At 9 o'clock next morning, he drove to Happy Acres. He was inside the door before he saw that Steen was busy. The man who had been talking to Steen swung swiftly from the desk.
'Oh, it's you,' he said.
Homer saw that the man was Hankins.
Steen smiled wearily. 'Mr. Hankins seems to think that we're obstructing justice.'
'I can't imagine,' Homer said, 'why he should think that.'
Hankins was on the edge of rage. 'Where are these people? What have you done with them?'
Steen said: 'I've told you, Mr. Hankins, that we only lease the property. We cannot undertake to go surety for anybody who may lease from us.'
'You've hidden them!'
'How could we hide them, Mr. Hankins? Where could we hide them? The entire development is open to you. You can search it to your heart's content.'
'I don't know what is going on,' said Hankins savagely, 'but I'm going to find out. And once I do, both of you had better have your explanations ready.'
'I think,' Steen commented 'that Mr. Hankins' determination and deep sense of duty are very splendid things. Don't you, Mr. Jackson?'
'I do, indeed,' said Homer, at loss as to what to say.
'You'll be saying that out of the other side of your mouth before I'm through with you,' Hankins promised them. He went storming out the door.
'What a nasty man,' Steen remarked, unconcerned.
'I'm getting out,' said Homer. 'I've got a pocket full of cheques and cash. As soon as I turn them over, I am pulling out. You can find someone else to do your dirty work.'
'Now I am sorry to hear that. And just when you were doing well. There's a lot of money to be made.'
'It's too risky.'
'I grant you that it may appear a little risky, but actually it's not. Men like Hankins will raise a lot of dust but what can they really do? We are completely in the clear.'
'We're leasing the same houses over and over again.'
'Why, certainly,' said Steen. 'How else would you expect me to build up the kind of clientele I need to give me business volume in this shopping centre? You yourself have told me that fifty families were by no means enough. And you were right, of course. But you lease the houses ten times and you have five hundred families, which is not bad. Lease each one a hundred times and you have five thousand… And incidentally, Mr. Jackson, by the time you lease each of them a hundred times, you will have made yourself twenty-five million dollars, which is not a bad amount for a few years' work.
'Because,' Steen concluded, 'you see, despite what you may have thought of me, I'm squarely on the level. I gave you the straight goods. I told you I was not interested in money from the houses, but merely from the shopping centre.'
Homer tried to pretend that he was unimpressed. He kept on emptying cheques and wads of money from his pockets. Steen reached out for the cheques and began endorsing them. He stacked the money neatly.
'I wish you would reconsider, Mr. Jackson,' he urged. 'I have need of a man like you. You've worked out so satisfactorily, I hate to see you go.'
'Come clean with me,' said Homer, 'and I might stay. Tell me all there is to tell?how it all works and what all the angles are and what you plan to do.'
Steen laid a cautionary finger across his lips. 'Hush! You don't know what you're asking.'
'You mean you see no trouble coming?'
'Some annoyance, perhaps. Not real trouble.'
'They could throw the book at us if they could prove we were hiding people wanted by the law.'
Steen sighed deeply. 'Mr. Jackson, how many fugitives have you sheltered in the last six weeks?'
'Not a one,' said Homer.
'Neither have I.' Steen spread his arms wide. 'So we have nothing to fear. We've done no wrong. At least,' he amended, 'none that they can prove.'
He picked up the money and the cheques and handed them to Homer. 'Here,' he said. 'You might as well take it to the bank. It's your money.'
Homer took the money and the cheques and stood with them in his hand, thinking about what Steen had said about not doing any wrong. Maybe Steen was right. Maybe Homer was getting scared when there was no need to be. What could they be charged with?
Fraudulent advertising? There had been no specific claims that had not been performed.
For tying in the auto sales? Just possibly, although he had not made an auto sale a condition of transaction; he had merely mentioned that it would be very nice if they bought a car from Happy Acres Auto Sales.
For selling at less than cost? Probably not, for it would be a fine point of law to prove a lease a sale. And selling or leasing below cost in any case was no crime.
For leasing the same house more than once? Certainly not until it could be proved that someone had suffered damage and it was most unlikely that it could be proved.
For doing away with people? But those people could be reached by telephone, could drive out through the gate. And they were well and happy and enthusiastic.
'Perhaps', Steen said gently, 'you have changed your mind. Perhaps you'll stay with us.'
'Perhaps I will,' said Homer.
He walked down the concourse to the bank. It was an impressive place. The foyer was resplendent in coppery metal and with brightly polished mirrors. There were birds in hanging cages and some of the birds were singing.
There were no customers, but the bank was spick and span. An alert vice-president sat behind his polished desk without a thing to do. An equally alert teller waited shiny-faced behind the wicket window.
Homer walked to the window and shoved through the money and the cheques. He took his passbook from his pocket and handed it across.
The teller looked at it and said, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson, but you have no account with us.'
'No account!' cried Homer. 'I have a quarter of a million!' His heart went plunk into his boots, and if he'd had Steen there, he'd have broken him to bits.
'No,' said the teller calmly, 'you've made an error. That is all.'
'Error!' gasped Homer, hanging onto the window to keep from keeling over.
'An understandable error,' the teller said sympathetically. 'One that anyone could make. Your account is not with us, but with the Second Bank.'
'Second Bank,' wheezed Homer. 'What are you talking about? This is the only bank there is.'
'Look, it says Second Bank right here.' He showed Homer the passbook. It did say Second Happy Acres State Bank.
'Well, now,' said Homer, 'that's better. Will you tell me how I get to this Second Bank?'
'Gladly, sir. Right over there. Just go through that door.' He handed back the passbook and the money.
'That door, you say?' inquired Homer.
'Yes. The one beside the drinking fountain.'
Homer clutched the passbook and the money tightly in his hand and headed for the door. He opened it and stepped inside and got it shut behind him before he realized that he was in a closet.
It was just a tiny place, not much bigger than a man, and it was as black as the inside of a cat.
Sweat started out on Homer and he searched frantically for the doorknob and finally found it. He pushed the door open and stumbled out. He strode wrathfully back across the foyer to the teller's window. He rapped angrily on the ledge and the teller turned around.
'What kind of trick is this?' yelled Homer. 'What do you think you're pulling? What is going on here? That is nothing but a closet.'
'I'm sorry, sir,' the teller said. 'My fault. I forgot to give you this.' He reached into his cash drawer and handed Homer a small object. It looked for all the world like the replica of a bizarre radiator ornament.
Juggling the object in his hand, Homer asked, 'What has this got to do with it?'
'Everything,' the teller said. 'It will get you to the Second Bank. Don't lose it. You'll need it to get back.'
