America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 5: Insurgency by Walter Knight Page B

around. “Are you alive in there?” he asked.
    “That depends on your definition of alive,”
replied the ATM. “I am alive enough to have a conversation with
you. How is your cash flow these days?”
    “It could be better,” answered Torres. “But I
have some business deals in the works.”
    “Do you need a loan?” asked the ATM. “Every
successful businessman these days needs to establish a substantial
line of credit.”
    “How do you know my name?” asked Torres.
    “You cashed several checks from Saviano
Juardo,” whispered the ATM. “Also, you and your associates recently
made a large undocumented withdrawal from the First Colonial Bank
of New Gobi.”
    “You know about that?” asked Torres. “You
haven’t notified the cops or the Legion yet?”
    “Of course not,” said the ATM. “I am not a
snitch. I want only to help. I can be your financial adviser. I am
bound by the laws of confidentiality established by banking
ethics.”
    “What is banking ethics?” asked Torres. “Is
there such a thing?”
    “Probably,” said the ATM. “What have you been
spending your money on? Broads, boogie, and booze?”
    “There is a lot of overhead involved in
running the Fist and Claw,” said Torres. “The insurgency business
isn’t cheap. I have lots of thugs to keep happy, guns and bombs to
buy, inventory, and a proper terrorist image to maintain. An
insurgent leader has to dress for success.”
    “I see,” said the ATM. “Your cash flow
problems are over. Put your thumb on my pad to seal the deal. I am
authorizing a one-million-dollar line of credit. I know you are
good for it because of your association with Saviano Juardo. I am
the last ATM you will ever need.”
    “Only in America,” commented Torres, pressing
this thumb to the pad. A pin pricked Torres, causing a drop of
blood to splatter on the pad. “Ouch! Was that really
necessary?”
    “Everyone asks that,” replied the ATM. “All
loan contracts for amounts this large are certified in blood for
DNA identification and tax reporting purposes. It’s the law.”
    “When do I get my money?” asked Torres. “I
have immediate uses for it.”
    “Never,” said the ATM. “Nerve agent on the
tip of that pin prick is going to kill you in about two seconds. Adios. ”
     
    * * * * *
     
    I responded to Walmart to confirm the death
of David Torres, and to identify his body. Captain Lopez deemed it
important that I make positive identification because I was the
most recent person to have seen and talked to David Torres.
Photographs, fingerprints, and scientific examinations apparently
weren’t good enough, as they only corroborated direct observations.
Also, surveillance cameras at the scene malfunctioned, casting
additional doubt on the investigation. Captain Lopez insisted an
eyeball identification was invaluable to any investigation. I
swear, Captain Lopez is sounding more like a cop every day.
    “It’s Torres,” I said, glancing at the
corpse. “What killed him?”
    “Unknown data,” answered Captain Lopez.
“There is no sign of trauma. A security guard found him here alone.
Maybe he had a heart attack?”
    I looked about the scene and the store. A
spider marine warily patrolled his half of Walmart. The MDL,
clearly painted on the floor dividing the store, kept the spiders
back. An ATM stood silently nearby. Valerie interrupted my thoughts
with a text message via my communications pad. I pushed the answer
button, and she appeared before me. No one else could see my lovely
Valerie.
    “I do not mean to intrude,” said Valerie,
“but you have been avoiding me. How come you never call? Some
gratitude for saving your life!”
    “I have been busy,” I replied, motioning to
Torres’s body. “This is one of the terrorists who kidnapped me. I’m
trying to figure out how he died.”
    “Yes,” said Valerie. “I recognize that pig
from your alien abduction. David Torres was one of the humans that
helped. He was especially brutal. Good