Page 24 - Extraterrestrials, Foreign and Domestic
P. 24

The Hermits

          “That’s the  gist of my  proposition.  And once we come to an
        agreement, my safety will be totally in your hands. I won’t be able
        to stop you from running out of here and calling the law or a lynch
        mob down upon my head. So you must understand that it’s much
        more worthwhile to keep me alive and in your debt. If I were to
        disappear, all the prosperity would go with me.”
          “What prosperity? This ain’t the home of a rich man.”
          “Yes, Al, I know it. And it never will look like one, because you
        must  never  draw  attention  to  us.  But  where  it  counts,  in  liquid
        assets, you will be quite comfortable, if not wealthy.”
          “Prove it.”
          “Gladly. How much is in your savings account?”
          “How the hell do I know? About $350, I guess. I’m not going to
        go searching through old statements just to tell you.”
          Ricky pointed at the telephone. “Call and find out.”
          “Eh? What do you mean, call? Call what?”
          “You  don’t  know  about  the  24-hour,  toll-free  number  your
        bank makes available to its clients?”
          “Nah. What use would I have for that?”
          “Go on. Punch 1-800-BANKING and follow instructions. It’s
        all automated.”
          Al,  hands  trembling,  called  the  number.  A  metallic  voice
        instructed  him  to  enter  his  account  number  and  his  password.
        Ricky prompted him with both strings of digits. “Now it wants me
        to choose some kind of transaction,” he said nervously.
          “Just punch number two for current balance,” purred Ricky.
          Al  did  so,  and  waited,  drumming  his  fingers  on  the  chipped
        Formica table-top.  “$342.78,” he finally announced, and put the
        handset  back  on  the  hook.  “That’s  about  what  I  figured.  So
        what?”
          Ricky said nothing, but picked up the phone and held it over his
        cranial members. He brought the pointiest of his jointed limbs up
        to  the  telephone  keypad  and  started  tapping.  He  tapped  and
        waited, tapped and waited; the old man fidgeted.
          At last, the alien hung up. “Try it again.”
          Al  repeated  the  sequence  of  numbers,  assisted  by  Ricky.
        “What!”  he  shouted,  when  his  balance  was  recited.  “Must  be  a
        mistake!”

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