by Mike Faricy
“Yeah, okay, I guess. I’ll head home around nine, let Morton out, and come back down.”
“Great, let me get you that free beer. Louie, your drink is free tonight, too.”
“That’s nice of you to do, Dev,” Louie said.
“No big deal. Taylor’s at Annette’s. I’d just be watching TV at home, so might as well get paid for the time.”
“Plus the free drinks,” Louie said and drained the glass in front of him.
“Yeah, well, I’ll be having just the one.”
I actually stopped after two beers, which surprised both Mike and Louie, and well, me too.
I went home and let Morton out then headed back down to The Spot. I hurried up to the office, grabbed my pistol in the sticky holster, and joined Louie. Dennis Richards popped in for a beer. He and Louie left a little after ten. The last two guys headed out just before eleven, and Mike locked the doors. He went home a half-hour later. I watched a movie on one of the TVs mounted above the bar then stretched out in the corner booth sometime after one in the morning.
Chapter 42
I woke to the sound of a loud thump. At first, I thought maybe Morton had fallen out of bed, but then I got my bearings and realized I was still in The Spot. I slowly pulled my feet into the booth and sat up. I kept my head down and cautiously peeked around the corner of the booth.
“Okay, yeah, wrap it around good and tight, then pull this out,” a fat guy shouted.
I was looking at two guys I didn’t recognize. One wore a Chicago Cubs baseball cap and looked to be wrapping a chain around the ATM. He stood and walked backward out the side door, laying the chain along the floor.
The other guy was fat, with curly blonde hair and a black shirt. The shirt had an image of flames all around the bottom of it. By the looks of things, they were going to pull the ATM off its base then probably toss it in the back of their pickup and deal with it somewhere else.
“You got it wrapped around there tight?” the fat guy called out the door.
A moment later, I heard an engine start-up, and the chain slowly raised up off the floor as it grew taut. The fat guy yelled, “Give it some gas.”
The chain seemed to grow even more taut. The ATM groaned for a brief moment before the chain fell to the floor, and the fat guy yelled, “What the hell happened?”
That seemed to be my cue. I pulled my pistol as I stepped out of the booth and shouted, “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The fat guy took one look at me, holding my pistol, and ran out the door. By the time I hurried around two tables and made it to the door, the pickup was turning the corner and racing up the street toward the Interstate. I stepped out the door. The pickup’s rear bumper was on the sidewalk. The chain was still wrapped around it, and the license plate for the pickup truck was still attached to the bumper.
* * *
“So, a fat guy with curly blonde hair wearing a black shirt with flames around the bottom,” the officer said. We were seated at the bar, and he was taking notes. His partner had a camera out and was taking pictures of the chain wrapped around the ATM.
“Yeah, I’m guessing the same guys that broke in here last night. They came in through a back window and tried to break into the ATM. Mike should be down here shortly, and he can give you the info on that. He’ll probably have the case file number. At least now you know who the pickup belongs to,” I said and nodded at the rear bumper with the license plate.
“Hopefully, unless they stole that pickup.”
“Have you had a lot of these happening? People stealing the entire ATM?”
“This wouldn’t be the first time. The things are designed to be tamper-resistant. So usually, we’re dealing with someone who doesn’t really know what they’re doing. They think it’s going to be easy. The truth is, it’s not, and they simply become determined they’re not going away empty-handed. I’d say they forget, but the truth is they probably never knew there’s a tracking device on all ATM’s. Not to mention a red dye that will explode if the unit is forced open. We had a case last summer where three guys successfully stole an ATM but eventually were ID’d on security cameras and arrested. All three were covered with the red dye.”
It was maybe a half-hour before sunrise when the side door opened, and Mike stepped in. He looked like someone who’d just been pulled out of a deep sleep. “What the hell happened?” he asked, staring at the pickup bumper and the chain.
“I’m guessing the same guys as before. Only this time, they left a calling card. Their bumper and the license plate,” I said.
The police took my information. They talked with Mike for a bit, gathered up the chain and the license plate, and left. They promised to send someone over later in the day for the bumper.
“Dev, I’m so glad you were here. How in the hell did they get in?”
“I’m not sure. I dozed off for a minute in the corner booth and heard them in here. There were only two of them, so I was able to fight them off and chase them out the door. They took off but fortunately left the bumper. Hopefully, the cops will be paying them a visit shortly.”
We chatted for a while. Mike put on the coffee and made me a sausage pizza for breakfast. After breakfast, I headed home, showered, and got dressed. Morton wandered into the kitchen an hour later. He did his usual stretch by the door and then came over for his morning behind the ear scratch. I let him outside, filled his food and water dish, and let him back into the kitchen. We were down at the office before nine. I noticed a handyman truck parked alongside The Spot but decided it would be better for all involved if I stayed away.
Louie showed up an hour later. I watched him park out on the street and had his coffee waiting for him when he finally made it up the flight of stairs. I filled him in on my early morning visitors at The Spot, and then Louie left for a court appearance. I drifted off to sleep at my desk and was out for a good long while before my phone rang and woke me. Taylor was calling.
