The rhinestoned lady shoots me a smirk, a serves-you-right curiosity burning in her eyes, and I clench my teeth and try not to slug her. She has no idea what kind of tragedy has brought me to this place, just like I don’t know what’s motivated her. People will do all sorts of things when they’re desperate for cash. Lie. Cheat. Steal hundred-dollar steaks from the freezer in order to feed their families. Max out every line of credit in order to survive.

So fuck me and fuck this lady.

I fish my license and another card from my wallet and drop both into the slot. “I need whatever’s on this account, too.” The Lasky account I use to pay bills and run payroll, the last twist to the noose around the Lasky windpipe. Another $10K, which means the payments I signed off on last night will be dead in the water. Emptying it out will be the death knell.

With a finger, the teller slides the card next to the others. “So you want me to close this account?”

I shrug. “Empty it, close it out, I don’t care. As long as you give me what’s in there.”

He sticks it in the reader by his monitor and recites an amount that churns in my gut. “That’s $13,514.83.”

“What about the payment to ADP, is there any way to stop it?” Taking back the money from payroll, that’s apparently the kind of asshole I am.

The teller shakes his head, gestures to the cards spread out before him. “Do these cards all have a pin?”

“Yes. Well, all but the Amex.”

“Sorry, sir, but I can’t do anything without a pin.” He drops it back in the slot with a metallic ding that echoes in my bones.

I grip the counter with both hands, fighting a wave of dizziness. “How do I get a pin?”

“I believe you have to call their customer service.” He stuffs the Visa into the reader. “Enter the first pin onto the pad, please.”

I tap in the pin, then flip over the Amex, dial the number on the back, and drop it back in the slot. “Do this one last. I’m getting a pin for it right now.”

The process is excruciatingly slow. I cast an apologetic glance over my shoulder at the people in the line as the teller counts, then double and triple counts the Visa cash into a fat stack. With a Sharpie, he scribbles the total onto a paper label he uses to bind the bills, then clips the stack to the card. We move slowly down the line, repeating the process for each card while I listen to canned music in one ear, occasionally broken by a woman’s soft voice: Thank you for calling American Express. All our representatives are serving other customers. Approximate hold time is...six...minutes.