"Good food?" asked Shadow.
"Not particularly," said Wednesday. "But the ambience is unmissable."
The ambience that Wednesday loved, it turned out, once lunch had been eaten-Shadow had the fried chicken, and enjoyed it-was the business that took up the rear of the shed: it was, the hanging flag across the center of the room announced, a Bankrupt and Liquidated Stock Clearance Depot.
Wednesday went out to the car and reappeared with a small suitcase, which he took into the men's room. Shadow figured he'd learn soon enough what Wednesday was up to, whether he wanted to or not, and so he prowled the liquidation aisles, staring at the things for sale: Boxes of coffee "for use in airline filters only," Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toys and Xena: Warrior Princess harem dolls, teddy bears that played patriotic tunes on the xylophone when plugged in, cans of processed meat, galoshes and sundry overshoes, marshmallows, Bill Clinton presidential wristwatches, artificial miniature Christmas trees, salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of animals, body parts, fruit, and nuns, and, Shadow's favorite, a "just add real carrot" snowman kit with plastic coal eyes, a corncob pipe, and a plastic hat.
Shadow thought about how one made the moon seem to come out of the sky and become a silver dollar, and what made a woman get out of her grave and walk across town to talk to you.
"Isn't it a wonderful place?" asked Wednesday when he came out of the men's room. His hands were still wet, and he was drying them off on a handkerchief. "They're out of paper towels in there," he said. He had changed his clothes. He was now wearing a dark blue jacket, with matching trousers, a blue knit tie, a thick blue sweater, a white shirt, and black shoes. He looked like a security guard, and Shadow said so.
"What can I possibly say to that, young man," said Wednesday, picking up a box of floating plastic aquarium fish ("They'll never fade-and you'll never have to feed them!!"), "other than to congratulate you on your perspicacity. How about Arthur Haddock? Arthur's a good name."
"Too mundane."
"Well, you'll think of something. There. Let us return to town. We should be in perfect time for our bank robbery, and then I shall have a little spending money."
"Most people," said Shadow, "would simply take it from the ATM."
"Which is, oddly enough, more or less exactly what I was planning to do."
Wednesday parked the car in the supermarket lot across the street from the bank. From the trunk of the car Wednesday brought out the metal case, a clipboard, and a pair of handcuffs. He handcuffed the case to his left wrist. The snow continued to fall. Then he put a peaked blue cap on, and Velcroed a patch to the breast pocket of his jacket. A1 SECURITY was written on the cap and the patch. He put the deposit slips on his clipboard. Then he slouched. He looked like a retired beat cop, and appeared somehow to have gained himself a paunch.
"Now," he said, "you do a little shopping in the food store, then hang out by the phone. If anyone asks, you're waiting for a call from your girlfriend, whose car has broken down."
"So why's she calling me there?"
"How the hell should you know?"
Wednesday put on a pair of faded pink earmuffs. He closed the trunk. Snowflakes settled on his dark blue cap, and on his earmuffs.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Ludicrous," said Shadow.
"Ludicrous?"
"Or goofy, maybe," said Shadow.
"Mm. Goofy and ludicrous. That's good." Wednesday smiled. The earmuffs made him appear, at the same time, reassuring, amusing, and, ultimately, lovable. He strode across the street and walked along the block to the bank building, while Shadow walked into the supermarket hall and watched.
Wednesday taped a large red out-of-order notice to the ATM. He put a red ribbon across the night deposit slot, and he taped a photocopied sign up above it. Shadow read it with amusement.
FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE, it Said, WE ARE WORKING TO MAKE ONGOING IMPROVEMENTS. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE TEMPORARY INCONVENIENCE.
Then Wednesday turned around and faced the street. He looked cold and put-upon. A young woman came over to use the ATM. Wednesday shook his head, explained that it was out of order. She cursed, apologized for cursing, and ran off.
A car drew up, and a man got out holding a small gray sack and a key. Shadow watched as Wednesday apologized to the man, then made him sign the clipboard, checked his deposit slip, painstakingly wrote him out a receipt and puzzled over which copy to keep, and, finally, opened his big black metal case and put the man's sack inside.
The man shivered in the snow, stamping his feet, waiting for the old security guard to be done with this administrative nonsense, so he could leave his takings and get out of the cold and be on his way, then he took his receipt and got back into his warm car and drove off.
Wednesday walked across the street carrying the metal case, and bought himself a coffee at the supermarket.
"Afternoon, young man," he said, with an avuncular chuckle, as he passed Shadow. "Cold enough for you?"
He walked back across the street and took gray sacks and envelopes from people coming to deposit their earnings or their takings on this Saturday afternoon, a fine old security man in his funny pink earmuffs.
Shadow bought some things to read-Turkey Hunting, People, and, because the cover picture of Bigfoot was so endearing, the Weekly World News-and stared out of the window.
