humming noise, and came to a final verdict, or more correctly the computer came to a final verdict. She shook her head.
But Ozzie was not giving up easily His life depended on getting the overdraft, this being perfectly understandable since he had just lost his job, was living in a rented house with a pregnant wife, and his immigration status did not qualify him for unemployment benefit.
“For three years I have faithfully made this particular bank home to my salary, and if not for this unfortunate incident I wouldn’t need an overdraft,” he desperately pleaded his case; but the bank computer remained merciless.
Frank eventually had a chance to cash his check. He thought he should have just paid the check into his account, but another thought came to him to cash the check first.
In another part of the bank, a camera crew of four from BBC had been interviewing the bank supervisor, who was happily enjoying the show and describing how the bank security system worked. The camera crew from BBC was now leaving the bank. They were leaving with a box which looked full of money – and yes it was. The supervisor grinned at the camera, enjoying the show and explaining how the security system captured this sort of situation. Out went the camera crew into a van that had pulled up in front of the bank. The supervisor waved them away. The agreement appeared to have been for the van to drive around the block for five minutes or so and come back with the box of money, and then for the camera crew to see in the bank’s security office how the whole event had been faithfully recorded.
“Hey your bank has been robbed,” Frank told the supervisor who patiently paced the banking hall, waiting for the camera crew from BBC that failed to return.
“Of course not, they are from BBC,” he scolded – through a mind which was clogging up with fear.
“But you have been robbed, those blokes left with your money.”
“I know sir, but they will be back in a minute. They are doing a documentary on bank security for BBC”.
“I’ll be fucked if they come back,” Frank told him.
Now very sweaty the supervisor disappeared into his office. A couple of minutes later, two police squad cars wailed to a stop in front of the bank and three officers hasted toward the supervisor”s office.
“The bank has been robbed,” Frank told Mrs. Williams.
“Really? Praise the Lord, serve them right for a change”, Mrs. Williams was joyful. Struck with joy, the Australian loan-seeker, proudly stood from his chair in front of the personal banker and her evil computer; his face ecstatic.
“The bank has been robbed,” Ozzie joyfully muttered over and over as he left the bank. Finally outside he couldn’t contain his happiness anymore. He went leaping like he had experienced a profound miracle. And off he went, broadcasting the triumph of justice over greed straight into the path of a speeding Bus 242. And even as he breathed his last, a rapturous expression rested on his face.
“The fucking bank has been robbed,” he silently shouted.
“Who said that?” asked the supervisor who again returned to the banking hall this time in the company of the three unsmiling police.
“I did” Frank volunteered.
“Can you step this way for a minute please?” one of the policemen beckoned with his head. Frank found himself hustled into the supervisor’s office.
“How much do you know about this?” he was asked “Nothing more than I saw with my eyes while standing to cash my check,” Frank told them.
“You don’t know any of those men from BBC?”
“Of course not; any fool could have seen that heist coming” Frank chuckled.
The supervisor glared; he clearly didn’t like being called any fool. But in any case, he knew that in a matter of hours he was likely to be without a job and quite likely to need a lawyer to save his behind from prison. His wife and children were going to be angry with him for a long time. They finally let Frank go after taking his identification.
. Outside Frank found the building cordoned off behind police tape. The bank was now a crime scene. A large crowd had gathered to learn what had happened. Mrs. William was there right before them all; basking in the spotlight as a witness to the crime. A smaller and now dispersing crowd had gathered to see the remains of Ozzie being taken away by an ambulance.
Frank usually went to the Hard Luck Café on Lower Clapton Road to catch up on the latest news and stuff. Usually never before sundown, but today he needed somewhere to go, was short of ideas, so he ended up at the Hard Luck Café for an early lunch.
“What is the matter Frank, you’re not at work?” Lester Bowie asked. Lester was the waiter at the Hard Luck Café – once a temporary draft from the Dinosaurs Over-50s Employment Network. Lester always kept the customers irritated or amused but never alone, so Maureen Smith the owner of the café had retained him now for more than two years. At fifty-two Lester still didn’t really know what his life was about and appeared not to care anymore.
“None of your businesses, Frank told him.
“Well, since when have you ever come into here at a quarter past noon to order Bubble and Squeak and a Guinness? So I say what ales you” Lester chuckled, putting a pun on the “ale.”
“Fuck off and do your job Lester,” Frank told him.
He had picked up a copy of the Sun at a newsstand near Hackney Central, and he dived lustfully into the page three half taken up by a topless model.
“Nekkid girl, what she selling den,” Maureen laughed behind him.
“Hi Maureen,” Frank flashed her smile. Maureen was the owner of Hard Luck Cafe, forty-something full-breasted beauty with a motherly smile. Maureen always minded her business and didn’t hassle you with questions. Lester came back with Frank’s food at last and set it on the table with a wink.
“Dirty newspaper pictures make you go blind you know?” he said.
“Fuck off,” Frank waved him away, and silently ate his food while reading the paper.
Become a Private Investigator.
Somewhere in the last pages of the paper Frank again saw a small advertisement that he had noticed the previous day. It was about a private detective course or something like that. There was a phone number at the bottom of the advertisement, and having nothing else to do after his meal, he called the number.
The call was taken by a giggly girl who answered, “Hi my name is Mandy, and how may I help you?” .Frank extracted the address of Eagle Detective Training Institute from Mandy. It was somewhere near Elephant and Castle, and since it was the right day for time-wasting, Frank thought why not check it out.
While making the call to Eagle Detective Institute, Frank found that he had a missed call, and so he called his voicemail. Nancy had left another message.
Nancy. He hadn’t seen her in years and wondered what it was she wanted. Frank and Nancy had together kept a single-bedroom apartment together for almost a year. It had been so wonderful initially, two kids just having fun in all possible ways. Then Nancy had started to want more, hinting at marriage. For a guy without a steady job
