The three Customers Without Faces stepped off the curb in perfect, eerie unison.
Their yellow vinyl slickers fluttered in the river wind, but their heavy rubber boots made zero sound on the wet asphalt.
Yet inside the cab of the wrecked step-van, the radio speaker began screaming with violent static:
SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!
The sound of wet rubber soles dragging across linoleum blared through Van N-3’s communication deck at ninety decibels.
“They’re broadcasting through the radio!” Harlan Reed shouted from Seat 1A, pressing his hands against his ears. “Register 2 frequency! They’re inside the van’s receiver!”
“Listen to that interference,” Lin Mei said, holding her slide rule to the bus glass. “The acoustic signature matches an un-clocked cash return! The frequency is exactly four thousand one hundred and ninety-six hertz!”
“That’s the sound of a debt being collected,” Julian said, standing in the doorway with his fare-shovel.