"Anything I can do to help?" asked a middle-aged black man with a white mustache. He seemed to be the manager.
"Thanks, man, but no. I'm waiting for a phone call. My girlfriend's car broke down."
"Probably the battery," said the man. "People forget those things only last three, maybe four years. It's not like they cost a fortune."
"Tell me about it," said Shadow.
"Hang in there, big guy," said the manager, and he went back into the supermarket. The snow had turned the street scene into the interior of a snow globe, perfect in all its details.
Shadow watched, impressed. Unable to hear the conversations across the street, he felt it was like watching a fine silent movie performance, all pantomime and expression: the old security guard was gruff, earnest-a little bumbling perhaps, but enormously well-meaning. Everyone who gave him their money walked away a little happier from having met him.
And then the cops drew up outside the bank, and Shadow's heart sank. Wednesday tipped his cap to them, and ambled over to the police car. He said his hellos and shook hands through the open window, and nodded, then hunted through his pockets until he found a business card and a letter, and passed them through the window of the car. Then he sipped his coffee.
The telephone rang. Shadow picked up the handpiece and did his best to sound bored. "A1 Security Services," he said.
"Can I speak to A. Haddock?" asked the cop across the street.
"This is Andy Haddock speaking," said Shadow.
"Yeah, Mister Haddock, this is the police," said the cop in the car across the street. "You've got a man at the First Illinois Bank on the corner of Market and Second."
"Uh, yeah. That's right. Jimmy O'German. And what seems to be the problem, officer? Jim behaving himself? He's not been drinking?"
"No problem, sir. Your man is just fine, sir. Just wanted to make certain everything was in order."
"You tell Jim that if he's caught drinking again, officer, he's fired. You got that? Out of a job. Out on his ass. We have zero tolerance at A1 Security."
"I really don't think it's my place to tell him that, sir. He's doing a fine job. We're just concerned because something like this really ought to be done by two personnel. It's risky, having one unarmed guard dealing with such large amounts of money."
"Tell me about it. Or more to the point, you tell those cheapskates down at the First Illinois about it. These are my men I'm putting on the line, officer. Good men. Men like you." Shadow found himself warming to this identity. He could feel himself becoming Andy Haddock, chewed cheap cigar in his ashtray, a stack of paperwork to get to this Saturday afternoon, a home in Schaumburg and a mistress in a little apartment on Lake Shore Drive. "Y'know, you sound like a bright young man, officer, uh…"
"Myerson."
"Officer Myerson. You need a little weekend work, or you wind up leaving the force, any reason, you give us a call. We always need good men. You got my card?"
"Yes sir."
"You hang onto it," said Andy Haddock. "You call me."
The police car drove off, and Wednesday shuffled back through the snow to deal with the small line of people who were waiting to give him their money.
"She okay?" asked the manager, putting his head around the door. "Your girlfriend?"
"It was the battery," said Shadow. "Now I just got to wait."
"Women," said the manager. "I hope yours is worth waiting for."
Winter darkness descended, the afternoon slowly graying into night. Lights went on. More people gave Wednesday their money. Suddenly, as if at some signal Shadow could not see, Wednesday walked over to the wall, removed the out-of-order signs, and trudged across the slushy road, heading for the parking lot. Shadow waited a minute, then followed him.
Wednesday was sitting in the back of the car. He had opened the metal case, and was methodically laying everything he had been given out on the backseat in neat piles.
"Drive," he said. "We're heading for the First Illinois Bank over on State Street."
"Repeat performance?" asked Shadow. "Isn't that kind of pushing your luck?"
"Not at all," said Wednesday. "We're going to do a little banking."
While Shadow drove, Wednesday sat in the backseat and removed the bills from the deposit bags in handfuls, leaving the checks and the credit card slips, and taking the cash from some, although not all, of the envelopes. He dropped the cash back into the metal case. Shadow pulled up outside the bank, stopping the car about fifty yards down the road, well out of camera range. Wednesday got out of the car and pushed the envelopes through the night deposit slot. Then he opened the night safe, and dropped in the gray bags. He closed it again.
He climbed into the passenger seat. "You're heading for I-90," said Wednesday. "Follow the signs west for Madison."
Shadow began to drive.
Wednesday looked back at the bank they were leaving. "There, my boy," he said, cheerfully, "that will confuse everything. Now, to get the really big money, you need to do that at about four-thirty on a Sunday morning, when the clubs and the bars drop off their Saturday night's takings. Hit the right bank, the right guy making the drop-off-they tend to pick them big and honest, and sometimes have a couple of bouncers accompany them, but they aren't necessarily smart-and you can walk away with a quarter of a million dollars for an evening's work."
"If it's that easy," said Shadow, "how come everybody doesn't do it?"
"It's not an entirely risk-free occupation," said Wednesday, "especially not at four-thirty in the morning."
"You mean the cops are more suspicious at four-thirty in the morning?"