I don’t know any of the details yet, but by the time I complete the loan app it will be a sure thing. Although Oglethorpe is demanding three million in new loans, Whitney Blankenship has promised to run all future Chelsea loans through me, which means my position at Midwest Meadow Muffin is cemented.

As if that’s not enough, Lissie got her concert tickets last night, and I’ve become a hero in her eyes. I called it right, thinking some rich guy checking the Wish List website must have seen my request for tickets and made it come true.

Today at breakfast we’re all smiles. She’s talking about what she plans to wear to the concert on Friday.

“We better get moving,” I say, “and quick!”

“Why the sudden rush? I thought you were bulletproof.”

I pointed at the window behind her.

“Check it out.”

Across the street, two men in dark suits were knocking on our neighbor’s door.

Lissie laughed. “Jehovah’s Witnesses? No problem, Glen and Barbara can handle them.”

“Which means they’ll be knocking on our door soon.”

“Good point. Let’s roll!”

Thirty minutes later I’m at my desk. Oglethorpe is watching me from his office door. You’d think he’d be thrilled that his branch is getting a big client, but no, he and Hilda are clearly upset. He’s had all he can take. He strides to my desk and in his most demanding voice, says, “Who’s your client?”

“You’ll see.”

“I could fire you before he arrives.”

“Go ahead.”

He’s flustered. For the first time since I’ve known him, he can’t intimidate me.

“Was there anything else?” I say.

“This better be good, Flapjack.”

“Oh, it’s good, Ogleshit.”

“What did you call me?”

I’m about to repeat the insult in a loud voice so everyone in the office can enjoy it, but I suddenly hear a gasp from the desk beside me, and notice my co-worker, Marjorie Campbell, isn’t looking well. She’s staring at the front door in horror. I follow her gaze. Two women have just entered the bank, wearing skimpy, skin-tight clothing. Their hair is wild and their makeup provocative. They appear to be hookers.

Hilda races across the floor.

“Oh no, you don’t! Get out! Out! Gus?”

Gus awakes with a start, stumbles off his stool, grabs the butt of his gun, and looks around, surveying the situation.

One of the whores says something I can’t hear. Hilda says, “Oh really?”

Then she starts cackling.

Oglethorpe says, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Hilda shouts, “They’re here to see Mr. Pancake about a business loan.”

I jump to my feet and cross the floor to the women.

“Chelsea?”

“Hi, hon,” she says. “This here’s Emma Glendenning, my life partner.”

I hustle them into the conference room, where I learn that Chelsea (five foot seven, bursting with tits) and Emma (braided armpit hair, pink spandex camel toe shorts, black and white prison-striped leggings) intend to start an online lesbian porn site with a twenty-four hour live camera feed covering every room in their house.

“Every room?” I say, as if that makes a difference.

“Of course!” Chelsea says. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be an authentic portrayal.”

“Of?”

“Of our lives.”

I excuse myself and go to the employee wash room to splash some cold water on my face. I should flush myself down the toilet to catch up with my career, but instead I call the phone number Mrs. Blankenship gave me.

She answers, and I say, “Did Chelsea tell you what she and Emma plan to do with the loan proceeds?”

“I have a general idea, but I’d prefer not to hear the details. Why do you ask?”

“I mean, are you okay with this?”

“I have no control over her. Kids nowadays! It’s all about fornication and sex tapes.”

I rejoin the girls in the conference room, fill out the forms because I said I would, and escort them out of the building as surreptitiously as possible. Moments later Oglethorpe is reading my notes, laughing hysterically. He calls Hilda into his office and their conjoined laughter practically shakes the windows. Hilda opens the door and says, “Mr. Flapjack. If you would be so kind.”

I enter Oglethorpe’s office like my feet are made of lead. In less than a minute, it’s over.

“Your contemptuous behavior toward Hilda yesterday, your deliberately profane pronunciation of my name today, and this joke of a loan application leave me no choice but to terminate your employment, effective immediately.”

I’m thinking of future Chelsea Blankenship loans and wonder if I can convince him there is still value to be mined from the connection to Whitney Blankenship.

“Mr.