Bitter Truth

BITTER TRUTH/37
“Cash.”
“Are hundreds satisfactory?”
“Perfectly.”
“One moment, please,” and then with my license and credit
card and check he stood and turned and walked out of the room
to somewhere in the rear of the building.
“Your Miss Shaw seems to be known in this bank,” said Beth.
“Yes, either she has a substantial account or she is a known
forger and the police will be out presently.”
“Which do you expect?”
“Oh the police,” I said. “I have found it is always safest to
expect the worst. Anything else is mere accident.”
It took a good long time, far too long a time. I waited, first
patiently, then impatiently, and then angrily. I was about to
stand and make another scene when Jeffries finally returned.
Behind him came another man, about my age, handsome enough
and tall enough and blond enough so that he seemed as much
a part of the bank as the paneling on the walls and the portraits
in their gilded frames. I wondered to which eating club at Princeton
he had belonged.
As Jeffries sat back down at the desk and fiddled with the
paperwork, the blond man stood behind him looking over his
shoulder. Jeffries took out an envelope and extracted a thick
wad of bills, hundred-dollar bills. Slowly he began to count.
“I didn’t know cashing a check was such a production,” I said.
The blond man lifted his head and smiled at me. It was a
warm, generous smile and completely ungenuine. “We’ll have
this for you in just a moment, Mr. Carl,” he said. “By the way,
what kind of business are you in?”
“This and that,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“Our loan department is always on the lookout for clients.
We handle the accounts for many lawyers. I was