RCC03.3 - No Good Deed

by Frank Zafiro

Shae’s eyes widened in surprise. Her mouth fell open and a light gurgle escaped. Confusion, then sadness, came into her eyes. She collapsed to the floor. All of that happened in less than a second, but it was burned into my memory for a thousand years.

  I wheeled around, firing in the direction of the shots. Customers screamed in panic. Some crawled toward a wall or a desk, while others scampered toward the back of the bank, hunched over and shuffling their feet as quickly as they could.

  The shooter was a man in his forties. He was thin and resolute. I learned later that he was a cop and looking back, I should have made him right away. But he had blended right in with the other customers. Now he was crouched and duck-walking toward one of the desks.

  “You motherfucker!” I screamed and fired directly at him. The bullet struck low in front of him, ripping out a chunk of tile and whizzing off. Before I could fire again, he reached the desk and took cover.

  I looked down at Shae. She was perfectly still, as if posed for a snapshot. Her hair was splayed out on the ground beneath her and a dark red pool was spreading outward from her body.

  There was a short, guttural sound, full of despair. I realized a moment later it came from me.

  I turned fired over the top of the desk just as the cop started to pop up and he hunkered down again immediately. My best guess said that I had one, maybe two rounds left in this magazine. The second mag was in my back pocket, but I’d have to put the bag of money down to reload.

  More than anything, I wanted to stay and shoot it out. I wanted to kill the sonofabitch who fucked up my plan, who took away our future.

  Go with the flow, baby, I heard her say.

  I backpedaled toward the door. The cop stayed behind the desk and no civilians got suddenly brave. At the door, I emptied the rest of the clip into the desk the cop was hiding behind, turned and ran out of the bank.

  The rest of the plan went off perfect.

  “That one was for Micah,” the woman on the radio said, “sending her love from far away to Jordan, stationed in Germany.”

  I sat at the desk, sipping the whiskey and listening to the saccharine dedication show that Shae loved. She called it her guilty pleasure. The .45 rested next to the bag full of money. I stared at the droplets of blood on the bag. I hadn’t noticed them at the bank, or as I ran to the car and drove back to our shithole motel. But under the weak yellow light at the desk, the dark red drops stood out.

  It wouldn’t take the police long to put the pieces together. They’d probably have her identified in less than a day. Two at the most. Her prints weren’t on file locally or in the U.S., so that would buy me some time. Once the cops struck out, though, they’d think to check with Canada. They’d find out about the banks we did in Vancouver. Maybe we left some prints behind on one of those jobs. They’d figure it out.

  I reached down to my abdomen. Through my shirt, I felt the rough edges of scar tissue. I knew that the coarse skin under my fingers was still a deep and angry red.

  Tears stung my eyes.

  I should be driving north instead of drinking and sitting. And I suppose I would, just as soon as I drained my glass. I’d tuck the money in my suitcase, already packed before we even left for the bank, dump the shopping bag and the gun into a sewer grate and drive north. It was an hour or so to Colville, where my cousin Murph lived. I could hole up there, check the news coverage and get some rest. Then we’d drive further north, hauling a snowmobile in the back of his truck. One snowmobile instead of two. I’d pay him off and then snowmobile across the border into British Columbia.

  I hoped Shae’s Uncle Terry would still take me in after what happened. I suppose I had enough money to make it happen, but with blood, you never know. Especially Irish blood.

  And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Terry showed up with his truck, right where we’d gone cutting wood last winter in B.C., and met me with a shotgun. If he chose to do that, he’d do it without a sneer or curse. He’d just level it at me and blast me in the heart, without a word. That was his way. And maybe that’s what I deserved.

  I could lie on the cold ground and my blood would spill out onto the white snow, just like Shae’s did on the cold tile of that bank.

  “I’m Charity,” the woman on the radio said, “and you can call me with your long-distance dedication.”

  I imagined a bit of light brogue in her voice that wasn’t really there, smiled and downed the last of the whiskey.

  Another saccharine song started playing.

