by G. K. Parks
“Hurry up.”
Opening the latch, I went around the counter, my eyes never leaving the man. He wasn’t disguised or trying to conceal his identity which either meant he was cocky enough to believe he’d get away without incident or he was willing to kill anyone who got in the way. By my calculations, they weren’t good odds.
“Alex, what are you doing?” Annette asked, causing him to turn toward her. I saw the gun on his hip, just underneath his shirt and knew things could get bloody any second.
“Nothing. It’s almost closing time. I just need a moment alone with my friend. Finish with your customer and call it a night. I’ll close up,” I said as nonchalantly as possible. She continued to look at us questioningly, but I continued toward the staircase, urging the bank robber along.
As we began our ascent, I noticed him signal to the other two, who had remained off to the side near the empty couches and closed loan offices. Thankfully, the loan department had gone home for the night, and there were only three tellers, the security guard, and the bank manager still in the building, in addition to a few straggling customers. Containing the situation was the best I could hope for. There were three or four customers in line, and if they would just finish their business and leave, it would make this entire situation easier for everyone involved.
“You’ve done this before?” the man asked as we made it to the top of the steps. “No one remains this calm.”
“You’re just like a fucking mugger. If I cooperate, hopefully you’ll take what you want and go.” I tried to sound frightened and angry, but I was weighing my options concerning the chances of attempting to subdue him. The only problem was the two goons downstairs. I needed back-up in the form of tactical support.
“Smart girl.” He stared with dead eyes and removed the gun from his hip. “Now take me to the safe deposit boxes.” Apparently, he was smart enough to realize breaking into the vault would be too time consuming and obvious. At least with safe deposit boxes, there was no way of knowing what went missing. There were no surveillance cameras in the room, and the locks were simpler to break, even if there were two per box. Someone had done their homework. “Move.” He raised the gun and maintained a steady aim as I led him to the other staircase and began descending the steps.
“It’s right here.” I opened the door and swallowed, leaning against the opposite wall and trying to make myself small and less intimidating, not that he was intimidated by my barely five foot six physique.
“No. You’ll make a run for it. Get inside.”
I obeyed, and he shut the door.
“Don’t try anything.” He jerked the gun, indicating I should take a seat.
I slid to the floor, and as he began searching for a specific box or set of boxes, I felt the number pad on my phone. Pressing the two and the call button, I hoped Carver would answer.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, hoping Michael could hear me. “Robbing a bank is a great way to ensure you’ll spend the next twenty years in prison. What about your two friends in the lobby? They have automatic weapons, don’t they? Are you planning to mow us all down after you get what you want?”
“Shut up, bitch,” he growled, prying open one of the boxes.
“Or do you think because you’re just hitting the safe deposit boxes no one will ever know?”
“I said shut it.” He kicked the table that was in the middle of the room toward me as a threatening gesture.
“It’s an excellent plan, except for the fact that I can identify you. At least your friends have caps and sunglasses on.” That was everything I knew about the situation, and all the information I could relay to Carver. It was up to him now.
“I swear to god, if you make one more sound, I will blow your fucking brains out.” He dropped what he was doing and towered over me, pressing the muzzle of his gun against my forehead. “Not a goddamn peep.” I stared up at him, not afraid. “Bang,” he taunted, but I didn’t flinch.
Now probably wasn’t the best time to inform him he was under arrest. Considering the fact my gun was still behind the counter in my purse, it wasn’t going to be particularly useful in expressing my point.
After a moment, he stepped away and slipped the gun back on his hip as he continued to pry open and ransack a few of the boxes. I had to give him credit; he had a talent for getting them opened in record time. Glancing around the room for a possible weapon, the only thing I spotted was the metal letter opener he was using to jimmy the boxes. He placed it on the table as he dumped the contents of the current box into the drawstring bag he brought with him. Snatching it from the table in one quick motion, he didn’t notice it was gone or that I moved from my spot.
The sound of gunfire erupted from the lobby, and he stopped. Straining to hear, we heard someone announce, “Federal agents.” Then more shots were exchanged. Those words caused the bank robber to become frenzied. He dumped the rest of the box into the bag, pulled the string closed, and slipped it underneath his jacket.
“You’re going to get me out of here,” he ordered. “Is there a back door or another exit?”
“Nope.” Like I was going to tell him about the second entryway from the manager’s office.
“Well, we’re going to find one.” He pulled his gun and grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. “After you.”
The gunfire stopped, and my guess was his two partners had been subdued. We were in the hallway when Michael came down the steps directly in front of us. His gun was out and aimed. The gunman grabbed my hair and pulled me against him. Using my body as a shield, he pressed his gun into my clavicle.
“Federal agent. Drop your weapon and let the lady go,” Carver ordered. I met Michael’s eyes, hoping he’d just take the shot anyway. “Drop it,” he repeated.
The gunman pulled me closer, and I reached into my pocket, grasping the handle of the letter opener. It was better than nothing.
“I’m going out that door,” the guy said, dragging me backward toward the locked vault. The problem was he had nowhere to go in this narrow hallway. “Once I’m free, I’ll let her go. Just get me out of this fucking bank.”
