Free Ride the Nightmare by Richard Matheson Page B

pass book across the counter. The teller picked it up and opened it, looked at the withdrawal slip.
    “I’d like to have it in tens and twenties,” Chris said.
    “Yes, sir,” said the teller. He turned away and walked over to the row of file cabinets behind him. Chris watched him, his hands resting limply on the edge of the counter. He saw the teller pull out a drawer and start thumbing through the files.
    “I’m in a hurry,” Chris said. The man didn’t hear him.
    In a moment, the man pulled out a file and looked at it. Chris waited impatiently.
    The man walked past the window toward the front of the bank.
    “What are you—?” Chris started.
    “Just a moment, sir,” said the teller, politely.
    Dazedly, Chris watched him walk away. What in God’s name was happening? For a second, he almost believed that he
was
dreaming, that this was a nightmare. It was too incredible to be real.
    He saw the teller speak to Mr. Finder in front. Mr. Finder looked over at Chris and, smiling, gestured for him to come down to his desk. Chris couldn’t repress the groan. Clenching his teeth, he strode quickly along the counter and pushed at the gate with shaking fingers. It didn’t open.
    “It’s
locked
,” he said, startled at the loudness of his voice.
    The girl at a nearby desk looked up, startled; and gaped at him.
    “Miss Grey,” called Mr. Finder. She glanced back and Mr. Finder nodded at her. She pushed a button and Chris went through.
We’ll never see her again
. Helen’s words echoed terribly in his mind.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “This withdrawal, Mr. Martin,” said Finder, “It will leave your account with less than a hundred dollars.”
    “
I know that
.” Was the man insane?
    “Well—” Mr. Finder coughed embarrassedly. “You see, this note—”
    “Note?”
    “It states that a three thousand dollar loan extended to you last October would be made on the condition that the amount in your savings account serve as collateral.”
    Chris looked at him dumbly. He’d forgotten.
    “You see,” said Mr. Finder. “You signed it.”
    Chris held the paper and stared down at it without being able to read it.
    “Naturally, if you withdraw three thousand dollars at this time,” said Mr. Finder, “the conditions of the loan are no longer met.”
    Chris had difficulty keeping his voice steady.
    “Mr. Finder, I’ve been doing business with this bank for the past seven years. My credit rating is beyond reproach. I need this money now. My mother is in financial trouble and needs it immediately. It will be replaced as soon as possible.”
    “Mr. Martin, please understand. It’s not as if—”
    “Mr. Finder, I have a good business,” Chris said, agitatedly. “I pay my debts. I’m a member of the Chamber of Commerce. For God’s sake, let’s not haggle! I
need
the money. I’ve met every obligation to this bank in the past. Now, for pity’s sake!” If I had a gun, he thought suddenly, I’d take the money.
    Mr. Finder pursed his lips and looked at Chris dispassionately.
    “Well?”
    Mr. Finder sighed. “Very well, Mr. Martin,” he said, “I really see no reason why we can’t. It’s somewhat irregular but—”
    Less than a minute later, the doors of the Ford slammed behind them and Chris twisted the ignition key. He backed out of place and drove out of the parking lot so fast he almost hit another car. He headed down Wilshire as fast as he could and turned right ontoOcean Avenue. A few minutes later the Ford was speeding along the coast highway toward Malibu.
    “Chris,” she said as they went past an orange caution light at Channel Road.
    “Yes.”
    “Do you really believe what you said before?” Her voice was spent of anger now, almost lifeless.
    “Yes,” he said, “I’m convinced they plan to use me as long as they can.”
    “Oh…”
    Chris looked into the rear view mirror, then pressed down on the accelerator. They should make Latigo Canyon in fifteen minutes, he calculated.