"Well, I --" Hershie stammered. "I don't! I'm tax-exempt! I've never had to pay taxes or get a bank account -- I just take my cheques to the Canadian Union of Public Employees' Credit Union and they cash them for me. It's the _arrangement_." Woolley shook his head. "Who told you you were tax-exempt?" he asked, wonderingly. "_No one_ is tax-exempt, except Status Indians. As to not having a bank account, well, you can open an account at the CUPE Credit Union and we'll make the deposits there. But not until this tax status matter is cleared up. You'll have to talk to Revenue Canada about getting a SIN, and get that information to Canada Pensions." "I _pay taxes_! Through my secret identity." "But does this. . ." he made quote marks with his fingers, "_secret identity_ declare your pension income?" "Of course I don't! I have to keep my secret identity a _secret_!" His voice was shrill in his own ears. "It's a _secret identity_. I served in the Forces as the Super Man, so I get paid as the Super Man. Tax exempt, no bank accounts, no SIN. Just a cheque, every month." Woolley leaned back and clasped his hands in his lap. "I know that's how it used to be, but what I'm trying to tell you today is that arrangement, however longstanding, however well-intentioned, wasn't proper -- or even _legal_. It had to end some time. You're retired now -- you don't need your _secret identity,_" again with the finger-quotes. "If you already have a SIN, you can just give it to me, along with your secret identity's bank information, and we can have your pension processed in a week or two." "_A week or two_?" Hershie bellowed. "I need to pay my _rent_! That's not how it works!" Woolley stood, abruptly. "No sir, that _is_ how it works. I'm trying to be reasonable. I'm trying to expedite things for you during this time of transition. But you need to meet me halfway. If you could give me your SIN and account information right now, I could speed things up considerably, I'm sure. I'm willing to make that effort, even though things are very busy here." Hershie toyed with the idea of demolishing the man's office, turning his lovely furniture into molten nacho topping, and finishing up by leaving the man dangling by his suit from the CN Tower's needle. But his mother would kill him. "I can't give you my secret identity," Hershie said, pleadingly. "It's a matter of national security. I just need enough to pay my rent." Woolley stared at the ceiling for a long, long time. "There is one thing," he said. "Yes?" Hershie said, hating himself for the note of hope in his voice. "The people at DefenseFest 33 called my office yesterday, to see if I'd appear as a guest speaker with the Patron Ik'Spir Pat. I had to turn them down, of course -- I'm far too busy right now. But I'm sure they'd be happy to have a veteran of your reputation in that slot, and it carries a substantial honorarium. I could call them for you and give them your comm. . .?"