“I hear you, Remar.”
“I hope you do. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“OK,” said the coldfooted plaintiff, worn out. (That’s why he was a good attorney.) But Chess knew he’d made the right decision. It was the only decision possible.
“Over and out.”
“One more thing,” said Chester. “What about taxes? Will they come out of the settlement?”
The voices and music at Remar’s grew louder.
“Not really — we’re not talking about much income lost here. As you know. There may be. But nothing substantial. That’s something I’ll have to get into.”
Before hanging up, the lawyer tried one more tack.
“Chess, if you need money, I told you. Let me advance you some. Just don’t be a fool.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Are you sure? Because the firm can help — it wouldn’t be the 1st time. But before we do, you’d have to make an agreement to go all the way with this. We are not a lending institution. We consider you to be an investment. A rock-solid one. We consider you an asset. And I just wish you’d start thinking of yourself that way. Stead o’ goin all hangdog on me. I’m lookin at you as a Wal-Mart superstore, and you’re over there thinking you’re a K-town mini-mart.”
“Thanks, Remar. Thanks. I’m cool.”
“I know that to be true.”
“And I’m sure this is how I want to go.”
There was a longish pause, then a sigh, almost of disgust.
“It’s just such an about-face, man. I mean, I thought we were on the same team. But now it’s like you’ve crossed over to the other side. You’ve crossed over!”
The last was followed by a deep, syrupy laugh, à la Al Green preaching gospel. His tone became jocular.
“Don’t go to the dark side, Chess! Come to the light, baby, come to the light!”
LXIV.Marjorie
SHE bought a lottery ticket at Riki’s then drove to Wells.
She had an appointment with Agent Marone and the lady. The lady called to remind her, and said she had spoken to Joanie. Marj already knew that, and thanked her.
When she got to the bank, there was a double door installed — something new. She came in from the street and it shut behind her but when she tried the 2nd door, it wouldn’t open. A disembodied voice boomed that Marj needed to hold up her purse. She was confused and the voice repeated its command. Once she held up the purse, they buzzed her in. Well, that was the silliest thing. Did they think she was going to rob the bank? “I’m not Ma Barker,” she muttered.
She found a chair by the closest desk and sat down to wait, as she’d been told. She was there almost 20 minutes but no one approached. The old woman began to think the arrest might have already happened, or that maybe she’d gotten the time wrong. It was beyond belief but she’d left her cellphone at home again. The muleheaded stupidity of it made her groan. She waited another 10 minutes before getting in line to check on her money. It was habit, a way to kill time.
The teller, some sort of Persian who Marj could barely see behind the thick, smudged security glass, told her the balance had been “zeroed out.”
“But what is the balance?” asked Marj.
The Persian said there was “none,” adding, “You have closed the account.”
There was a time delay because of an inferior sound system. The voice of the teller dipped in and out.
Marj reached in her bag and got the business card from the lady. She read the name to the teller, saying she wanted to speak with “Cynthia Mulcahy, Vice President, Customer Relations.” She slipped the card under the glass for the imbecile to examine. Marj said she had an important appointment with Miss Mulcahy and a gentleman from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Persian called someone over, a prim-looking African-American. The black began to speak but her voice was low and kept fritzing out as well. She studied the card and asked Marj which branch the lady she wished to see worked out of. This is the silliest thing! Can’t you read? This is not Ebonics, Miss! This is Wells Fargo, not McDonald’s. Just please read the card! The woman on the card is your boss!
The black told Marj to wait. Then the teller asked if she’d step aside but the old woman couldn’t hear and the request was repeated that she step out of line because there were customers waiting.
The black came out a few minutes later with a tall, thin man. (It was a relief to see people without that horrid glass barrier.) He asked Marj to sit at his desk. The black earnestly hovered a moment before she was called away. The thin man adjusted his glasses and told Marj that he was afraid there was no one by that name who worked at Wells Fargo Bank. She said she didn’t understand, the business card said the lady was Vice President of Pico-Robertson, she had even been to Marj’s home for coffee. The thin man kept staring at Miss Mulcahy’s card, with an ever-so-slight nod of the head. Then he got the old woman’s Social and punched it in his computer, calling up her accounts. Without looking at her, he asked Marj how long she had banked there, and she became furious because that was something they should know, they should know their business, she was a loyal longtime customer, she had just given him her Social Security number and he had her driver’s license sitting right there too, and anyway, he was punching everything in and she couldn’t understand why she had to be asked questions whose answers were probably staring him in the face from the screen. To show her impatience, Marj said, “Well, that’s moot.” (A remark she would have told Hamilton about when he got home from work — how during the day she’d had the gumption to tell some bureaucratic fool, “That’s moot.”) The thin man said their records showed she had closed out her money market and personal checking accounts that very morning. She said that was impossible, or if it was true, it surely had been done in the course of an investigation, because she was in the midst of helping the FBI — she was helping an agent, Agent — suddenly she became flustered, and couldn’t remember his name. The thin man told her she might be the victim of fraud and Marj got a little irate and said of course she was the victim of a fraud, she already knew that, and so did the bank, Miss Whatshername, and so did the FBI and Agent So-and-So. I cannot remember his name. The man who looks like Jeff Chandler. I was meeting both of them here.