Free America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War by Walter Knight

help you?”
    “Can you take the needle of my compass and sew my broken heart back together?”
    “Aren’t you the smooth talker? What’s your name?”
    “My name is Chuck. I drive a truck. Would you like to ... see my truck? No, wait. Forget that alias. My truck got blown away to the next county by a tornado.”
    “Oh, you’re one of those poor souls who got arrested for nothing during the dust storm,” sympathized Sally. “What’s your real name?”
    “My street name is Doodle-Butt, on account of all the tattoos on my ass, of mostly ex-girlfriends,” he confided. “I’m here to apply for free money.”
    “I’m sorry, we don’t just give out free money,” explained Sally. “Unemployment insurance is paid by contributions from prior employers. Who did you last work for?”
    “The Polish Cartel.”
    “Is the Polish Cartel some sort of criminal organization?”
    “You think?” asked Coles incredulously. “It’s okay. I’m a Teamster. All accounting of contributions and taxes are handled by the Teamsters Union.”
    “So, you are a criminal? I think that’s kind of sexy.”
    “No convictions, lately. Everything is on appeal. At least I don’t wear an ankle bracelet anymore. The criminal justice system is a revolving door, you know. That’s why I need free money, so I can make a new start as an undocumented pharmacist’s assistant.”
    “Again, I’m so sorry, Mr. Doodle-Butt,” sniffed Sally, checking her computer. “It looks like the Teamsters absconded with your contributions. No pension or free money for you.”
    “What kind of galaxy is it, when I can’t even get free money from the welfare office?”
    “I know,” agonized Sally, rummaging through her purse for some extra change. “It’s the poor economy and those mean Republicans.”
    “Fine!” exclaimed Coles, scooping the change as he left. “I’ll steal my own free money!”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Coles and two accomplices released from the county jail parked a car bomb on the street between the sheriff’s office and the welfare office. They drove another stolen car across town to the First National Bank of New Phoenix. Exploding the car bomb as a diversion, they rushed inside the bank, brandishing assault rifles and grenades.
    “There are easier ways to make money,” advised a metallic voice from an ATM by the front door. “Your poorly planned enterprise will not end well.”
    “Shut up, machine,” snarled Coles, “or I’ll deposit a grenade in your drop box! I know all about your tricks.”
    “Tricks? I am highly offended. Do you need a loan, sir? If so, I am the last ATM you will ever need.”
    “Hands up!” ordered Coles, ignoring the ATM. “Do not set off the alarm, or we start shooting! Put all the money in the bag! No funny stuff with exploding ink packs, GPS trackers, nerve gas money clips, genetically engineered sand mites, killer bees, antibiotic resistant virus, flammable money, asbestos fibers, or itch powder!”
    “Don’t forget plague-laden attack fleas,” added the ATM.
    “No fleas, or I kill you!” shouted Coles, thrusting his rifle menacingly at a crying bank teller. “I mean it!”
    “I can offer an enlistment bonus for joining America’s Galactic Foreign Legion,” offered the ATM. A written contract with lots of fine print slid out on a tray. “All your past indiscretions can be forgiven.”
    “Really?” asked another robber standing guard at the door, warily checking the fine print on both sides of the contract. It was hopeless, trying to read fine print and robbing a bank at the same time.
    “No, not really,” answered the ATM, firing a shotgun round into the face of the robber.
    Coles and the other robber opened up with automatic weapons fire into the ATM. Sparks showered the lobby. A small fire started. “I regret I have but one life to give to the United States Galactic Federation,” gasped the ATM defiantly. “Actually, the ATM Network has many lives. In fact, you can’t kill