“Hey, good morning, Taylor.”
“Dev, it’s almost two in the afternoon.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I was so involved in this case, I guess I lost track of time. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. I’ve finished your portrait.”
“Really, that fast?”
“Yeah, Annette looked at it, said I would be a shoo-in. I like it, and I’m worried that if I do any fine tuning, it will only serve to screw it up.”
“Makes sense to me. You want me to pick you up?”
“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. This morning, I got a call from those guys who want me to design their logo. I’ve got some ideas, and I wanted to sketch them out with the colored pencils and show it to them on that special paper Dennis gave me.”
“You want me to bring it out to you?”
“No, if you could pick me up, I’ll work on it at your place. They’re going to stop by later tonight around eight. I was wondering if we could maybe stop at a bank on the way home. I’ve still got Dennis’s check, and I’d like to open a bank account and deposit it.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s a good idea. I’ll head out to you in just a minute. Is Annette there?”
“No, she had another meeting to go to.”
“Okay, write her a note and leave it in her kitchen so she knows what’s up, and you can call her later tonight. You want to be sure to stay on her good side for all the help she’s given you.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you when you get here.”
Chapter 43
Taylor was looking out the window when I pulled into Annette’s driveway. He waved and opened the front door as I walked up the sidewalk.
“Do I get to take a look at the painting?”
“Yeah, sure, it’s in the kitchen,” he said and headed in that direction.
The painting was on the kitchen counter, leaning against the wall. Despite my two black eyes and my black and blue nose, I had to say it looked great.
“Taylor, I got to tell you, that is one hell of a
great painting. I’m not just saying that because it’s me. You really did a wonderful job.”
“You like it?”
“No, I love it. I’m not kidding you. Me, the chair, the way the background fades, it’s really good. Glad you eliminated the words on my t-shirt. What did Annette say?”
“She said she really liked it, and she was surprised I could do it that fast.”
“Yeah, well, unlike me, she actually knows what she’s talking about.”
Taylor set his note to Annette on the kitchen counter and carried his painting out to the car. I opened the trunk, and he carefully set the painting in the trunk.
“You still want to open up that bank account?”
“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all. It’ll only take a couple of minutes. I know just the place.”
We drove back into town and headed up Grand Ave to the aptly named Grand Bank. I pulled into the parking lot, turned off the car, and asked, “Do you have the check and an ID?”
Taylor reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He reached inside and pulled out the nine hundred dollar check from Dennis Richards and a photo ID from school.
“Good, that’s all they’ll need. Let’s get you set up,” I said, and we walked into the bank through the back door. Two tellers were just off to the right behind a black granite counter. The teller stations were maybe six or eight feet apart.
I called, “Hi, Deb,” and gave a quick wave to the blonde teller. She waved and took a bite out of a candy bar as we headed to a cubicle.
Pat, one of the bank officers, was seated at his desk, working on his computer. He looked up, smiled, and said, “Hi, Dev, what can I do for you?”
“Pat, this is my friend Taylor Cummings. He would like to open an account.”
“Sure, take a seat guys. Savings or checking?” he asked Taylor.
“Savings,” Taylor said and then looked at me.
“Yeah, that’s probably the best for right now,” I said.
Pat reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Okay, just fill out this top sheet, and we’ll get it set up.”
Taylor began filling out the form and stopped just after he entered his name. “Can I use your address?” he asked, looking over at me.
“Yeah, that’s where you’re living,” I said and gave him my address with the zip code.
He filled in some more info and paused, “I’m not exactly sure of my birthdate. It’s either April eleventh or fifteenth.”
“Put in the date you think is correct,” Pat said. “Do you know where you were born?”
“Yeah, here in St. Paul.”
“Dev, if you could get a birth certificate in the next couple of days, let me know if the date changes.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll get on it this afternoon.”
“It’s not a problem, so don’t worry,” Pat said to Taylor. “We had a guy in here last month who was a twin, two brothers. Their names were Easton and Weston. One was born at 11:59, and the other was born at 12:03 the following day, four minutes apart.”
“Oh, that’s just—”
Bang! What sounded like a gunshot, a very close gunshot went off. A voice suddenly shouted, “Everyone on the floor now. Let’s go. Come on, move!” A half-second later, a guy in a scary clown mask popped his head around the corner and said, “You three, get out here.” He waved a gun at us in case we had any questions.
There was only one other customer in the bank, a blonde woman in blue hospital scrubs. She was lying on the floor by the teller’s counter. Another guy in a red wig and a Ronald McDonald mask handed a black cloth shopping bag to Deb the teller and said, “Fill it up and make it quick.”
“Oh, no,” Taylor said.
“I told you guys to get down on the floor. Do it now,” the clown with the scary mask shouted.
We all got down on the floor and placed our hands behind our heads.
