First National Bank of Fandom, Saturday Afternoon
Still dressed in his pilot's uniform, Frank was smug as he leaned against the outside of the bank building. Whoever this Montague kid was, his last name should have been spelled M-A-R-K. Frank had relieved him of his burdensome cash, sending it all via a wire transfer to an account in another false name in a Swiss bank.
He just wondered why the teller had looked so surprised by his "I'm a pilot on a layover from Pan Am and I need money to get home" cover story. That always worked like a charm. And he had no idea what the Aytiem machine she kept asking him to use was.
Whatever. He'd gotten away with it again. Whistling, he began to walk back toward the dormitory building where his day had begun.
[OOC: Totally and completely open.]
He just wondered why the teller had looked so surprised by his "I'm a pilot on a layover from Pan Am and I need money to get home" cover story. That always worked like a charm. And he had no idea what the Aytiem machine she kept asking him to use was.
Whatever. He'd gotten away with it again. Whistling, he began to walk back toward the dormitory building where his day had begun.
[OOC: Totally and completely open.]