by Alex Nichols

 

It was now week four. Time for the heist.

I walked into the bank to take one last glance around. The glossy white marble pillars encircled the elegant entryway as I carefully examined the lobby. On every other pillar was a couple of HS4514, Bullet-Resistant video cameras. The HS4514 Series are high security enclosures, designed for use with CCD format cameras with fixed auto iris or 1/3-inch motorized zoom lenses. The enclosures are designed to withstand, without penetration, rounds fired from a .357 Magnum handgun from a distance of fifteen feet. So I guess using .357’s are out of the question. Then there was of course the teller. I had told Ed to approach the teller furthest from the door because those were usually the newcomers who would soil themselves if anything too exciting were to happen. Max Bosque was his name. Young guy in his late twenties, thick beard and mustache that was no longer than as his crew cut. Always wore a black suit with a blue tie.  Over the past four weeks I hadn’t seen him station there until this last week. I figured he would be better than Annetta Dain from Wisconsin. She was new, but not quite as new as Max Bosque. 

 

We spent four weeks working diligently in order to perfect the plan. A two man job is never an easy one, but it would have to do for now. Having a group like six people on a bank heist is a bad idea. First of all there are more people to capture, and it raises the suspicion. You have a driver waiting outside, a spotter across the street, a person in charge of communications, and then the other two crazies who run into the bank with 12 gauge shotguns telling everyone to freeze. Smaller jobs leave a smaller mess. Ed Busbee was my main man. He was a hothead who always wanted to shoot anything in sight. Ed and I worked for Big Boss Bubba with me. See, Ed ann I actually owed Bubba some money but when we couldn’t pay off our debt, Bubba ordered us to get him his money by any means necessary. Our debt was that he had paid us ten grand each to kill a fellow but the mission went awry so I suggested robbing a bank to pay Bubba back, but not just any bank, one that I had picked out myself. This would be it though, I was done with crime after this. After my last job, I knew that this just wasn’t the life for me. Bubba likes to test us to see how far he can push us. I thought I could handle his ‘test,’ but I was wrong. The pay was nice, but it just wasn’t worth it. After this, I was done no matter what. If I had to shoot Bubba myself I’d do it.

It would work though, I would be our “techy” as well call them, in charge of communications and jamming the security systems as well as keeping my eye on Ed. Unfortunately I couldn’t take part in the dirty work because I was in a wheelchair. Some guy tried to mug Ed and I a few weeks back when we were sizing up the bank and he shot me in my ankles. Bastard. Ed didn’t suffer any injuries besides a good haymaker right in the kisser. Funny thing was, the mugger didn’t even take anything.

So Ed would do all the “dirty” work if you want to call it that. We were contemplating about holding off until my ankles were better but we figured that it would be possible nonetheless. I scoped out the place and made a very detailed map with names of all the clerks, their shifts, where security goes…etc.

 

 

I sat in the back of a ‘65 Buick Riviera, walkie talkie in hand, peering through my binoculars at Ed who was walking into the bank with a black Adidas bag. He was suppose to first check and make sure everybody was right where they were suppose to be, but Ed was too impatient for that. Just in case anything went wrong, I had Ed wired up so I could hear all conversations. Ed stopped at the door and called me on his ear piece just as he was about to enter the bank.

“Breaker Breaker Red Dog, White Hawk moving in.”

Ed walked into the bank and paused for a moment before heading over to Max Bosque, just as planned.

“Welcome to Wells Fargo how may I help you?”

Ed scratched the back of his head and rubbed his eyes. 

“I’d like to make a withdrawal.”

“Certainly sir, may I have your bank card please?”

Ed pulled out his .45 Beretta and pointed it across the counter.

“Give me the fucking money,” he whispered. “I’ll fucking kill you, you sack of shit.”

“Look sir, my register is out of money at the moment so I can either wait for the clerk next to me to be finished or I can run to the back and get you your money.” Ed was surprised at how calm Max was.

“What the fuck is going on here? Just get it from the back, and fill this bag, now!”

Just as Ed was handing the bag up to Max, the security guard started to peer over to try and catch what was going on. He couldn’t see the gun because it was in between the booth. I radioed Ed.

“Ed STOP, don’t put the bag up that’ll give you away, the security guard is getting suspicious!”

Ed couldn’t respond back but I knew he heard me.
“Ed tell Max to meet you in a booth behind you.”

I saw Ed repeat the exact words I told him to and Max announce that he was directing his customer over to the accounting table and they both went around to the back where the private consulting tables were for opening up accounts.
I lost sight of both men and could only see them move through the windows of the tinted, impact resistant glass that made up one of the booths.

Since I could no longer see Ed, I listened in on the mic I had given him.

“Why the fuck are you so calm? And why haven’t you freaked the fuck out?” I heard Ed ask.

“Well I don’t see any point in all that. I figure I’ll just give you the money and then call the police once you leave.”

“This is wrong. I have to think here. Shit! Ok don’t fucking move!

Ed radioed me.

“Hey you there? Um…The teller here is just kinda crazy. He is completely calm and is basically helping me rob the bank,” Ed said nervously.

“Helping you what?”
“Rob the bank!”

The line went dead but I could still hear Max Bosque through the mic.

After a minute or so, I heard Max, “Holy hell he’s just passed out!”

I waited for someone to respond but heard nothing. Should I go in? I opened the door of the ‘65 Buick Rivera and put on a baseball hat and sunglasses before struggling to squeeze my wheelchair out of the car and onto the pavement.

 

 

I wheeled my way over to the bank to where Max Bosque’s desk was. He was already back. He peered over the counter to greet me.

