Chapter 37- Withdrawl

"Well, here goes nothing!" I said as I took a deep breath and opened the door of the bank. Tracy walked in quietly behind me, head down so as not to draw attention.

The bank was cool and clean compared to the dusty street and warm sunshine outside its doors. It was quiet like a library, and all around we're men and women in professional attire, typing quietly on their computers or paper clipping various documents together before placing them in a nearby basket. I approached the teller who looked up and gave me a short smile. "I'd like to make a withdrawal" I said, handing her my ID. She smiled and looked at the ID then back at me to make sure the faces matched. "Thanks for doing that" I said casually. She looked confused until I explained. "A lot of people don't bother making sure the ID matches the person, so almost anyone could use someone else's identity these days. I just really appreciate it when people take the time to actually check." She smiled pleasantly and asked "How much can I get for you today?" I lowered my voice and said "All of it please." She blinked and looked back at her screen, then back at me with a quizzical look. "All of it? Are you closing your account today sir?" I shook my head. "No, but I want to make a deposit on a new car, so I need all of it." She politely started explaining all the benefits of a cashier's check, the safety and security against loss or theft, and that all those wonderful features could be mine for just a small fee. I thanked her for the information and repeated my request for cash. She swallowed and said "Just a minute please." As she walked away I heard the click clack of her high heels on the marble floor, and thought she looked like a librarian with her grey wool pencil skirt and black cardigan pulled over a serious looking shirt with ruffled collar.  She stepped out of sight into an office toward the back of the bank, and then stepped back out again, pointing towards me.  An older man lowered his spectacles and stared in my direction over them.  He looked soft and pouty, with his nose lifted in the air as though the money I was asking for was out of his own pocket.  I smiled and waved cheerfully, rocking back and forth on my shoes.  I looked down at my jeans and saw the mud and blood.  I wonder if they would ask about our appearance.  We clearly looked like we'd been up to some mischief, and asking for such a large sum of money, in cash no less, could potentially be suspect.  I cooked up a story in my mind quickly.

The pouty bank manager walked over to me, surveying me closely as he approached.  I gave him my biggest, warmest grin.  He did not return it, but looked even more annoyed at my apparent lack of propriety.  "Can I help you sir?" He asked quietly yet with a distinctive air of snobbery.  He stared at me expectantly.  "Yes, that would be wonderful." I said in my most salesman like tone.  "We've just come from that forest fire where we've been volunteering in the rescue and evacuation effort." Tracy looked at me in shock for a moment then bit her lip and waited.  "I found my current vehicle to be somewhat lacking in its ability to traverse the terrain there, and require an upgraded mode of transportation."  I gave him a look as though he was the only one would could truly understand my plight.  "So many of those other people don't appreciate the value of a good safari vehicle, but men like us cannot afford to drive around in such dirt and mud in a common sedan, can we?" At this comment the Bank Manager straightened up a bit and nodded in agreement.  "So I thought I'd grab a small sum and pick up a suitable replacement.  I would assume you have a contact at a nearby dealership that you could call and have them ready something appropriate?  A man of your stature always has such good connections." The Bank Manager was practically glowing by now, so involved in the tale I wove that he didn't even notice how Tracy could hardly stop from bursting out in laughter.  "As a matter of fact I do know one man who would be perfect for such an adventure." He said in an almost british accent.  "He's helped many of my best customers in their philanthropic endeavors."  He was practically bursting with pride.  "Let me make a call for you." He turned quickly toward his office and motioned toward the teller, giving a little snap.  She immediately jumped to action and began filling a cash counting machine with $100 bills.  The soft whirring of the machine spat out the money quickly and she wrapped them in bright bundles and tucked them into a manila envelope.