  “This one is for all of you long distance lovers out there,” Charity intoned.

  I’d head north, and go with the flow.

  Laddie

  “Hold on, Laddie.” Shae reached back and grabbed hold of my arm. “Jes’ feckin’ hold on.”

  I opened my mouth to reply but only a gurgle escaped. The fiery pain in my gut sent shock waves outward.

  “Oh, Jaysus,” Shae moaned, glancing back and forth between me and the road in front of her. Stress always deepened her already thick Irish brogue. “Oh, sweet Jaysus, Laddie. Don’t feckin’ die on me!”

  I shook my head at her the next time she looked back. “Just drive,” I managed to say.

  She pulled her hand away and clamped both on the steering wheel and headed north.

  Pain lanced through my belly, and I bit back a scream.

  Her hair hung in my face. She brushed her lips with mine and then suddenly, she stopped. “We should get outta Vancouver,” she said, her voice firm with decision.

  “What?”

  “Ye heard me,” she said. “We should leave fer a while.”

  I moved my face toward hers, but she pulled away.

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “You’re coming up with travel plans while we’re making love?” I asked, a little hurt.

  She lowered her face to mine and planted a kiss on me. “It’s not like that, baby. I was jes thinking about how much I love ye and never wanna lose ye. I’d do anything to keep that from happenin’.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.”

  “It’s gettin’ too dangerous. Three banks in two months. We’re too hot around here.”

  I ran my hand through her long black hair, enjoying the cool, silky feel of it. “You’re too hot, that’s for sure.”

  “We should go somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  “What about your hometown?”

  I sighed and let my hand drop to the mattress. “I left there for a reason, Shae.”

  “We don’t have to make it a social visit. We’ll get some work done. Maybe something other than banks.”

  “Banks are where the money is. At least, that’s what some fine Irish lass once told me.”

  “’Tis you who told me that,” she said. She dropped her chin and looking up at me with doe eyes. “But ‘fine,’ is it?”

  I didn’t have any witty comeback. A dopey grin was the best I could do.

  So we went to River City.

  The pain settled into a dull throb, but the shivering got worse. The old Datsun’s tiny heater finally managed to spew out something moderately warm, but it did nothing to stop the shakes. The blood soaked through my clothes and coated the back seat.

  “Is it stoppin’?” Shae asked. “The bleedin’?”

  “It’s slowing down,” I stuttered back through chattering teeth. I wasn’t sure, though, if I’d stemmed the flow or if I was just running out of blood.

  “Can ye make it to yer cousin’s?”

  I swallowed hard and thought a moment. Colville was sixty miles north of River City. We’d barely cleared the north side of town, so it’d be an hour before we got to Murph’s house. “I don’t think so,” I breathed.

  “What?”

  I shook my head at her and took a deep breath. “Just drop me at an ER and go.”

  I didn’t like the idea of going back to jail, especially for what would be long stretch, but it was better than dying.

  “Feck that, Laddie,” Shae said. “I’m no
t losing ye.”

  I started to tell her that somewhere between here and Colville, that was exactly what was going to happen. I passed out instead.

  Once we’d arrived in River City, I started to plan the next job. All my old memories of the town came cascading back to me. Planning seemed like the best way to keep them at bay, or at least under control.

  We stayed in a cheap motel called The Celtic Spirit. Shae insisted, as soon as she saw the name on the sign advertising cheap rooms. I sat at the rickety table with a yellow notepad and an open phone book, whittling down the options.

  Shae seemed relaxed now that we’d left Canada. She took frequent trips to the Jacuzzi, read her history books on the bed and made love to me. I tried to pretend her interruptions were a distraction, but the truth was just the opposite. She was the reason I planned.

  After two days, she announced, “We’re outta money.”

  I looked up from the notepad. “You’re kidding.”

  She held up three wrinkled ones and a crisp five. “That’s it. And the car is on E.”

  I cursed. “I need another day to plan. And then a couple to scout the site and at least two escape routes.”

