Quickly I rolled down my sleeves, whipped out the jacket from under my shirt, smoothed down my hair and was presentable again. I walked around until I found the passenger shaft and descended to the ground level.
I was more angry than frightened. I a fugitive! A Top Competitor forced to flee through the city sewers! What a rotten, unjust turn of events.
What next? I was outside now, on the pedestrian belt moving eastward toward the lake. Obviously, whatever we did, wherever we went, money would be necessary. The bank, then. I would draw out my entire account. A second thought. No, not the entire amount; that might excite suspicion, cause a spot check with the police. Half would be better—a hundred and twenty-five thousand.
I entered the 1st National and went to a counter to write out a check. A cautioning light suddenly flared in my brain. What if the authorities had called the bank—frozen my assets?
There's only one safe way to find out, I thought. I wrote out a small check to cash—fifty credits. Went to one of the many tellers, handed it through the cage. I knew, of course, that my picture was automatically taken as I did so.
The teller glanced curiously at the check, stamped it, and without hesitation handed me a fifty credit note.
I was elated. The bank had not yet been notified. I returned to the counter and wrote out a check in my own name to one hundred twenty-five thousand credits.
I presented it to another teller.
"Your identification, please?"
I flashed my wrist band.