Ronald McDonald grabbed an office chair with wheels and rolled it over to the tellers counter. He stepped onto the chair and then up onto the granite counter. He sang a line from a song, “With a little bit, with a little bit, with a little bit of luck, you’ll never work,” and said, “Now everyone, just stay nice and calm, and this will all be over in—” Bang!
He suddenly jerked, let out a short scream, and fell off the counter onto the floor. The clown in the scary mask frantically looked around and then ran out the front door. Pat was on his feet immediately and picked the pistol up off the floor.
The clown was groaning and rocking back and forth. Taylor hurried over, pulled the Ronald McDonald mask off his face, and said, “Uncle Eli?”
Chapter 44
The blonde woman in scrubs turned out to be a surgical nurse and attended to Eli Cummings.
“So let me get this straight, Haskell. You’re telling me it was a coincidence that you just happened to be here in the bank when the robbery occurred?” Detective Manning asked again.
“I already told you, Manning. This is my bank. I’ve had an account here ever since I was in high school. We were opening an account for my friend Taylor, who—”
“Who just happens to be the nephew of the robber wanted in two previous bank robberies.”
“Actually, Manning, I believe it’s three previous robberies but go ahead. Taylor has been living with me. He was going to open an account and deposit a check. We were in the process of doing that when those two clowns showed up.”
“How convenient.”
“What’s convenient about this? One of them fired his pistol into the ceiling and told us to get on the floor. Then dumb ass Eli Cummings climbs up on the tellers’ counter, slips on a half-eaten candy bar, and shoots himself in the foot. The only thing convenient about this is you were able to arrest Cummings, and with any luck, he’ll give up the name of his accomplice.”
“Oh yeah, the masked man you watched run across the street and disappear.”
“Are you suggesting I should have chased him? The guy had a gun for God’s sake.”
Aaron LaZelle suddenly appeared and asked, “Did you sign your statement, Dev?”
“Yeah, ten minutes ago.”
“That’ll do it for now. You’re free to go. We have any more questions, we’ll give you a call.”
“You guys finished with Taylor?”
“Yeah, he’s back in the cubicle with the bank officer.”
“Pat?”
“Yeah. He’s a little upset. Not fun, and then on top of that to be related to the robber. Poor kid.”
“He’s a good guy, Aaron. He didn’t have anything to do with those two idiots.”
Aaron nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious.”
I glanced over at Manning and gave him a, ‘Told you so,’ look. “We’ll head home. Hope you get the second guy,” I said and headed back to Pat’s cubicle. Taylor was seated at the desk, talking to Pat. He’d obviously been crying.
“How you guys doing?”
“We’re okay, just going through some stuff. Right, Taylor?” Pat said.
Taylor nodded but didn’t look at me.
“Any chance we can get that check deposited before we head home?” I asked.
“Yeah, just need your signature because Taylor is under eighteen, and then I’ll run it through.”
I wrote my signature on the application form and handed it to Pat.
“Give me a couple of minutes,” Pat said and hurried over to the tellers counter.
“How are you doing, Taylor?”
He looked up at me and said, “I can’t believe that was Uncle Eli. He was robbing the bank while I was trying to open a savings account here. They’ll probably keep my check and tell me to get lost.”
“Nah, they won’t do that. How’d you know that was your uncle wearing the Ronald McDonald mask?”
“He’d sing that ‘Little bit of luck’ line when he scored big on one of his bets, which wasn’t too often. It’s a song from My Fair Lady. Of course, he ends up no
t paying attention and shoots himself in the foot.”
“The teller I know, Deb, was eating a candy bar and left half of it on the counter. I guess he stepped on it, slipped, and that’s when he shot himself in the foot.”
“It figures,” Taylor said.
Pat stepped back into the cubicle. “Here you go, Taylor. We look forward to working with you in the future,” he said and handed Taylor a deposit receipt. “Debit card, deposit tickets, and account information should arrive within the next five working days.”
Taylor nodded and said, “Thank you.”
“Thanks Pat. Anything else you need from us?”
“No, that should cover it. Thanks for stopping in, fellas. I promise next time it won’t be quite so crazy.”
I waved goodbye to Aaron, ignored pain in the butt Manning, and we headed out the door. We climbed into my car and buckled up. I turned the car on, checked in my rearview mirror, and that’s when I saw it. A red Chevrolet Chevelle SS with two, six-inch wide white racing stripes on the hood and a ‘chrome breather’ to use Lyle’s term. I adjusted my rearview mirror, read the license plate, and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Taylor wanted to know.
“Look in the rearview mirror and read the license plate on that souped-up red car behind us.”
Taylor leaned over and looked in the mirror. “What the hell? Are you kidding me? The guy’s license plate says asshole?”
“Yeah, when you see it in a mirror. I’d better tell Aaron about it. This is the car your uncle grabbed from that Lyle jerk.”
“That’s the guy that got the pan full of hot chili tossed on his face.”
“Oh, really. That explains all the blotches and blisters. Big guy with a shaved head?”
“Yeah, Eli hit him on the head with the pan, knocked him out for a minute, and we ran out. Of course, my uncle didn’t wait for me.”
