Chapter 5 (p.3)
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, and other teddy bears that played seasonal songs 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 you 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 and a clipboard, and a pair of handcuffs. He handcuffed the case to his left wrist. He attached the other end of the cuff to the metal case's handle. 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, loveable. 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 IMPROVEMENT'S. 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 moustache. 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 snowglobe, 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 hand piece 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, Mr. 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'Gorman. 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 really 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 on to it,” said Andy Haddock. “You call me.”