  “We can’t afford that kind of time.”

  I sighed and cursed again.

  “We could hit a convenience store,” she said. “Get some quick cash.”

  “If we do that, we can only risk one bank job before we head out of town for good.”

  Shae shrugged. “One’s enough. We’ll drive east. I want to see Montana.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know. We won’t get shit from a stop-and-rob, but the prison time’s the same. It’s a sucker job.”

  “It’s not jes the money,” she said. “I’m bored.”

  I put down my pencil. “I have a way to occupy your time.”

  She smiled her special smile, a blend of shyness and lust, and stepped forward. I drew her to me and lost myself in her.

  Afterward, out of breath and coated with sweat, she gave me a wet kiss on my neck just below the jaw. In my ear, she whispered hotly, “Let’s jes go with the flow, Laddie. We’ll hit the store.”

  I couldn’t refuse her.

  I woke up with a mouth full of cotton. After a few moments, I realized it wasn’t cotton. It was my tongue.

  “Shae?” I rasped, my voice weak.

  No answer.

  I wanted to open my eyes, but it was too much of a struggle and I gave up. The room was quiet and a light antiseptic smell hung in the air. It reminded me of gauze pads at first and hospitals second, and then I was too tired to think about it anymore and crashed back into darkness.

  “Birch and Maxwell,” I finally told her.

  She shrugged, loading the magazine for her nine millimeter. “A store’s a store.”

  “No,” I said, “it’s not. This one is on Birch, a main arterial one-way for northbound traffic only. Maxwell is a minor east/west arterial leading either deeper into the city or out Pettit Drive and to the T.J. Meenach Bridge. From the bridge, you can go north or south, but either way, you disappear.”

  “Ye sound like a razzer.” Shae curled her lip.

  “A what?”

  “A feckin’ cop, Laddie. Why does it matter what store, anyhow?”

  I suppressed a sigh. “It gives us options. And for every option we have, any cops responding have a decision to make. Unless they make the right decision every time, and quickly enough, they don’t stand a chance in catching us.”

  She slipped the final round into the magazine and tapped it into the palm of her hand. “Ye got it all worked out, don’t ye now?”

  “As best I can. It’s still a sucker job, though.”

  She slid the magazine home and racked the slide. “Ye say the most romantic things.”

  Once everything was decided, there was no slowing her down. We piled into the car and headed south toward the store. During the drive, I went over the plan twice more. Shae nodded her head absently and I wondered how much of it she really took in. Everything in her world was take ‘em as they come.

  As we neared the store, I directed her to the empty parking lot behind the store once I was sure there were no security cameras.

  “Last chance,” I said. “We can scrap this and—”

  “Jes go with the flow, Laddie.” She leaned across the seat and kissed me, a hard wet kiss that made my head spin. “This’ll put us back in business and you can plan fer weeks on the fecking bank job.”

  I shrugged. I couldn’t tell her no.

  We exited the car and walked around the corner. A large woman waddled out the front door, herding a pair of kids every bit as fat as she was. Each kid cradled a cup of soda as big as his head.

  I glanced through the windows. Two customers. One in line, one browsing the beer cooler.

  “You get the beer cooler,” I told her. “I’ll get both at the counter.”

  “I’ll get all the customers,” Shae said. “Ye jes worry about the clerk.”

  “No. They’re too far apart. Just take the guy at the beer cooler.”

  “Fine. Let’s go, though, before the whole fecking neighborhood decides to come fer a Slurpee.”

  I slid the knit ski mask over my face and she did the same. I saw a flash of silver as she drew her nine. I jerked my .45 from my belt and we strode in like we were Bonnie and Clyde.

  “Don’t fucking move!” I bellowed at the clerk and the customer at the counter. They stared at me in shock, but obeyed.

