“I would’ve bet two to one,” the pastor added, and laughed nervously. “Maybe three to one at the outside.”

Always a little creepy, Pastor Peters had, of late, been acting even stranger than usual. And his constant shilling for the bank was downright bizarre. Dennis didn’t know what was behind it, but he didn’t really want to know. His experience with First People’s had not been a good one, and the preacher’s association with the bank definitely did not count as a point in his favor.

“What is it?” Dennis asked politely.

“I’ve been tasked by a representative of The First People’s Bank to let you know that you will need to find a ride home from church.”

“What?”

“They’re taking your car.”

What the hell? Dennis pushed past the pastor and ran out the side door. On the street, two men in white shirts and ties were circling his Camry, as though looking for a way to get in. Thank God he always locked his vehicle. “Hey you!” he called, hurrying over. “That’s my car! Stay away from there!”

His way was blocked by a man dressed in business attire. The man looked familiar, but Dennis could not immediately place him. Then he said, “Halt,” and Dennis recognized the voice. It was the bank officer he’d dealt with while trying to secure a home improvement loan. “Those employees are only doing their duty.”

“That’s my car!”

“That was your car. I thought the minister explained that to you.”

Dennis was so mad he was shaking. “If any of you so much as touches my car, I’m calling the sheriff!”

There was a loud slap. And another, and another, and another, as the two men circling the Camry smacked their hands down on the vehicle’s hood and trunk.

“Touch!” one of them said.

“Touch!” the other repeated.

The loan officer was still blocking his way, and the man’s voice when he spoke was flat and deadly serious; a cop reading the riot act to a criminal. “Before applying for a loan which we both know you did not receive, you opened a checking account at The First People’s Bank in order to qualify as a customer. You did not opt for overdraft protection.”

“So?”

“So your account has a current balance of negative three dollars.”

“That’s impossible!”

“You withdrew a hundred dollars from our ATM two days ago. At the time, your account had a balance of one hundred.”

“First of all, I had two hundred in there—”

“No,” the man said firmly. “You did not. You had two hundred the week prior, but that was before fees and surcharges were tallied at the end of the month.”

“A hundred dollars worth?”

“That is correct. So at the time of your withdrawal, there was one hundred in your account.”

“Really? Then why did the ATM let me take the money?”