"I will be pleased to wring the neck of this parasite."
"Parasite, Chiun?" said Remo.
"Banks are inventions of the Italians, who as a race can only make their way in the world by levying illegal taxes upon others. Remind me to tell you about this sometime, Remo."
"Pass," said Remo.
"Spurner of wisdom."
Remo addressed Smith. "Okay, Smitty. We're in business again. We'll catch you later."
The light went out. And Harold Smith thought for a dark moment that he would have his freedom again. But a finger-he had no idea whose-tapped him on the exact center of his forehead, and his body froze in an excruciatingly awkward posture.
Hours later he still lay awake, his right arm going to sleep, cursing the darkness.
But at least he now had hope.
Chapter 11
Jeremy Lippincott's silver Bentley circled the bank bearing his name three times before he received the high sign signifying that it was safe for the president of the Lippincott Savings Bank to enter.
"My usual spot, Wigglesworth," Jeremy said tartly.
"Yes, Mr. Lippincott."
The Bentley purred into the space, and Jeremy waited for the door to be opened by his brown-liveried chauffeur before alighting.
He noticed a slightly loose button on Wigglesworth's tunic. It dangled from two threads.
"Have you no personal pride?" Jeremy Lippincott, scion of the Lippincott family wealth, complained in his clipped lockjaw accents. "That button is dangling."
Wigglesworth looked down. His thin face went ashen. "I had no idea, Mr. Lippincott," he gulped, clapping the button close to his barrel chest.
"I believe you know the inviolate rule about faultless attire."
Wigglesworth puckered up his face in perplexity. "I don't believe I do, sir."
"Faultless attire earns one's salary. Attire at fault results in the docking of a day's salary for the day the sartorial lapse was committed, and for every day thereafter if it is not satisfactorily corrected."
"But Mr. Lippincott-"
"Stop sputtering, you latter-day hackney driver, and beat my usual path to the door."
Wigglesworth set his teeth and turned smartly on his booted heel, walking ahead of his master and opening the door for him.
"That will be all, Wigglesworth."
"Yes, Mr. Lippincott."
"Remain with the machine in case there is a sudden need for flight. But do not use the heater. In fact, why don't you stand at attention before the passenger door until instructed otherwise?"
"Might I point out that it is a tad nippy today?"
"If you catch your death, no doubt that loose button will make a fit epitaph," Jeremy drawled as he passed into the marble-and-brass bank lobby.
The Lippincott Savings Bank was the picture of an old-money bank. Oils hung high on the crackled and faded marble walls. The half-open bank vault had the look and feel of an old pocket watch magnified by the passing of years. The decor was so staid that even the red crushed-velvet guide ropes were gray.
All looked sound, Jeremy saw. Tellers were busy telling. The loan staff seemed underoccupied, but perhaps it was a seasonal quirk. No need to lay off anyone prematurely. Too difficult to break in new stock, and with the hiring quotas these days, there was no telling what color person one would be forced to employ. Better a slacker with some pedigree than some low Mediterranean type.
Rawlings, the manager, met him at his office door.
"What took you so long?" Jeremy hissed. "I had to circle the block three times."
"I expected you at ten-thirty, not eleven, Mr. Lippincott," Rawlings said apologetically.
"I lingered over my scones and tea," Jeremy said. "One must eat a hearty breakfast if one is to endure the travails of this trade."
"Yes, sir."
"Speaking of travails, have those rotters been about?"
"The IRS? No, sir."
"Are we rid of them, then?"
"I doubt it, Mr. Lippincott. They were not satisfied with my explanations."
"Then give them explanations they are satisfied with, you unmitigated dunderhead!"
"It is not as simple as that."
"Exactly how simple is it?"
"As I have tried explain to you, Mr. Lippincott, it is not simple at all. The bank is in violation of several strict laws governing wire transfers, including the Bank Secrecy Act and the Money Laundering Control Act. Not to mention IRS reporting requirements regarding the transfer funds in excess of ten thousand dollars from other banks. I'm afraid we've failed to exercise due diligence."
"And whose responsibilty is that?"
"For the hundreth time, sir, these funds simply appeared in our system overnight. I brought this to your attention at the time, and you said to ignore it. And so I did. Emphatically."
"You obeyed my instructions?"
"Yes, sir. Implicitly."
"And thereby called down the combined wrath of the Federal Banking Commission and the Infernal Revenue Service!" Jeremy thundered.
"Please, sir. Not in front of the staff."