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Welcome to my neurosis.
Please check your sanity at the door.
FIC: Explosive, Part 29/43 
9th-Jun-2008 09:26 pm
Pretty boys

Link to [Part 1]  [Part 2]  [Part 3]  [Part 4]  [Part 5]  [Part 6]  [Part 7]  [Part 8]  [Part 9]  [Part 10]  [Part 11]  [Part 12]  [Part 13]  [Part 14]  [Part 15]  [Part 16]  [Part 17]  [Part 18]  [Part 19]  [Part 20]  [Part 21]  [Part 22]  [Part 23]  [Part 24]  [Part 25]  [Part 26]  [Part 27]  [Part 28]


Cutter was ready to jump over the counter and strangle the teller—the one who had now told him nine variations of “You need a photo ID.”

He had a photo ID.  Thanks to McCoy.

“Look at the damn picture,” he growled, and coughed.

“I told you, sir, I don’t think we take this particular form of identification.”

He ground his teeth and thought of what McCoy had jokingly suggested.  “Do I have to subpoena my own safe deposit box?  I can, you know.  But if it goes that far, I can guarantee that I will be taking my business—and my money—to another institution.”

That was the magic phrase—a man older than the one he was facing materialized at the teller’s elbow.  “Ryan?  Is there a problem here?”

“He’s insisting that I need a driver’s license in order to get to my birth certificate—which I need in order to replace my driver’s license,” Cutter interrupted darkly, his fingernails digging into the file folder containing the law license he’d grabbed from his office as an afterthought.  “What I have is my ID from the DA’s office.”

The older man gave Cutter a candid look.  “You’re the DA who was in the news because your apartment burned down, aren’t you?”

Cutter nodded, irritated.  He’d told that to ‘Ryan.’

The older man looked at the ID that was still sitting on the counter.  “I’m sorry for the mix-up, Mr. Cutter,” he said, and he sounded sincere.  “If you’ll come with me, we’ll get this straightened out.”

Cutter gave ‘Ryan’ another dark look before following the older man down the counter and along a hallway to a private office.  The desk had a nameplate that read ‘Alan Turner.’

“Now, Mr. Cutter,” the man, Turner, began as he settled behind the desk.  “I imagine you’ll need a new debit card…?”

Cutter took the chair closest to the door and shook his head.  “I took care of that this morning.  Online.”

“All right … some funds to see you through until it arrives, then?”

Cutter shrugged.  “As long as I’m here, why not.”

Turner turned toward the computer on the corner of his desk.  “How much would you like to withdraw?”

Cutter sighed and considered that—in a normal week, he might go through $150, but this was not a normal week.  On the other hand, he didn’t like carrying large amounts of cash.  For obvious reasons.  “I don’t have my account number,” he pointed out, stalling.

“I do,” Turner replied, indicating the computer.

“So, you believe I am who I say I am?”

Turner half-smiled.  “Thieves are generally more prepared when they come in.  Besides, I have a nephew who just started at the DA’s office.  I recognize the ID.  How much would you like to withdraw?”

“Say … $400?”

“$400 it is,” Turner replied crisply, typing into the computer.  Cutter watched, bemused, as Turner unlocked a drawer and produced a stack of $20 bills, efficiently counting off 20 bills.  He set a business card on top of the stack before handing it over to Cutter.  “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call be personally,” he said.  “Now, let’s go get that safe deposit box.”

Cutter folded the bills around the card and stuffed the whole bundle into his pocket before following Turner out of the office.


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Link to [Part 30]
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