"Yup."
"Maybe they're waiting for me outside?"
It was a silly thing to say but it gave me the excuse of looking. I
ducked my head out and saw that the dock was empty. There was a rush of
sewer-tainted air, and the hum of the city's subterranean conveyer belt.
"The idiots!" I exclaimed for the clerk's benefit. "There they are at
the next building."
I slammed the door and hopped onto the belt which was moving at about
five miles an hour. I jumped off at the next dock we came to, rode the
freight shaft up, then got off at the sixth floor.
Quickly I rolled down my sleeves, whipped out the jacket from under my
shirt, smoothed down my hair and was presentable again. I walked around
until I found the passenger shaft and descended to the ground level.
I was more angry than frightened. I a fugitive! A Top Competitor forced
to flee through the city sewers! What a rotten, unjust turn of events.
What next? I was outside now, on the pedestrian belt moving eastward
toward the lake. Obviously, whatever we did, wherever we went, money
would be necessary. The bank, then. I would draw out my entire account.
A second thought. No, not the entire amount; that might excite
suspicion, cause a spot check with the police. Half would be better--a
hundred and twenty-five thousand.
I entered the 1st National and went to a counter to write out a check.
A cautioning light suddenly flared in my brain. What if the authorities
had called the bank--frozen my assets?
There's only one safe way to find out, I thought. I wrote out a
small check to cash--fifty credits. Went to one of the many tellers,
handed it through the cage. I knew, of course, that my picture was
automatically taken as I did so.
The teller glanced curiously at the check, stamped it, and without
hesitation handed me a fifty credit note.
I was elated. The bank had not yet been notified. I returned to the
counter and wrote out a check in my own name to one hundred twenty-five
thousand credits.