Bertha stared coldly at him. “I don’t make my living out of charity. It’s going to cost you ten dollars a day and a minimum of twenty-five dollars. If we don’t have any results when the twenty-five dollars is used up, you can decide whether you want to go ahead at ten dollars a day or not. The twenty-five dollars is payable in advance.”
The blind man opened his shirt, unbuckled his belt. “What is this?” Bertha asked. “A strip tease?”
“A money belt,” he explained.
Bertha watched him while he pushed a thumb and finger down into the well-filled pockets of a bulging money belt. He brought out a thick package of folded bills, took one from the outside, and handed it to Bertha. “Just give me the change,” he said. “Never mind the receipt.”
It was a one-hundred-dollar bill.
“Have you,” Bertha asked, “got anything smaller?”
The blind man answered her with a single monosyllable. “No.”
Bertha Cool opened her purse, took out a key, unlocked a drawer in her desk, pulled out a steel cash box, slipped a key from a cord around her neck, opened the cash box, and took out seven ten-dollar bills and a five.
“How and where do you want your reports?” she asked.
“I want them made orally,” he said, “since I can’t read. Just stop by the bank building and report progress. Lean over and speak in a low voice. Be careful no one’s listening. You can pretend you’re looking at a necktie.”