"Funny, the police said the same thing... about the cash, I mean."
"Well they're right... for a change. Things are dangerous enough around here without drawing unnecessary attention to yourself."
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I hadn't slept well, but the brief time I had spent in a horizontal position had allowed my muscles to tighten, and I ached all over.
"So, I discovered," I said. "Oh well, it's over now. Besides, I didn't do such a bad job of taking care of myself."
"The way I heard it, someone showed up to help bail you out," Edvick pointed out bluntly, "and even then it was touch and go. Don't kid yourself about it being over, though. You'd just better hope your luck holds the next time."
Suddenly, my aching muscles were no longer the main claim to my attention.
"Next time?" I said, sitting up straight. "What next time?"
"I don't want to sound pessimistic," the cabbie shrugged, "but I figure it's a given. Those guys you messed up are going to be back on the street today, and will probably devote a certain amount of their time and energy trying to find you for a rematch."
"You think so?"
"Then again, even if I'm wrong, the word is out that you're carrying a good sized wad around with you. That's going to make you fair game for every cheap hoodlum looking to pick up some quick cash."
I hadn't stopped to consider, it, but what Edvick was saying made sense. All I needed to make my mission more difficult was to have to be watching my back constantly at the same time!
"I'm sorry, what was that again?" I said, trying to concentrate on what the driver was saying.
"Huh? Oh, I was just sayin' again that what you should really do is hire a bodyguard... same as I've been sayin' right along."
He had been saying that all along, and Kalvin had agreed with him. I had poo-pooed the idea originally, but now I was forced to reexamine my stance on the matter. "Nnnnno," I said, finally, talking to myself. "I can't do it."
"Why not?" Edvick chimed in, adding his two cents to the argument drawing to a close in my mind.
"Well, the most overpowering reason is that I can't afford one."
The cabbie snorted.
"You've got to be kidding me. With the money you've got?"
"It may seem like a lot, but nearly all of it is already committed to you and the hotel."
The cab swerved dangerously as Edvick turned in his seat to stare at me.
"You mean that's all the money you have? You're carrying your whole bankroll?"
As upset as I was, that thought made me laugh. "Not hardly," I said. "The trouble is that most of my money is back on Deva. I only brought some of it along for pocket expenses. Unfortunately I badly underestimated what the prices would be like here, so I have to keep an eye on my expenses."
"Oh, that's no problem," the cabbie retorted, turning his attention to the road again. "Just open a line of credit here."
"Do what?"
"Talk to a bank and borrow what you need against your assets. That's how I came up with the money for this cab... not to mention my other ventures. Sheese! If everybody tried to operate on a cash basis, it would ruin the dimension's economy!"
"I don't know," I hesitated. "Nobody on this dimension really knows me. Do you really think a bank would be willing to trust me with a loan?"
"There's only one way to find out," Edvick shrugged. "Tell you what... there's a branch of my bank not far from here. Why don't you pop in and talk to them. You might be surprised."
The bank itself was not particularly imposing; a medium sized storefront with a row of teller windows and a few scattered desks. Some doors in the back wall presumably led to offices and the vault, but they were painted assorted bright colors and in themselves did not appear particularly ominous. Still, I realized I felt no small degree of nervousness as I surveyed the interior. There were small clues here and there which bespoke a seriousness which belied the studied casualness of the decor. Little things, like the machines mounted high in the corners which constantly swept the room as if monitoring the movements of both tellers and customers. The tellers themselves were secure behind high panes of innocent-looking glass, doing business through an ingenious slot and drawer arrangement at each station. An observant person such as myself, however, could not help but notice that if the degree of distortion were any indication, the glass was much thicker than it might first appear. There were also armed guards scattered around the room draped with an array of weapons which did not look at all ceremonial or decorative. There was a great deal of money here, and an equally great effort was being made to be sure no one decided to simply help themselves to the surplus.
I had a hunch the kind of business I had in mind would not be handled over the counter by a teller, and, sure enough when I inquired, I was ushered immediately through one of the brightly painted doors into a private office.
The individual facing me across the desk rose and extended a hand in greeting as I entered. He was impeccably dressed in a business suit of what could only be called a conservative cut... particularly for a Pervect, and he oozed a sincere warmth that bordered on oily. Green scales and yellow eyes notwithstanding, he reminded me of Grimble, the Chancellor of the Exchequer I had feuded with back at Possiltum. I wondered briefly if this was common with professional money guardians, everywhere... maybe it was something in a ledger paper. If so, it boded ill for my dealing today... Grimble and I never really got along.
"Come in, come in," the individual purred. "Please, have a seat Mister... ?"
"Skeeve," I said, sinking into the indicated chair. "And it's just ‘Skeeve,' not Mr. Skeeve."
I had never been wild about the formality of "Mister" title, and after having it hissed at me by the police the night before, I was developing a positive aversion to it.
"Of course, of course," he nodded, reseating himself. "My name is Malcolm."
Perhaps it was his similarity to Grimble, but I was finding his habit of repeating himself to be a growing annoyance. I reminded myself that I was trying to court his favor and made an effort to shake the feeling off.
"... And how can we be of service to you today?"
"Well, Malcolm, I'm a businessman visiting here on Perv," I said, aware as I spoke that I was unconsciously falling into a formal speech pattern. "My expenses have been running a bit higher than I anticipated, and frankly my ready cash supply is lower than I find comfortable. Someone suggested that I might open a line of credit with your bank, so I stopped in to see if there was any possibility we might work something out."
"I see."
He ran his eyes over me, and much of the warmth went out of the room. I was suddenly acutely aware of how I was dressed.
After overdressing for my interview with the Butterfly, I had decided to stick with my normal, comfortable, informal appearance. I had anticipated that bankers would be more conservative than financiers, and that a bank would probably be equipped to detect disguise spells, so it would be wisest if I was as open and honest as possible. Courtesy of a crash course by Bunny, my administrative assistant, on how to dress, my wardrobe was nothing to be embarrassed about, but I probably didn't look like most of the businessmen Malcolm was used to dealing with. His visual assessment of me reminded me of the once-over I would get when encountering a policeman... only more so. I had a feeling the banker could tell me how much money I had in my pockets down to the loose change.