Thomas Vance did not wait for his son’s permission.
With the heavy, deliberate stride of a shipyard crane, the tall figure in the yellow rubber slicker stepped past Julian. The hem of his rain coat whipped in the downdraft of the overhead extraction nozzles.
He reached out his right arm. Clamped between his thick, oil-stained rubber fingers was the frayed, yellow-waxed corner of Store Credit Slip #00.
Thomas Vance slammed his gloved hand flat onto the right-hand brass pan of the Fairbanks Balance Scale.
CLANG!
The heavy three-foot cast-iron balance beam groaned under the sudden impact. The brass pan plummeted three inches, shuddering against its iron stops as the full, living mass of Customer #00 engaged the fulcrum.
Deep inside the mahogany cabinet beneath Teller Window #04, the brass rocker linkage snapped downward with a sharp THWIP-CLACK.
The pneumatic safety damper tripped.
