Ed Clark took Don to the Superior State Bank and introduced him to the president, who was delighted to do business with a representative of Riggs National of Washington, D. C. Don told him nothing about the contents of the brief case, but the banker seemed to be under the impression they were securities or maybe even a million dollars cash, and Don said nothing to spoil his pleasure.
Outside again, with the receipt in his wallet, Don stood with Clark on the corner of McEntee Street and Broadway.
"This is the heart of town, you might say," the newspaper editor said. "The bubble gum factory is over that way, on the railroad spur. Maybe you can smell it. Smells real nice, I think."
Don rubbed the wrist that had been manacled for so long. He was sniffing politely when there was a roar of engines and a squadron of fighter planes buzzed Broadway.
They screamed over at little more than roof level, then were gone. They were overhead so briefly that Don noticed only that they were P-38's, at least four of them.
"Things are beginning to happen," Don said. "The Air Force is having a look-see."
Clark shook his head. "That wasn't the Air Force. Those were the PP boys. They're the only ones who fly those Lightnings these days."
"PP?"
"Private Pilots. Bobby the Bold's airborne vigilantes. Wonder what they're up to?"
"Oh. Senator Bobby Thebold, S.O.B."