or if you're a bank robber who's pretending to be Mr. Bernswallow to trick me? What if I turn on a light and you shoot me with your rifle?"
Brandon recognized the voice now, but perversely decided to see how far he could push the security guard, who had cotton for brains and not enough of that to make a tampon for a mouse. "Yeah, you'd feel pretty dumb if I shot you between the eyes, which is where I always shoot squirrels and rabbits and rats out at the town dump. Ka-boom!"
"Uh, how about we both put down our weapons?"
"Sounds like a good idea to me -- but wait a minute. If I'm a bank robber lying about being this Bernswallow guy, how can you be sure I won't lie when I say I put my rifle down?"
There was a long silence while the security guard chewed on that one. "Well," he said at last, "mebbe after you say you put your rifle down, you also say 'Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye'?"
"Yeah, that ought to do it." Smirking so hard it almost hurt, Brandon quickly recited that which was requested of him, even kicking the metal wastebasket for sound effects. Then he said, "Turn on the light, Kevin, presuming you know how the switch works. Unlike yourself, I've got more important things to do than to stand around in the dark."
Kevin turned on the light with a hand trembling worse than a palsied widow woman. His eyes were round, and his mouth was dangling open. "Gee, Mr. Bernswallow, I didn't know it was you or I wouldn't have acted like I was a-goin' to shoot you like you was a bank robber. I'm real sorry."
"You sure are." Brandon brushed past him and went into the dark front room. Through a side window he glowered at the damn bitches out in the lot, then closed the blinds and ordered Kevin Buchanon to go away.
"But I'm supposed to guard the bank, Mr. Bernswallow. You know that, don't you? After all, when you hired me to clean the toilets and mop the floors, you said I was supposed to hang around the rest of the night in case some bank robber showed up and broke down the door to steal -- "
"Go away, damn it. I have an important piece of business to conduct, and I don't want you slobbering over my shoulder when I do it."
"I wasn't going to slobber over your shoulder, Mr. Bernswallow. I was going to sit on a folding metal chair by the back door the way I always do. It's so hard on my buttocks that I can't fall asleep, even if I wanted to."
"Just get your buttocks out of here," Brandon said through clenched teeth. "You can come back in an hour and sit on your damn folding chair until your buttocks atrophy, for all I care." Kevin smiled, exposing uneven teeth and a hunk of spinach from supper (which had been consumed at the truck stop outside of Starley City, 'cause his pa sure as hell wasn't going to fix it). "Speaking of trophies, I was admiring that big one you got in your office. You know the one, don't you? It's the gold cup what has handles on either side and that real nice plaque on it. How'd you win it, Mr. Bernswallow?"
"It's a loving cup from my fraternity brothers. That's all I'm going to say about it. If you value your job, and perhaps your life, you will take your ass elsewhere for the next hour."
Brandon waited until Kevin stumbled to the back door, then went into his office and sat down behind his desk. The trophy Kevin admired was indeed a large one, worthy of anyone's admiration. Brandon had told his parents it was for fraternity spirit, which was a hoot, since he'd been known to drink spirits from it. If his parents had learned the truth, they'd have dragged him to the damn doctor's office to be tested for every known sexually transmitted disease in the western hemisphere.
Snickering under his breath, Brandon took out the page he'd worked on earlier and lovingly studied his calculations. A lump sum, payable immediately, or a monthly payment, amortized at eleven and a half percent, adjustments to be made semiannually on the basis of the consumer price index.
It was the funniest damn
Brandon recognized the voice now, but perversely decided to see how far he could push the security guard, who had cotton for brains and not enough of that to make a tampon for a mouse. "Yeah, you'd feel pretty dumb if I shot you between the eyes, which is where I always shoot squirrels and rabbits and rats out at the town dump. Ka-boom!"
"Uh, how about we both put down our weapons?"
"Sounds like a good idea to me -- but wait a minute. If I'm a bank robber lying about being this Bernswallow guy, how can you be sure I won't lie when I say I put my rifle down?"
There was a long silence while the security guard chewed on that one. "Well," he said at last, "mebbe after you say you put your rifle down, you also say 'Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye'?"
"Yeah, that ought to do it." Smirking so hard it almost hurt, Brandon quickly recited that which was requested of him, even kicking the metal wastebasket for sound effects. Then he said, "Turn on the light, Kevin, presuming you know how the switch works. Unlike yourself, I've got more important things to do than to stand around in the dark."
Kevin turned on the light with a hand trembling worse than a palsied widow woman. His eyes were round, and his mouth was dangling open. "Gee, Mr. Bernswallow, I didn't know it was you or I wouldn't have acted like I was a-goin' to shoot you like you was a bank robber. I'm real sorry."
"You sure are." Brandon brushed past him and went into the dark front room. Through a side window he glowered at the damn bitches out in the lot, then closed the blinds and ordered Kevin Buchanon to go away.
"But I'm supposed to guard the bank, Mr. Bernswallow. You know that, don't you? After all, when you hired me to clean the toilets and mop the floors, you said I was supposed to hang around the rest of the night in case some bank robber showed up and broke down the door to steal -- "
"Go away, damn it. I have an important piece of business to conduct, and I don't want you slobbering over my shoulder when I do it."
"I wasn't going to slobber over your shoulder, Mr. Bernswallow. I was going to sit on a folding metal chair by the back door the way I always do. It's so hard on my buttocks that I can't fall asleep, even if I wanted to."
"Just get your buttocks out of here," Brandon said through clenched teeth. "You can come back in an hour and sit on your damn folding chair until your buttocks atrophy, for all I care." Kevin smiled, exposing uneven teeth and a hunk of spinach from supper (which had been consumed at the truck stop outside of Starley City, 'cause his pa sure as hell wasn't going to fix it). "Speaking of trophies, I was admiring that big one you got in your office. You know the one, don't you? It's the gold cup what has handles on either side and that real nice plaque on it. How'd you win it, Mr. Bernswallow?"
"It's a loving cup from my fraternity brothers. That's all I'm going to say about it. If you value your job, and perhaps your life, you will take your ass elsewhere for the next hour."
Brandon waited until Kevin stumbled to the back door, then went into his office and sat down behind his desk. The trophy Kevin admired was indeed a large one, worthy of anyone's admiration. Brandon had told his parents it was for fraternity spirit, which was a hoot, since he'd been known to drink spirits from it. If his parents had learned the truth, they'd have dragged him to the damn doctor's office to be tested for every known sexually transmitted disease in the western hemisphere.
Snickering under his breath, Brandon took out the page he'd worked on earlier and lovingly studied his calculations. A lump sum, payable immediately, or a monthly payment, amortized at eleven and a half percent, adjustments to be made semiannually on the basis of the consumer price index.
It was the funniest damn
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