Гарри Тертлдав: The Enchanter Completed

"I'm used to these sudden trips out of town and Denise—my wife—has learned to live with them. I always keep a small carry-on suitcase packed and ready. The next morning, I took the early shuttle to LaGuardia, where the Luchorpán bank manager met me. Conn MacNai was a short fellow with flaming red hair—the sort of red you really only see in cartoon Irish. I thought him rather young at first to be in such a position. His skin was very fine and there was not a trace of gray in his hair—not something I can say of myself any more, I'm afraid. Yet when I looked closer I received the impression that he was much older than he seemed. His eyes, I think. They had a cast to them that only age can give.

"Mr. MacNai had reserved a room for me at the Holiday Inn and he took me there first, so I could drop off my valise. He drove a compact car, an Escort I think, and it was no fun for me to fold myself into it. Fortunately, the bank was not too far from the hotel and the trip was a short one.

"When we pulled into the lot, I noticed several children clustered around the ATM, but when they saw us, they ran. I noticed some graffiti on the machine and asked MacNai if he ever had trouble with the local gangs, but he said no."

Mr. Cohan nodded. "I know the neighborhood."

"Well, MacNai showed me around the place. It was quite small and tidy, if you know what I mean. A teller line. One or two desks for loan officers. A room for confidential meetings. What surprised me was the vault for the safe deposit boxes, which was quite extensive—larger, I thought, than the size of the bank warranted. I said so to MacNai, but he told me that many of their depositors, being from the old country, like to keep their valuables in a secure place." Newbury lifted his club soda and sipped from it thoughtfully.

"There was one odd detail," he said when he set it down again. "The builder had managed some trick with the windows. They were leaded in some queer way and, though you wouldn't know it to look at them, they acted like prisms, so that the light inside the bank was split into colors as if by stained glass.

"While I was studying the windows trying to see how it was done—I used to work summers for a contractor when I was young—I saw a young boy walk up to the ATM, which was just outside and, when he tried his card and had apparently gotten nothing back, he spat on the cash slot."

"I've felt like doing that myself sometimes," Gross said.

"It's the human touch," Witherwax announced from the table. "That's what's missing in this day and age. When the machines misfunction, there's no one about to speak to."

"The young man," said Newbury, "turned as if he were going to stalk into the bank and make an issue of it, but he saw me looking and gave me such a glare of hatred and suspicion that it quite startled me and I took a step back. Because of that trick with the leaded glass, it seemed to me as if his eyes were as red as his hair.

"MacNai was standing there with me, explaining some arrangement with messenger tubes for drive-up banking, but when he saw what had happened, he took me by the elbow and led me away from the window. For the next minute or so, I kept craning my neck to see if the young hoodlum would come into the bank, for it seemed as if he had taken an instant dislike to me. But he never showed, so I thought I had been mistaken."

Witherwax shook his head. "What's the world coming to?" he asked. "These kids today, they don't show any respect. Mr. Co han , another boilermaker, if you please."

"It's not something you should normally worry about," the bartender assured the banker as he handled the bottles and jigger glass without looking. "Those punkas like to act tough, but it's mostly front. They won't do nothing to you when they think they'll be seen."

"At the time," Newbury said, "what bothered me was that the bank seemed awfully small for the assets they were claiming in their filings. So I asked to see their books. It wouldn't be unheard of for a small operation to pad their accounts so they'd be bought up at an inflated price. MacNai became very defensive, and that made me more suspicious. However, he must have wanted the capital we represented because he gave in eventually.

"He set me up in that private room and brought the books, which were old-fashioned bound ledgers, believe it or not. One of the reasons they were looking for capital was to modernize their systems. If he had just left me there with the books, I might only have given them a cursory look. The more detailed examination would come later— if I recommended we go ahead. But MacNai stood there beside me, fidgeting. Now, even the most honest man can grow nervous at such an examination—"

"It's all those laws," young Keating explained to his companions. "There are so many, you can't get through the day without stepping on one."

"—but I've learned to recognize when it goes beyond mere nervousness. MacNai was hiding something. So, I checked things a little more closely than I otherwise might have."

"And what was it you found?" Mr. Cohan asked. "For I take it you must have found something."

"There were an unusual number of small, unsecured loans, often to the same individuals. Now, that is just the sort of thing a microlender ought to be doing, except that these were consumer loans, pure and simple, not seed money for small businesses."

Mr. Cohan scratched his chin. "There ought to have been a shoe store or two in there."

Newbury waved a hand. "Oh, a few loans of that sort, but only a few. When I pointed out the excessive number of personal loans to MacNai, he hemmed and hawed and finally claimed that the loans were secured by jewels, coin, and other valuables those individuals had entrusted to the safe deposit boxes.

"'It's a new thing, we're after trying, Mr. Newbury,' he said to me. When I replied that microlending was hardly new, he said, 'It took a great deal of time and effort to convince my people to entrust their valuables to this institution. They are quite jealous and suspicious about their fortunes.'

"'Fortunes?' I asked, wondering if the safe deposit vault were as large as it was for some reason.

"MacNai seemed to flush ruddier than he was. 'Tis a manner of speaking in the old country.'

"I wasn't about to take MacNai's word for the contents of his vault. I know it was a matter for the auditors, but he had made me suspicious and I decided to press the issue. He had no legal obligation to show me their contents, but Harrison Trust was under no legal obligation to supply him with capital, either. Finally, he said he would consult with one or two of his depositors and see if he could get their permission to open their boxes for me.

"I had to leave it at that, as it was getting late. MacNai drove me back to the hotel and recommended a restaurant within walking distance—an Irish restaurant, of course. The food was quite good and a pint or two of stout ale added to this spare tire I've put around my waist. I was feeling pretty good when I made my way back to the hotel and had just about decided that there was nothing more to MacNai and his little bank than earnest amateurism and a rowdy neighborhood, but there in the lobby was that tough I had seen spitting at the ATM outside the bank.

"Seen up close, his eyes were gray, not red, and had that same indefinable look of age that MacNai had had. He might have been fifteen or he might have been fifty. I confess I took a step backward on seeing him, but he only smiled and offered me a drink from a flask he carried."

"You didn't drink from it, did you?" Mr. Cohan asked with sudden concern. "No, I can see that you did not, and a good thing, too."

"I should think so," said Newbury. "Who knew what germs it carried?"

"Go on," said Gross. "What did he say to you?"