The lady on the card spoke to my daughter—
The thin man eyed her carefully now and said he was going to call the police. Marj said she wasn’t sure that was a good idea, because the agent — Agent Marone (she had finally gotten the brilliant idea of digging his card from her purse, which she handed over to the fastidious bureaucrat, who scrutinized it closely. What an ass he was!)—Agent Marone said they were quite near an arrest, and if the thin man were to call the police it might jeopardize the work done up till now. I am to be a critical eyewitness, and the ringleader, AKA Mr Weyerhauser, is supposed to be taken into custody at this very branch, Pico-Robertson, and that is an action he should be extremely wary of jeopardizing. The thin man told her the business card of the lady appeared to be “falsified.” He dialed the number of Agent Ruddy Marone and hung up, telling the old woman it had been disconnected. Marj asked him to try again, which he did, but it was still disconnected.
He said he was going to phone the police right away because of the “high numbers” involved, that he felt Marj and the bank may have been defrauded and it was probably a good idea for her to wait at his desk until certain matters could be further clarified. She looked pale and he waved at someone to bring a cup of water. He said she could go home if she wished, that she didn’t live so far away, according to their records—well, at least they had some records! — and he would call just as soon as he heard anything. The black brought the water and the parched old trembling woman raised it to her mouth. Marj shouted, “Of course you have been defrauded!” and mentioned that the lady from Wells had deposited a hundred thousand dollars back into her account, the amount covered by federal insurance, and why didn’t that show up on his stupid screen? She tearfully apologized for her outburst, then demanded to know why the accounts had been “zeroed out,” to use the teller’s term. The black trundled off, and instead of answering, the thin man merely confirmed all of Mrs Herlihy’s personal information, by rote — they even had her cellphone number on file — and Marjorie told him yes she would wait, but then he got called away, apparently to deal with a customer complaint, that’s all they seemed to have around here, and she heard the black start to laugh, and Marj thought, She’d better not be laughing about me. Because there is nothing funny about this or the way it is being handled. People can be sued for their behavior and that woman should know it, but the laughter was grating nonetheless, distant, over by the vault, she was having a mighty laugh with the Persian, Marj didn’t think it was at her expense anymore, probably just sharing a dumb joke, the 2 tittering away like the old woman’s problems had ceased to exist or were something that wouldn’t stop the world for one iota of a single second. Marj had the very same feeling when Hamilton was hooked up in the CCU and she heard nurses laughing somewhere while the life drained out of him. She grew lightheaded and decided to go home without even making the effort to announce her intentions.
SHE forgot where the Imperial was parked then had a violent attack of diarrhea. She found it, almost by chance.
There was a vending machine with free papers and she grabbed some to sit on so she wouldn’t stain the leather seat. On the way home she was almost struck by another car and winced at the imprecations of the driver as he reentered traffic.
She stripped off her soggy dress, put it in a Glad bag, and ran a hot bath. She got the notepad with the numbers on it and called Joan’s house, thinking it was her cell, but hung up before being connected. She rang again, got a message, then put down the receiver without leaving word. She thought of phoning Lucas — maybe everyone had been wrong about him and the Bonita gal, but who was everyone? — and wanted desperately to call Jeff Chandler and the woman from Wells too, kicking herself for having left their cards at the bank. How could she have left their cards with those bloodless people? Though maybe it was best to sit tight: the pair were possibly “scammers,” that was the word her daughter used, even though Marj couldn’t believe it. They had been so kind! They were real. She didn’t trust the thin man, the black, or their double-doored nonsense as far as she could throw them. She thought of calling Joan again…she wished Ham were there, her white knight, always so protective, like her father was, so polite and respectful yet intimidating, he would have known how to deal with these people, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone into the house in the 1st place, and now she wondered about that bureaucrat who said he was going to call the police — what police? Was it really her bank, or something that looked like her bank? It sure seemed different. She didn’t recognize anyone there either. (It was as if they were actors.) Hadn’t she been there just a few days ago? How would they have put those double doors in so quickly? That was a big job! Maybe she’d ask Cora about it, but Cora did her banking at Fremont, on Wilshire. Maybe Stein would know. Stein probably used a lot of banks. Yes, she would ask Cora to ask Stein if he’d noticed any renovations at Pico-Robertson. He might even have “information,” like businessmen sometimes do. Maybe he would know if this particular branch was notorious for defrauding the elderly.
She turned off the faucet.
It simply couldn’t be true that she had no money in her accounts! The agent and the Wells lady made her write a series of checks because they said it was absolutely necessary, in order to catch AKA Mr Weyerhauser in the act, that was the way the Bureau did it so the charges would stick. The Bureau insisted it be done like that or else the gang would “strike again.” Besides, there was always the chance it was an inside job and they said that if the money was in their hands, there would be no question of its being safe. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there. So she wrote out the checks and they gave her receipts and told her what time to go to the bank because they would need her to identify AKA Mr Weyerhauser — they always called him that, AKA Mr Weyerhauser — they said exactly when to come because she was “critical” to the arrest, the eyewitness who would seal the ringleader’s fate. They needed her to ensure this would never happen again.
(She remembered the agent had said, “You are my hero.”)
Marj climbed in the tub, along with her soiled slip and underwear. That was dumb, she thought, she should have washed herself 1st, but what was done was done. They floated around her like flotsam from the Titanic. She soaped up her itchy behind. The phone rang and she leapt from the bath, and barely caught herself from falling, thinking it was someone from the bank. Trudy, from the Travel Gals, was on the line. She’d put together a wonderful “mother-daughter package” at a phenomenal rate — a 2 week trip that took in Bombay, Delhi, and Agra. Marj stood there sopping and shivering and said that she couldn’t talk just now. She was on her way back to the tub when the phone rang again.
“Mother?”
“Who — Joan?”
“Mommy, it’s me! I was in an accident!”
“Joan! Where — where are you? My God—”
“I — it was my fault. Oh God, Mother! The woman — she’s hurt! I’m going to miss my plane. I’m going to lose the job! I’m going to lose the entire fucking job and all the work I’ve done!”