“That’s not Mim.”
“I don’t know, it looks like Mim.”
“It could be.”
“No it couldn’t, she doesn’t live in town, she lives out in Lake Oswego.”
“That’s Van, Van lives in Oswego. She has that big house they showed on television that time.”
The line had shortened to one, and I really wanted the women behind me to shut up.
“Did you hear about the photos? There was this bit on the news about these photos.”
“Oh, God, I know! My boyfriend showed them to me, can you imagine letting someone do that to you?”
“You could ask her, you could ask if that’s her.”
“I wouldn’t want to be rude.”
There was a teller open, and I moved to his station. He was middle-aged, balding, and he smiled at me when he took my withdrawal slip, then looked at it and laughed and handed it back to me.
“I think you need to fill out a new one,” he said with a very amused smile.
I checked it, shook my head, slid it back. “No, it’s correct.”
“I think you wanted those zeros after the decimal point, not before.”
“No, it’s correct.”
He stopped being amused. “Young lady, you’re not very funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I need it in cash, please.”
The teller took the slip once more, went over it again, then frowned at me with suspicion. He asked me to wait a moment, then began tapping on the terminal to the left of his cash drawer. He scowled at the figures on his screen, and I figured he was just making certain that the money was there. Then his posture changed, and he leaned forward on the shelf, gesturing for me to come closer.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Bracca,” the teller said. “I’ll get the manager.”
I started to protest, but he was already out of the station and heading down the row of fellow tellers. I told myself not to worry, that he probably needed the manager’s permission to access that much cash. I was a little surprised he hadn’t already asked to see some identification.
Along the line of tellers, one of the women was finishing her transaction. I caught her staring at me, and when I caught her, she blushed and turned away hastily.
My teller came back, flanked by an older woman. The woman wore glasses, and had red hair, and it was obviously dyed.
“Miss Bracca,” the woman said. “I’m Catherine Lumley, why don’t you come with me?”
“Fine,” I said, and got out of line. Catherine waited for me at the end of the counter, and she pulled the short door back, allowing me through. With her free hand, she pointed to her office, past the vault door, and I headed inside. She followed close behind me.
The office was carpeted, and then had an Oriental rug on it, to add to the plush. There were four filing cabinets and a big desk and three leather chairs. The cabinets and the desk were some dark wood, like the rosewood used in fretboards, and all of the handles for all of the drawers were brass and shiny. I could almost feel the money.
“Please have a seat,” Catherine Lumley said. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water or anything?”
I took one of the chairs facing the desk, and she surprised me by staying on my side and taking one of the seats beside me.
“I’m fine,” I said. Even knowing the balance in my account, I was starting to feel like an imposter.
“You should have come to me right away. As a valued client, if you ever have any trouble with any of our personal bankers, you should never hesitate to speak to the manager.”
I looked at her blankly. Then I took off my sunglasses and repeated the look.
“If you’d like, I can call Mr. Rodriguez in here.” She added it in the same apologetic tone that the teller had used.
“You mean the teller? No, I mean, he was fine, everything’s fine.”
“He should have recognized you, of course. But I can call Mr. Rodriguez right now.”
“Okay,” I said. “I give up. Who is Mr. Rodriguez?”
Lumley chuckled, then stopped when she realized I wasn’t kidding. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. He’s your banker.”
“I don’t have a banker. I have a bank, this bank. This is the bank I’ve been using since high school.”
“Yes, and we do appreciate your continued patronage, Miss Bracca. But in cases of accounts in excess of one million dollars, we always provide our clients with personal banking facilities. Alexander Rodriguez has been handling your account since February.”
“Doing what?”
“Ideally, whatever you require.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, I require withdrawing a million dollars in cash, if that’s all right.”
She hesitated, and I was afraid she was going to ask what I needed it for, and I realized with a little feeling of panic that I didn’t have a good lie ready. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re closing the account?” she asked.
“No, not at all.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“So . . . it won’t be a problem?”
“No.” She smiled at me, then got up and went around to her side of the desk, to her computer. She clacked keys for a couple of seconds, and the smile remained, even seemed to grow a fraction. “Will hundreds do? Or smaller bills?”
The Parka Man hadn’t specified. “I think hundreds will be fine.”
Lumley straightened, beaming at me. “Then I’ll have Mr. Rodriguez call you Monday, as soon as the cash is together.”
“Monday?”
“Yes, it’ll take until then for us to get that much cash.”
Someone living in my belly inflated a balloon, painted the word “panic” on it, then let it go to ride the currents up to my head.
“I need it sooner,” I told Lumley.
Lumley began to look concerned again. “I’m afraid there’s no way we can do that.”
“Who can? There must be someone who can, right? I have the money, I have more than enough money.”
“Your combined balance currently stands at four million, six hundred and eighty-seven thousand, nine hundred and eleven dollars,” Lumley said. “That’s not the problem, Miss Bracca. We’re a bank, not the Federal Reserve. We simply don’t have that much currency here, in fact, we never do unless we know there will be a need for it.”
“Can I open an account at another bank?” I asked, trying to keep the balloon from going higher. “Do a wire transfer?”
“You misunderstand me, I’m afraid. It’s not
It was Tuesday afternoon. If I believed Lumley, and I didn’t have a reason not to, then it wouldn’t matter where I went. I suddenly realized I’d have the same problem no matter who I banked with. Which meant that come Friday noon, I wouldn’t have the money, and I didn’t believe Parka Man would give me a reprieve. Clearly, he’d anticipated this problem, but not how long it would take; that was why he had given me the time. If four days later I still didn’t have the money, he wasn’t going to be happy, and his unhappiness would probably manifest itself by inflicting a lot of pain, and probably death, on Tommy.
The beating had looked so painful, the damage so much, and sitting in Catherine Lumley’s office, I saw Tommy again in my mind’s eye. All the times I’d wished him to suffer, and now that he was suffering, I felt sick.
Lumley was waiting for me.
“How much can you get me by Friday?” I asked.
“I’d say five hundred, perhaps six hundred thousand dollars.”
