But Pink wasn’t hearing anything about bank policy. “Mr. Hendricks,” he interrupted, “are you familiar at all with my numerous accounts with your bank?”

“Why yes,” Hendricks stammered, “of course I’m familiar with your accounts.”

“And you do understand,” Pink continued, “that this man, carrying a great deal of money from your bank, made an attempt on my life last night?”

“Yes,” Hendricks replied, and Pink could almost hear the sweat rolling down his forehead, “I do understand. But this is a police matter and we usually, by bank policy only release that information directly to the police.”

“You don’t think,” Pink continued, schmoozing for all he was worth, “that maybe, in the interest of customer service, you might be able to relax the rules just a tad?”

“Well,” the banker answered, “I don’t know about that. I mean, I could get in trouble or worse yet, the bank could get in trouble.”

“Oh, I’m not going to tell anyone, and if you don’t tell anyone, well then, who’s going to know?” Finally, Pink went for the jugular. “How long would it take you Mr. Hendricks, to close-out all my accounts?”

“Listen, Mr. Ellingwood, that is completely unnecessary,” said the banker, resignation in his voice, “I’d be glad to answer your question.” In the background Pink could hear the sound of computer keys tapping. “Mr. Wesco did in fact have an account with us. The account was opened just yesterday morning at nine-oh-five am. There was a single deposit of twenty thousand dollars at exactly nine-ten am, and at nine-fifteen precisely there was a cash withdrawal of twenty-thousand dollars effectively closing the account.”

“I see,” said Pink, “and the deposit of twenty-thousand dollars, who made that?”

Again Pink heard the sound of the computer keys tapping. “Why,” said Mr. Hendricks, a surprised tone in his voice, “you did.”

It was two hours later and Pink was downtown at the Federal building on the seventh floor. Several irate phone calls to Mr. Hendrick’s bosses, a quick call to the Federal Bureau of Investigation headquarters in Washington, a call to the Commissioner of the Office of Consumer Affairs and Business Regulation, and finally a formal request to the National Office of the Comptroller of the Currency had secured a meeting with Marty Grosteiner, Special Counsel to the Federal Bank Regulatory Agency. Pink had never owned a suit, but he had really made an effort to dress professionally. He wore a navy blue pair of slacks, a pale blue oxford shirt with button down tab collars, a vintage Gerry Garcia tie, dark socks and penny loafers. He had been waiting in the conference room for about fifteen minutes when finally the door opened and in strode one of the handsomest women he had seen in a long, long time. She was about five seven, with long auburn hair, soft hazel eyes, and skin as smooth as porcelain. She wore a simple black business suit and an appropriately buttoned white blouse that could not hide the superior figure beneath.