127 19 “Why would you trust me to work for you?” Red leaned over Sadie’s shoulder as she counted change into a small cash drawer. “Why would you volunteer?” Sadie unzipped a bank bag and showed it to him. “There are extra coins in here, but I don’t think you’ll need them. Besides, you’re not really working, you’re just taking money from customers if Rosalee gets too busy. And, as far as the matter of trust, if you’re willing to put your life on the line to save me from being shot by Pearl Mobley and you have possession of the key to the front door, then I think you’re trustworthy enough to handle a couple of bucks.” She placed the bank bag under the counter and slid the drawer shut. “If you need anything, call me at the bank.” She pulled out a paper napkin, scribbled a phone number on it, and handed it to him. “Thanks, Red. I’ll be back in the morning about six o’clock.” She walked toward the door, then stopped and turned. “Oh, yeah, Hector will be here today to paint the window. Didn’t break his arm after all. Just a sprain. Call me.” The door rattled as it closed behind her. Sadie jumped into her vehicle and drove the short distance to the bank, got out, and stared at the First Liberty Bank building, an archaic structure resting on the northeast corner of Third Street and Washington Avenue. An empty laundromat shouldered it on Third, and the adjacent building on Washington looked as if it had been vacant for at least a decade . She cupped her hand above her eyes to protect them from the sun. It was going to be another scorcher. Tom had told her the story of how First Liberty, a family-owned bank, had struggled during the oil bust of the eighties. It pulled ahead during the nineties but couldn’t compete with the large conglomerates of the twentyfirst century. The family had finally given in and decided to sell. 128 That’s when Merc State Bank, the former Mercury Savings Bank, stepped in. They bought First Liberty for pennies on the dollar and turned it into a branch office. Sadie had seen it happen repeatedly and hated to see the small banks with their homespun atmosphere fall victim to the giant companies. But the same thing had happened to the mom-and-pop grocery stores and hardware stores that were forced to close when Wal-Mart and Lowe’s marched into communities across Oklahoma. Opening side-byside , the big-box stores monopolized business and pierced the small towns with a two-edged sword: low prices and low wages. As she assessed the situation on this warm August morning, she wished she hadn’t agreed to take the job. She walked up to the front door, turned her key in the deadbolt, entered, and relocked the door. Memories of a past bank robbery crawled up the back of her spinal column like an army of ants and she involuntarily shivered. She couldn’t believe she was entering another bank alone after what she had gone through two years earlier. This time, at least, motion detectors protected the building. Harsh, staccato sounds sliced the air, and she hurried to the alarm keypad to punch in the code Tom had given her. The sharp beeping stopped. She walked to each corner of the lobby, making sure she was alone before she walked to the front window and opened the blinds, signaling the other employee now waiting in the parking lot that it was safe to enter. The mingled smells of new paint and carpet glue still hung in the air. The furniture, while new, was flimsy and cheap, giving Sadie the impression that this was a low-budget branch. They had made the lobby smaller by putting up a freestanding partition that divided the old tellers’ cages from the newly built counter. The vault stood in full sight in a corner behind the single teller station. It looked out of place, too big for its small surroundings. The clock on the wall chimed and Sadie jumped. All of a sudden she hated herself for taking on this task. She walked to the front door and unlocked it for the teller. After relocking it, she introduced herself to the woman. “Hi, I’m Sadie Walela. You must be Polly Gibson.” The middle-aged...