The First Bank Job
from Shooting at Shadows
Four men sat around a kitchen table. The room was spartan—no pictures on the walls, no visible knickknacks—nothing to give a personal touch. The cupboards, table, and chairs all appeared new, or at least unused. Everything—walls, floor, ceiling—was white or off-white, but the fluorescent fixture over the table made the room slightly, sickly green. The view outside the window over the sink revealed nothing but darkness.
“Show me.”
One of the men stood. He wore blue jeans and a dark T-shirt under a long barn coat. He took a step back from the table and put his right hand into the side pocket. As he did, he reached into the coat with his left hand and quickly brought up a shotgun tied to a length of parachute cord looped over his left shoulder. He held the stock with the hand he had slipped into the pocket, which now came through a slit cut into the coat.
“Slick. How do you like the Mossberg?”
“It’s fine. The pistol grip takes some getting used to and the short barrel jumps a little, but it’s okay.”
“Good. Since we’ll have the double barrels, we’re counting on you for the fire power if it comes to that. Which it shouldn’t. My information says no guard, no nothing unless we’re unlucky. Which we won’t be.” He turned to one of the men still seated. “You’re good with the M9?”
“Yeah. Full clip and four extras loaded and ready.”
“Okay. Let’s roll.”
They walked out of the small house through the chill early morning and got in the sedan, two in front and two in back. All three passengers struggled a bit with the shotguns inside their coats. The driver pulled the M9 pistol from his waist band and put it on the floor near his feet. As they drove out the long dirt driveway, they saw the sky hinting at the sunrise to come. By the time they reached the highway, the sky had turned a rich orange.
“Set the cruise to fifty-five. We don’t want any reason for a traffic stop.”
They drove in silence for some time and watched the rolling hillsides.
“How about some tunes?”
The man in the front passenger seat reached forward and opened the glove compartment. He pulled out several CDs.
“Bloodsport?”
“Which one?”
“Crush Them All.”
“Perfect.”
The car filled with bass, drums, and guitars thrashing at a furious pace. The guttural vocals found a path through the frenzy:
We stand above them looking down
They weep and wail like pathetic clowns
We roar and laugh but show no pity
We know our power as we enter their city
Crush them all
Crush them all
Gradually the farmhouses grew closer together and became the outskirts of the town. The speed limit dropped to thirty and the driver quickly put his foot on the brake. He turned right on Main Street and drove a mile until he saw the sign on the left side of the road: Alleghany Trust. The bank stood alone, a one-story brick building with a time and temperature sign in front. A drive-through window was on the right side of the building and an ATM was beside the double entrance doors. The driver took his foot off the gas as the passenger ejected the CD.
“Don’t stop. Go down and take a left at the corner.”
The driver followed his instructions.
“Left again.”
They drove slowly along the side street. They saw the backs of the meager business district. No one was parked behind any of the buildings. No one had come in to work early.
“Okay, back up to Main Street.”
Two lefts later and they were again within sight of the bank.
“Pull over.”
The driver did as he was told and parked alongside a small park with a gazebo covered in peeling paint. No one was on the street—no joggers, no dog walkers. The clock on the bank read 8:52. The front passenger turned and put his left arm across the seat back.
“You two ready?”
“Fuck, yeah!”
“Sure.”
“Okay. We put our gloves and masks on right before we go in.” He turned to the man behind the driver: “You watch the time and the door.” And to the man behind his seat: “You watch the citizens and make sure there’s no heroes in attendance.” To the driver: “You leave the engine running and the car in drive. We shouldn’t be in a rush, but we don’t want to waste any time either.”
“I know, I know. We’ve been over this twenty times. Let’s just do it.”
The front passenger stared at the driver.
“I’m just saying,” the driver said, “we’re ready. Let’s roll.”
“Fine. Let’s roll.”
The three men got out of the car and adjusted their coats, making the weapons beneath them nearly invisible to any casual observer. They crossed the street and turned toward the bank. They walked the half block at a leisurely pace and had the time to look around and be certain there were no surprises. As they approached the front doors, they all reached into the pockets of their coats with their free hands, but before they pulled out their ski masks and rubber gloves, a car pulled into a space right in front of the doors. St. Mary’s Police Department it said on the side. A uniformed cop, maybe fifty years old, popped out of it.
The three men stopped.
“Morning fellas,” the cop said as he stepped in front of them. He walked to the ATM and pulled his wallet out of his rear pants pocket. “I’m sorry. I jumped right ahead of you, but I forgot to give my daughter money for the field trip today and I didn’t have any cash and if I don’t get it to her pronto, she’s going to miss the bus and she’ll never forgive me. Do you mind if I go first?”
“No, of course not, officer. You go right ahead. Do what you need to do.” The man started to pull his hand out of his pocket, but he realized his jacket was unzipped and he couldn’t be certain it wouldn’t fall open.
“Thanks so much,” the cop said. “I’ll just be a second.” He put in his card and punched a few numbers, then turned to look at them while he waited for his cash. “You fellows from around here?”
“No, just passing through. On our way to Pittsburgh. Thought we’d stop for a coffee.”
“Well, The Daily Grind just up on the right is good. You can get that fancy crap if that’s what you like, but their regular joe is damn fine. And they don’t take plastic, so stopping here is a good thing.”
“Oh, darn it. You know, I left my wallet in the car. I have to go back and get it. You have a nice day, officer.”
The three men turned and walked back the way they had come. The cop stood there a moment, holding his money, looking at their backs before he got back in his squad car and drove away.
They crossed the street and got back in their sedan.
The front passenger sat quietly for a moment. Then: “Fuck!”
“What do you want to do?” said the driver.
“Nothing. Go back.”
“Shit, man, let’s do it anyway. We came all this way. Let’s fucking do it.”
“No, the cop got too good a look at our faces. We can’t take that chance. There’ll be more. Lots more. Turn around. Take us back.”
“Fuck!”
As they drove out of the town, back into the countryside, the passenger pushed the CD back in:
We wade among them, our axes slash
They’ll be our slaves, they’ll feel the lash
Our power knows no bounds at all
We’ll always rise and never fall
Crush them all
Crush them all.