“Well then…” Arthur murmured.
His warm, grandfatherly smile suddenly stretched into a sharp, wolfish grin.
He didn’t reach for a checkbook. Instead, he reached inside his ruined jacket and pulled out a sleek, black detonator.
He pressed it.
*BOOM.*
A deafening, concussive roar shook the entire showroom, rattling the embedded ceiling lights and vibrating the polished floorboards. Sarah gasped, her polite demeanor instantly vaporizing into sheer terror. Her eyes bulged and her jaw dropped as she stared past Arthur, looking out the panoramic glass windows.
The colossal federal bank directly across the street had just blown its reinforced steel vault doors straight into the intersection, sending a massive plume of concrete dust into the sky. Sirens began wailing almost instantly.
Arthur swung his battered brown briefcase onto the pristine hood of the $600,000 crimson supercar. He flicked the rusty latches. It wasn’t full of dirty clothes or loose change. It was packed with heavy tactical gear, smoke grenades, and a high-tech ignition cloner.
“I truly appreciate the respect, Sarah,” Arthur said. His voice dropped its frail, shaky disguise, shifting into a crisp, icy bark. “It’s hard to find good customer service these days.”
He pulled a thick brick of unsequenced hundred-dollar bills from the case and tossed it into her frozen, trembling hands.
“That’s for your commission,” he winked.
He slapped the cloner against the supercar’s window. The locks bypassed with a sharp click, and the massive engine roared to life with a predatory growl.
Arthur turned to the paralyzed, snobby salesmen in the background.
“I heard the maintenance entrance is around back!” he shouted over the wailing sirens. “I highly suggest you boys use it before my associates arrive!”
Arthur slid into the driver’s seat, slammed it into gear, and drove the six-hundred-thousand-dollar machine straight through the showroom’s front glass.