The bank teller was a middle aged chick
with big knockers and her hair glued up in a stiff bouffant
sort of a deal. Looked like her hair-do was made of fiberglass.
Ten to one she sang in the choir down at some raggly-ass
Pentecostal Holiness church, drove everybody crazy groaning away
off key, getting the holy spirit every fucking Sunday, come rain,
come shine, flopping around on the floor like some epileptic rag
doll and screaming Take me Jesus! Take me home! She
reminded Teddy somewhat of his mama.
"I'm sorry sir," the teller with the ta-tas was saying,
"but how it works, bank regulations prohibits me from keeping
that money."
"Call it a tip," Teddy Clapp said, stuffing the twelve
bucks in his pocket from the twelve dollar and fifty-seven cent
cashier's check he'd just cashed.
Teddy Clapp was a man of medium height, with the kind of
musculature you got working out in a gym every day. Or in the
weight room at a prison. He had what would generally be
considered a nice looking face, but there was something about his
eyes that seemed vaguely threatening.
"I'm sorry, sir, but bank regulations prohibit -- "
"Jesus H, Christ," Teddy said. "I bought this here suit in New York City for nine hundred and
twelve dollars. Custom made by this Chinese fellow, comes over
here twice a year from Hong Kong. You know what happens if you
go to carrying a bunch of silver around in a suit like this? It
bags out the pockets is what it does. Ruins the drape of the
fabric, pretty soon you look like some dork that buys his suits
at J.C. Penney."
Teddy said this last part in an extra loud tone of voice
because the bank manager, who happened to
be walking by behind the teller's station, was wearing the most
awful looking rust colored polyester suit Teddy had ever seen in
his life. If the bank manager heard
anything, though, he didn't act like it.
The fifty-seven cents lay gleaming on the counter. Shiny
new coins, straight from the mint. The teller didn't make any
sort of move for the money, just sat there clenching her big
boozums together.
"Do I look like some chump, buys his suits at J.C.
Penney?" Teddy said.
"Sir, we cannot accept gratuities."
"Oh, for crying out loud. Taking the motherfucking
money."
The teller's eyes widened a little, and her chubby arms
started clenching even tighter around her tits. "Your friend over there is looking at you funny," she said.
Teddy Clapp looked over his shoulder at a slight man with
a large mouth, dark hair and shiny black eyes, who was standing
over at the other side of the bank acting like he was reading a
brochure about how to get a loan. The man wore a pair of ridiculous looking over-alls.
"Friend? I never seen that gentleman in my life."
"Well, he's sure looking at you like he knows you."
"What it is, he's probably just sexually attracted to me."
Teddy Clapp winked at her, gave her cleavage a long and obvious
stare, then walked away, leaving the fifty-
seven cents on the counter.