“Welcome to Well’s Fargo how may I help you?”

“Hi there. I’m looking for my friend Ed Busbee, a shaggy brown haired fellow in his late thirties. You seen him?”

“Oh sir…I was just about to call an ambulance. It seems he’s passed out…here…follow me around back here. He’s waiting in the accounting office for you.”

Max led me across the bank to where the accounting booths were.  We opened the door to see Ed sitting upright in a chair wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“You alright there Ed?”

“Have a seat Frank, and bring Max in with you.”

Max closed the door behind him as he wheeled me into the room. I was sitting comfortably in my wheelchair, right in front of Ed while Max made his way around the desk. He leaned back in his char and put his feet on the table.

“The whole plan is fucked up Frank,” Ed said, “Look...Bubba hired me to kill you. When you didn’t pull the trigger on our last mission, well, you know how it goes. I mean this is why you’ve been saying that you want out after this right? You know Bubba doesn’t take any mistakes, he’ll kill you. Bubba set you up. He told me if I chickened out and didn’t follow through, we both die. The money we’re suppose to rob is Bubba’s way of paying me for killing you. Bubba knows that if we call him saying we have the money, he’ll know I screwed up and you know what happens then. You remember Cliff? He never got away with his screw up. I’m sorry to say that you won’t either.” Ed looked at me square in the eyes to show how serious he was.

“Look Frank I can’t afford any fuck ups. I passed out and Max didn’t even call the police. He just went back to his desk. I mean shit, I’m more nervous than he is and I’m holding the freaking gun,” Ed shouted.

Ed walked around behind me and aimed his piece at the back of my head.

“You’ll wake the whole bank up Ed. Just have a seat and we’ll figure out another plan.”

“You’re right Frank. Let me put my silencer on”

Ed tightened the silencer to the barrel of the berretta .45 and aimed it at the back of my head again.

My eyes met with Max’s as he slowly pulled out the magazine for the .45 that Ed was carrying.

“I took the liberty of emptying your gun when you passed out. The reaction you had toward my calm behavior made me hesitant to leave you armed. It seems we’ve had a change of plans Ed.” Max dropped the magazine onto the table.

Ed pulled the trigger on the .45 only to hear the disappointing sound of repeated clicks.

“What the hell is this Frank?  Who the hell is this guy. Did you set me up…,” Ed began to raise his voice.

“Quiet Ed, you were just doing the same to me, I only had this planned out earlier instead of on the spot. You remember Max don’t you?

Max removed his fake beard and mustache.

“I couldn’t kill him on our last job because he is my brother.”

Ed’s eyes widened.

“He’s been in the bank industry forever and after I spared him a couple months back on our last job, he agreed to help me with this mission so long as I was done after this. The mission isn’t the money Ed, the mission is you.”

“How the hell…”

Max pulled out a pistol of his own and fired one shot across the accounting table. The bullet hit Ed square between the eyes. Blood trickled down Ed’s nose as his head began to fall forward.

“Catch it!” Shouted Max.

“I reached my hand out and grabbed Ed’s by his hair.”

            We both let out a sigh simultaneously.

 

 

Ed sat comfortably in the wheelchair with my baseball cap and sunglasses. His clothes had no blood stains on them at all, hence the headshot. I wheeled Ed out to the Buick and threw the black Adidas bag into the trunk.

I pulled out my cell phone to call Bubba.

“Bubba, the job is done. Ed and I have the money.”

 

The parking lot behind the warehouse was empty except for a Blue Toyota that had its engine on. I parked the Buick Rivera far from the entrance and got out. I wheeled my way over to the entrance and let myself in. Inside, Bubba, and a number of men I recognized from previous meetings, stood there staring at me, constantly playing with their .50 desert eagles just to make sure they had enough ammunition to take out one unarmed guy.

“So Frank, you owe me 20g and you’re telling me that you were the only one man enough to show up eh? Where’s Ed?” Bubba said as he puffed on a large cigar. “And why are you still wheeling around in that goddamn thing?”

“Doctor’s orders. Ed’s out waiting in the car with the money.”

Bubba chuckled, “What you think this is a deal? I’m your boss buddy, there is no trade off, you bring me the money and we keep on working.”

“Bubba I want out after this.”

“You’ve been wanting out every since you’re last mission. Why? You can’t get out, what if you someday decide to sell me off to the police? You’ve been doing this too long my friend. Once you are in the business, you don’t get out.”

Bubba pointed to the door to two of his men and with a nod they went out the door.

“Who’s outside there anyway? Who followed you…”

“I hate to do it this way Bubba”
“Do it this way eh? Don’t threaten me cripple!”

 

Two shots echoed from the parking lot. Bubba looked towards the door, hoping his bodyguards would come back. There were two more men by his side. He ordered them to go check and see what happened.

“Do I have to go myself? C’mon all of ya, go! You’re comin’ with Frank! I want my money so let’s take a little trip to the parking lot.”

Bubba walked out too the car. I followed behind. He started talking to Ed but of course, Ed could not reply. He opened the trunk of the car, which was slightly ajar, only to find an empty bag of cash. A dark figure approached each of them, firing one shot to the back of the head until all three of them dropped.

 

Max had no problem doing any dirty work. After all Bubba was the one who hired us to kill him in the first place, so when he found out who the man behind it was, he agreed wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, many jobs don’t turn out quite the way you want them to. It’s just an illusion to create a false image. There was no wheelchair, there was no mugging, there was no cash. There was no way out and so now here we are with no Bubba. It’s like I said, I’d shoot Bubba myself if I had to, but I didn’t have to, I had Max.