
  6/10/86

    Working title - "Bank Fraud
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 The story is about 1 The guy's attempt to break a bank's security system
                    2 His normal job
                    3 His love life

Using fake cards and inside info on PIN numbers, he breaks the system. 
Inside info provided by a young programmer (female) seduced eventually by
Karen, his girlfriend.
  N.B. Bits of sex scattered throughout

Characters
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Me - much as I am
Karen- girlfriend, about 30, educated to 15-year-old level. Intelligent,
pretty, small breasts.
Pauline - Karen's friend, inside job at Global.
Mike Bingham - Caddick-like figure

1.Intro - grab attention - bit of sex - set 3 threads going (1,2,3)
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                     Bank Fraud
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 Chapter 1
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    To me, it was a beautiful sight.  The bank's cash dispenser was
predominately matt black, with the word "Global" picked out in gold.  Its
array of buttons were blue, and inscribed in white with such evocative terms
as "Withdraw Cash".
    It was beautiful because it was my passport to freedom.
    "Come on, lets go see Bingham".
    "Not until we've had something to eat". If it wasn't for Karen, I'd often
forget to eat or sleep if I got too absorbed in my ideas.  We found our way
to what used to be a dingy little coffee shop, but was now a jazzy pizza
palace.  It had potted plants, and varnished pine tables.  The seats were
also pine, with red plastic upholstery.  Red appeared to be the company's
colour, as the giant Pizzarama sign outside was also red, as was the menu.
    As we moved towards a table, a girl who had obviously been trained to
smile whisked by and cleared the table of the debris of the previous
occupants.  Her overall was red, and so was the cloth she used to wipe the
table.
    I glared gloomily at the menu, and quickly decided to have the cheapest
pizza on the menu, as I was sure I wouldn't be able to tell the difference
between them all anyway.  Besides I hated wasting money on food.  Anything
fancy was sheer extravagance.  Karen lingered over her decision.  I waited
with what I thought was patience.  I knew her well enough by now to know that
she was tasting each dish in her mind before choosing one.  This was an
ability I could never master.
    "Why are you looking at me like that ?"
    "Like what ? I was just wondering if you'd decided yet "
    "No, I can't decide between the one with olives and extra cheese, or the
one with pepperoni."
    After what seemed like an endless debate, she went for the pepperoni. 
The girl with the fixed smile came over and took the order.  By this time I'd 
forgotten what I'd decided on, but I went on general principles and ordered
the cheapest, while wondering idly whether the waitress ever got stiff jaws.
    "How's Bingham getting on ?" asked Karen, " Are you sure he's O.K.?"  The
words implied both that she thought Bingham was a little touched, and also
that he wasn't too trustworthy.  
    "Of course he's O.K.," I said, rather irritably, "and we'll soon see how
he's getting on."
    We paid the bill, and left.  I breathed a sigh of relief as we left.  I
never felt comfortable in places with too much furniture and people.  I
disliked being crowded.  The day outside had turned dreary.  Although it was
only September, the skies were grey and a thin drizzle damped the streets. 
England didn't have a climate, it just had weather, I thought, as we tramped
through the crowds of shoppers to the multi-storey car park.  I'd made a
special mental note of the floor the car was on to save the usual hunt
through the entire building.  It was nice walking with Karen.  We made a
handsome couple, or rather she looked very nice which made me feel better.  I
liked dark hair, and she was just the right height too, shorter than me, but
not a dwarf.
    The car was parked with one side about two inches from a concrete post,
the post was by the driver's door.  Another car hemmed in the other side.  I
reversed the process I went through after parking and opened the driver's
door enough to get my hand in and pull the button up on the rear door.  I
squeezed into the back of the car, clambered through into the driver's seat,
started up and pulled forward far enough to let Karen get in the passenger
side.  Pausing only to suck the blood off my scraped knuckles I rapped out
"Let's go !" and started to roar off, slamming the brakes on immediately to
avoid impact with a battered old Cortina driven by an impudent spotty kid who
gave us the two-fingered salute as he went by without slackening speed.  A
mysterious shaking took place, and when I turned to look it was Karen,
fighting desperately to control her giggles.  Gasping for breath, she said
"It's a good job this isn't a Mickey Spillane novel".
    For once, I found the car park ticket without too much trouble, and we
set off to find Bingham.  As it was two o'clock he would be in the pub.
    Bingham's local was the Bag o' Nails.  It was a traditional local in the
Black Country.  That is, everybody knew everybody else.  All the regulars had
their own particular seats.  Woe betide the stranger who sat in someone
else's seat, even if the pub was empty at the time !  I was half-tolerated
because I had been seen in the place with Bingham a few times.  Even so I had
to be careful where I sat.  Karen and I went into the lounge, where we had
arranged to meet Bingham.  Usually he went in the Smoke Room, but women were
still most unwelcome there, despite the law that said they could go into any
part of a public house.  I wanted Karen with me.  She had the hard business
sense I lack.
     Bingham was a scruffy, middle-aged Blackcountryman with a Cradley Heath
accent you could cut with a chainsaw.  He had a shaggy black beard flecked
with grey.  His aging black jacket was threadbare on the elbows.  He was also
an electronics genius.  When we had first speculated on the possibilities of
defrauding the banks one drunken Sunday lunchtime, it had at first seemed
like daydreaming.  All of a sudden, BIngham's eyes had lit up.
    "Yow know ", he said, "that could actewly waerk".