  Shae bounded past me toward the cooler. “That’s means ye, too!” she shouted. The customer at the cooler wore a faded Seattle Seahawks jacket and matching ball cap. He’d slung a twelve pack of Keystone Light beer under his arm but froze at her voice and the sight of the Beretta. Then his jaw dropped in surprise and he raised his arms in the air. The twelve pack fell to the tiled floor with a thunk. One of the cans burst and thick foam oozed from the cardboard container.

  “The register,” I told the clerk. “Clean it out.”

  He nodded dumbly, but didn’t move.

  “Now!” I barked at him, and he jumped.

  “Easy,” the customer at the counter said. He held his palms out toward me, placating. His tie-dyed tee shirt and Rastafarian hair pissed me off. “Just take it easy.”

  “Easy?” I stepped toward him and swung the pistol in an arc, cracking him in the temple. He yelped and collapsed to a knee. I delivered a second blow, catching him behind the ear, and he fell to the ground. Blood gushed from his head. “Is that fucking easy enough for you?”

  “Lad—” Shae screamed, and then the shot rang out.

  The bullet punched into my gut and tossed me backward a step. A great weakness washed over me and suddenly I couldn’t stand. I sank to my knees.

  Another shot cracked. An angry sound whizzed past my ear. I turned my head toward the register. The clerk stood behind the counter, a small revolver in his wavering hand.

  Son of a bitch shot me.

  I should shoot him back.

  I willed my right hand to come up. My grip on the .45 remained tight, but my arm hung uselessly at my side.

  More shots, these from Shae. Cigarettes and candy leapt and danced around the clerk and he dropped behind the counter.

  Then the pain hit and I howled.

  She was there, lifting me, whispering to me, cajoling me, cursing me.

  “Come on, Laddie, feckin’ walk. Don’t ye die on me. Ye can’t die. I won’t let ye.”

  The ding of the entry door sounded and things went black for a second. When they cleared up, she was pushing me into the back seat. I looked down at the bright warm blood at my middle and clutched at it.

  Shae drove. “Hold on, Laddie. Jes’ feckin’ hold on.”

  The next time I woke up, I managed to force my eyes open.

  Shae was there. She ran her fingers across my forehead. “Ye gave me quite a scare, Laddie.”

  I rasped something unintelligible. She brought a paper cup of water to my lips and I swallowed.

/>   “Better?”

  I nodded and looked around. The room wasn’t a motel. It looked more like someone’s spare bedroom. “Where…?”

  “Don’t ye worry about that none,” she chided softly. “I said I’d take care of ye, didn’t I? That I’d do anything to keep from losing ye?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “But where are we?”

  “We’re safe,” she said. “We’ll stay here a while longer and then we’ll head up to yer cousin’s house.”

  “Shae—”

  She shushed me. “Sleep, baby.”

  And I couldn’t refuse her.

  I woke to a gunshot.

  I sat upright and blinked. The sudden motion sent a searing pain through my gut and I grunted back a yell. Tenderly, I touched my stomach. Tape and bandages. I tried to swallow, but my throat remained dry.

  I listened. Nothing. The light in the room was dim and I reached for a lamp, but winced as soon as I raised my arm. My skin was slick with sweat, but I felt cold.

  “Shae?” I called, hesitant.

  Did I hear a gunshot? Or did I dream it?

  Footsteps approached and the door swung open. I recognized her silhouette in the doorway and suddenly a snatch of a forgotten song flitted through my brain—

  —standing in that doorway like a dream—

  “Laddie? Baby? Ye all right?”

  “Was that a shot?” I croaked.

  She came to the bedside and handed me a glass of water. I wrapped my hands around hers and tipped the glass. I sipped at first, then drank greedily. In between small gulps, I smelled the cordite on her hands.

  “Are ye well enough to travel?”

  “I don’t know. Where are we?”

  “A vet clinic.”

  “A vet…you’re kidding me.”

  “No. It was all I could find.”

  I took another sip of water. “A vet clinic where?”

  “Some small town. Deer something.”

  “Deer Park?”

  “That’s it.”

  So we made it about fifteen miles north of River City. I must have passed out and she probably got scared. “What made you think of a vet?”