I walked out of the bank with a fat envelope full of cash under may arm and a piece of paper with the name "Harold" and an address on it.  I looked over at Tracy, who could barely contain herself.  "Wow." She said, stifling a laugh.  "Someone's got a little vein of snootiness in him." I pointed my nose into the air and took a few high steps "I haven't a clue as to what you might be insinuating" I said in my snobbiest english accent.  She smiled and tucked her arm in mine.  "So, where to now?" she asked.  "I think we need to pay old Harold a visit."

Harold apparently was a pretty important guy at a local car dealership.  When I asked for him the attendant ran off very quickly, returning almost apologetically a few moments later.  "He'll be right here.  I am very sorry you have to wait." A few moments later a very tall man came walking around the corner.  He wore a camel colored suit and his head was shiny as though he never had hair or it was shaved hourly.  His shirt was a pattern reminiscent of the 70's, and his collar was open to reveal a large tuft of thick black hair.  He wore sunglasses with a yellow tint, and his thick black mustache curved over his mouth, hiding it until his broad smile showed rows and rows of bright white teeth.  "He said you'd come." He said in a cheerful high pitched tone.  I was surprised by his falsetto voice.  I expected a man who was clearly over 6'5" to speak an octave lower than I did.  "I need something versatile." I said cooly.  "And off the books." I lowered my own voice, looking him in the eyes with a penetrating stare.  I could tell I was fulfilling some boyhood dream to be part of a spy story or mystery thriller, because his eyes lit up with joy.  "I have the perfect match." He said in a whisper.  "You come." He gestured for us to follow and we walked through the thick semi-trasnparent curtains to what appeared to be a metal shop.  Chains hung from the ceiling and racks of sheet metal sat on thick shelves.  The floor was a cold concrete, stained with years of oil leaks and engine repairs.  A man in a welding mask was working on an old truck, sparks bouncing off his helmet and falling softly onto the floor.  He paused, flipping his mask up to look at us, his face scarred on one side and twisted into a horrible grimace.  He stared at us emotionless, watching to see who we were and what we would do.  Tracy edged closer to me and gripped my forearm, not taking her eyes off his face.  Harold beckoned us past the old truck and through another door which was so low he had to duck through it.

We stepped into a room with only a single window.  The small shaft of light reminded me of the room in my mothers basement where she kept her jars of peach preserves.  The walls were thick cinderblock, and to the left a garage door covered in rust marked the only other entrance or exit.  In the middle of the small room was a large object covered in a tarp.  Harold grabbed one edge of the cloth and pulled, showering the room in dust and debris.  He held out his hands as if to say "ta-da" and as the dust cleared we saw a midnight black jeep.  It was lifted, with large beefy tires and thick steel bumpers.  On the side we saw a bright red sticker with a biohazard symbol.  Around the outside edge were the words "Zombie Outbreak Response Team." I looked at Tracy and she looked back at me.  Harold's cheesy tone became more serious.  "With this you may save us all, no?"  I started to protest, but he put his finger to his lips, shaking his head.  He pointed behind us.  We turned to find the scarred welder from the previous room standing there silently, his disfigured face still void of emotion.  In his massive hands he held two bundles- thick coveralls, boots, and modified welding helmets with the glass removed.  The biohazard symbol was etched into each helmet roughly, and there was the faintest trace of red on the edges.  Paint or blood?  I decided not to ask.  We took the bundles gratefully and he turned to leave before we could say anything.  Harold placed the keys on top of the hemet in my arms and motioned toward the jeep.  I lifted my bundle and placed it in the back seat, pulling out my manila envelope.  Handing his a stack of cash from inside, he placed it quickly in his pocket, placed his hands together as though he were about to say a prayer and made a deep bow, stepping out of the room.  The door to our left began to open, the rusty hinges squealing in protest.  The sunlight filled the room and we quickly hopped into the jeep.  The powerful engine roared to life and I pulled out of the garage, feeling the wind in my hair.  I looked over at Tracy, who sat silently in her seat, staring at the road ahead.  "Did that just happen?" I asked over the sound of the wind.  Tracy looked at me without smiling.  "We have a job to do."