SHREWED INVESTOR: By Sean Michael Smith
Sunday, May 23rd, 2010“Mr. Finkle,” the stiffly postured young man across the desk protested, “I assure you that this bank is completely safe.”
“Yeah, sure,” Joe said as he picked his dirty fingernails. “They all say that. You do know I run a huge website, right? I frequently transfer several thousand dollars a day. That’s every day.”
The banker steepled his fingers and grinned. Joe saw a flash of perfect white teeth. He grudgingly admitted the kid had looks. It was easy to see how he could win people over with his Tom Cruise smile. Between every well-timed pause in his butterscotch voice, Joe figured the bastard was trying to figure a way to tap into his potential account.
“In my five years with this company I’ve never witnessed a single bank robbery and we are FDIC-insured. I honestly don’t know how else to convince you that your money will be perfectly safe here.”
“I’d like to see the vault,” Joe said as he flipped through his tattered leather wallet - just quick enough that the banker got a glimpse of all the one-hundred-dollar bills tucked neatly inside.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. For security reasons, First National Trust doesn’t allow customers in the vault area.”
“Well.” Joe stood and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. “Then, I guess I’ll find another bank to take my deposits to.”
The banker flinched. His lower lip quivered. Joe could tell he was restraining the urge to reach out and physically grab him. “Surely you understand, Mr. Finkle,” he stammered. “What you’re asking me to do is a contradiction. We wouldn’t be a very secure bank if we just let everyone into our vaults.”
“Son, I would have never earned a dollar and a cent in this life if I just took everyone on their word.”
The banker forced a tight smile, whispering, “Okay. I’ll take you on a quick tour. But, if anyone asks, you’re with the security company and you’re doing maintenance, okay?”
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”
No one questioned them or, Joe carefully noted, even seemed to notice as they crept past the tellers into the vault. They stepped past the brink of the huge steel door and the kid yammered on about the different places where there were alarms, cameras, etc.
“Aren’t you going to close the door?” Joe said. “Anyone and their sister could just waltz right in behind us.”
“This vault is practically air-proof and sound-proof. It makes people a little nervous they may get locked in…” He stopped as he caught Joe’s scornful eye, “…which is why management always insists we close it behind us anyway.”
“I…” the banker clutched at his tie like it was a noose strangling him, “…just figured this would be a quick tour and wasn’t thinking.”
“Does that happen around here a lot?”
The kid quickly slammed the door shut. He winced as the giant metal tumblers clicked into position sealing them inside.
“No, it does not.”
Joe smiled. “Good.”
Once they were towards the back of the vault, well out of range of the cameras, Joe cut off the kid’s nervous explanation of how safe the vault was.
“You recognized me, right?” Joe said with a crooked grin.
The kid stumbled backwards. “What do you mean? Are you famous or something?”
“From the picture on my wife’s bedside table. That’s why the special treatment. That’s why you’re so eager to get my money in the bank you work for. I know you’ve been to my house more than once.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the kid whined.
Joe slowly withdrew a thin, black straight razor from his jacket pocket. “I think you do.”
“Okay… okay.” he pleaded. “It’s true, okay? I slept with your wife. What do you want from me? Blood?”
“Actually…” Joe flicked open the blade with a snap of his wrist. “I think that’s a good start.”
—
©2010 Sean Michael Smith
Sean Michael Smith has published stories with Flashes in the Dark, Dark Fire Fiction, Tales from the Moonlit Path, Necrotic Tissue, Microhorror and Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ Chillers. You can read more of his demented ramblings at http://smswrites.blogspot.com/
