alarm went off at 4:30, kicking off
the week from hell. Amazingly, given the fact she had spent
virtually the entire Sunday in bed, she was still tired. She took
comfort in the fact that the pounding in her head had stopped, her
tummy had stabilized, and after a hot shower and a microwave
breakfast of cheese pizza she mustered the courage to face the
workday.
By 5:45 she was on her knees pulling out bag
after bag from the stuffed night-deposit vault. She had to verify
each deposit, enter it, get the currency sorted accordingly for a
mass counting and banding before packing it all for transport to
Central. Then deal with the onslaught of customers that was bound
to wash over them.
When the lobby doors opened at 9:00, a dozen
people swamped the teller area. From there things grew to a nonstop
roar, a continual line of customers with overflowing bags of
cash.
* * *
By noon the temperature was in the upper 90’s
and climbing. The armored car couriers were sweating in the heat
and humidity.
Billy Truesdale looked dejected as his
helper, Trevor, complained.
“Jesus Christ, this is the Dark Ages meets
convict labor, that’s what this shit is. You kidding me?” He hefted
a trash bag out of the grocery cart and swung it into the back of
the armored car.
“Ugh, man, couldn’t they come up with a ramp
or something? I mean, you want a ramp, I can design you a ramp,
man.”
Billy checked off the bag on his manifest,
then set the clipboard down before he smashed it over Trevor’s
head.
“God, Billy, I think I threw my back out.
Man, this is barbaric. These bags must come in at about seventy
five pounds.”
“More like fifteen. Climb in there. Move some
of those bags out of the way.”
Once Trevor stumbled in Billy locked the
door. Then pushed the grocery cart back to the bank and knocked. A
bank officer named Sidney opened the door and wheeled the cart
in.
He was an exceptionally thin man, just a
whisker over six feet with thin, wispy tufts of hair combed over a
shining dome. What little color he had was pale, he looked frail.
The brown polyester suit coat, the bank uniform, hung shapelessly
over sharp shoulders, seemed to create a sense of dust about him.
He was never Sid, always Sidney.
“Billy, you want some water or something.
This heat, diabetics like you and me gotta watch it.”
Billy took off his hat, wiped his brow,
looked up at the unrelenting, cloudless sky. Things were only going
to get worse weather-wise.
“Thanks, Sidney but I’ve got some in the
chariot. Just in a horseshit mood after that Vikings fiasco
yesterday, that’s all. You know they don’t have to win all the
time, but how about at least showing up to play. Christ, the
neighbor kids would have given a better showing.”
“Oh, tell me about it, and that guy, did you
see that fat guy there?” asked Sidney.
“That Wild Card guy?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Where’d they dig him
up?”
“Just one of the idiots attending the game,”
Billy said, a touch of yesterday’s fury returning.
“They must have hired that guy, the size of
him, I mean that had to be a special-order jersey. And getting the
crowd to its feet, great fun until it actually came time to run a
play. I told the wife we might be going for some long Sunday
afternoon walks this fall by the looks of things. That guy was a
plant, had to be.”
“Gotta go,” Billy said.
“Everything okay?” Gary the driver asked.
“Fucking Vikings,” Billy responded.
“Christ, tell me about it. And that fat ass!
What an idiot!”
* * *
Otto was on another run to the bank. It had
been a strange day, walking around from stand to stand picking up
deposits. He had the sense people were staring at him perhaps a
little more than usual. It was after the third or fourth group of
kids had given him the finger and called him names, that he
offhandedly mentioned it to one of the college kids working at his
stands.
“Josh, what is it with everyone to day? Man,
talk about getting up on
the week from hell. Amazingly, given the fact she had spent
virtually the entire Sunday in bed, she was still tired. She took
comfort in the fact that the pounding in her head had stopped, her
tummy had stabilized, and after a hot shower and a microwave
breakfast of cheese pizza she mustered the courage to face the
workday.
By 5:45 she was on her knees pulling out bag
after bag from the stuffed night-deposit vault. She had to verify
each deposit, enter it, get the currency sorted accordingly for a
mass counting and banding before packing it all for transport to
Central. Then deal with the onslaught of customers that was bound
to wash over them.
When the lobby doors opened at 9:00, a dozen
people swamped the teller area. From there things grew to a nonstop
roar, a continual line of customers with overflowing bags of
cash.
* * *
By noon the temperature was in the upper 90’s
and climbing. The armored car couriers were sweating in the heat
and humidity.
Billy Truesdale looked dejected as his
helper, Trevor, complained.
“Jesus Christ, this is the Dark Ages meets
convict labor, that’s what this shit is. You kidding me?” He hefted
a trash bag out of the grocery cart and swung it into the back of
the armored car.
“Ugh, man, couldn’t they come up with a ramp
or something? I mean, you want a ramp, I can design you a ramp,
man.”
Billy checked off the bag on his manifest,
then set the clipboard down before he smashed it over Trevor’s
head.
“God, Billy, I think I threw my back out.
Man, this is barbaric. These bags must come in at about seventy
five pounds.”
“More like fifteen. Climb in there. Move some
of those bags out of the way.”
Once Trevor stumbled in Billy locked the
door. Then pushed the grocery cart back to the bank and knocked. A
bank officer named Sidney opened the door and wheeled the cart
in.
He was an exceptionally thin man, just a
whisker over six feet with thin, wispy tufts of hair combed over a
shining dome. What little color he had was pale, he looked frail.
The brown polyester suit coat, the bank uniform, hung shapelessly
over sharp shoulders, seemed to create a sense of dust about him.
He was never Sid, always Sidney.
“Billy, you want some water or something.
This heat, diabetics like you and me gotta watch it.”
Billy took off his hat, wiped his brow,
looked up at the unrelenting, cloudless sky. Things were only going
to get worse weather-wise.
“Thanks, Sidney but I’ve got some in the
chariot. Just in a horseshit mood after that Vikings fiasco
yesterday, that’s all. You know they don’t have to win all the
time, but how about at least showing up to play. Christ, the
neighbor kids would have given a better showing.”
“Oh, tell me about it, and that guy, did you
see that fat guy there?” asked Sidney.
“That Wild Card guy?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Where’d they dig him
up?”
“Just one of the idiots attending the game,”
Billy said, a touch of yesterday’s fury returning.
“They must have hired that guy, the size of
him, I mean that had to be a special-order jersey. And getting the
crowd to its feet, great fun until it actually came time to run a
play. I told the wife we might be going for some long Sunday
afternoon walks this fall by the looks of things. That guy was a
plant, had to be.”
“Gotta go,” Billy said.
“Everything okay?” Gary the driver asked.
“Fucking Vikings,” Billy responded.
“Christ, tell me about it. And that fat ass!
What an idiot!”
* * *
Otto was on another run to the bank. It had
been a strange day, walking around from stand to stand picking up
deposits. He had the sense people were staring at him perhaps a
little more than usual. It was after the third or fourth group of
kids had given him the finger and called him names, that he
offhandedly mentioned it to one of the college kids working at his
stands.
“Josh, what is it with everyone to day? Man,
talk about getting up on
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