work home with him? Not me – I had better things to do. Frequently I would look up while concentrating on work and suddenly seem to find myself working alone. Tonight was like that.

  I was updating my to-do list for the next morning when someone rapped on the window. Sitting in a quiet bank and concentrating on work does not prepare you for someone suddenly tapping at your office window. I jumped in my chair and ducked sideways from the window.