“I can’t let you do that. Look around. You’re out of options. We can all walk away breathing, but you need to listen to what I say. Now. Get. On. The. Ground,” Michael said, using his calm authoritarian voice. He was waiting for a clear shot, and in these tight quarters, I had to do something to give him one.
“Michael,” I interrupted, “you don’t have a choice.” I wanted him to take the shot, but he shook his head ever so slightly. “Michael, please.”
The man pressed the barrel into my neck, threatening to fire.
“All right,” Carver took his finger off the trigger and eased his gun down, “be cool.”
The reprieve from having the firearm in his face caused the man to relax his grip just enough for me to elbow him hard in the solar plexus. I stabbed the letter opener into his abdomen, and spinning around, I knocked the gun from his hand. It clattered loudly on the tile floor while he howled in pain, and I attempted to get away. But before I could, he ripped the sharp, metal object from his body and slashed forward. Michael pushed me out of the way and aimed his gun.
“Don’t you fucking move or I will shoot you.”
Picking up the fallen gun, I pointed it at our suspect while we waited for back-up to come down the steps.
Eleven
“Guys, we’ve got two more in the lobby with fucking Uzis. They winged Sharpe,” Boyle said as additional agents came to check on us.
Two agents I recognized led the bank tellers to safety while Carver and I kept tabs on the only remaining bank robber. Because of his stab wound, we weren’t able to move him, so we were camped out in the narrow hallway, separated from the lobby. Our bank robber was doing a great job making a nice pool of blood on the floor. Apparently, he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to remove an impaled object. The rest of the team was assessing the situation and waiting for the EMTs to arrive. Boyle was running poi
nt and giving out instructions.
As soon as he got the chance, he came to check on us. “You kids okay?” he asked, knowing he just missed something major.
“Peachy,” I responded, handing him the robber’s gun and quickly running up the stairs to get my own before someone tried to catalog it as evidence. On my return trip, I noticed the cut on my arm. “Dammit.”
Carver and Boyle both glanced at me, and Boyle radioed for the tactical team to cover our captive and make sure he didn’t bleed to death while we waited for the EMTs to arrive.
“Alex, are you okay?” Michael asked as we went into the wide open space of the lobby. Boyle’s expression read worry, and Michael picked up on it instantly.
“It’s just a scratch. Nothing much,” I responded.
“Blood exposure,” Boyle added quietly. “With the way he’s bleeding, it’s a possibility. You need to get checked out.”
The bastard better not have anything communicable, or I’d kill him. That is, if I hadn’t already set that in motion.
Jablonsky arrived, along with a couple of ambulances and the local police department. The FBI would be sending their own agents to evaluate things, but by the time they bothered to show up, I would be long gone. Mark found an EMT examining my arm and came over to see what happened. After Carver and I explained the situation in the hallway, Mark ordered me to the hospital and put Carver in charge of being my babysitter. Some reward for a job well done.
* * *
As I sat on a bed in the ER, staring up at the ceiling and wishing to be anywhere but here, I tried to relax. This was all precautionary and a goddamn waste of my time. The man who attempted to use me as a human shield was in surgery now. He refused to answer our questions or allow us access to his medical records. Basically, he was being a spoiled brat and trying to ruin my day the way I ruined his. Clearly, his mother never taught him not to play with sharp objects. Since we didn’t know what diseases he might have, I was being made into a pincushion.
The nurse came in with half a dozen needles filled with high powered anti-virals, antibiotics, and whatever other preventatives they used in the event of exposure to communicable diseases like HIV, AIDS, hepatitis, et cetera. Grimacing, I looked away as she stuck me multiple times, checked the site of my cut for obvious infection, and said I had to wait before being discharged.
“Are you decent?” Carver called from behind the curtain.
“You know me. Am I ever decent?”
He pushed the curtain aside. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fucking annoyed is what I am.” I rolled my eyes. “This is pointless.”
“It’s just to be on the safe side,” he insisted as I considered leaving without waiting for medical approval.
“It better be. I’m only twenty-six. Just imagine how much sex I’ll miss out on if I end up contracting something from that lunatic.”
“I’d be willing to take the chance and hook up with you,” he joked. At least I hoped he was joking. “My guess is you’re worth it.” I slapped his arm. “Is that foreplay?”
“Thanks for not accidentally shooting me. That would have been worse. But if you had the shot,” I began, but he cut me off.
“I didn’t. He kept moving behind you. Winging him wouldn’t have helped matters, but we made a good team. Where’d you get the letter opener from anyway?”
“He brought it to jimmy open the safe deposit boxes. Apparently, he couldn’t keep an eye on his tools. What do we know about him?” I asked.
“His name is Isaiah Thompkins. A few armed robberies in his past. A team is scoping out his apartment and workplace. The other two men from the lobby were both his former cellmates from two different stints. He’s a three striker now, and considering everything that’s happened,” Carver whistled, “the asshole might be better off dead than facing twenty-five to life.”
I nodded, and we fell silent.
“Parker,” Jablonsky stormed into the tiny cubicle allotted to me, “what did I tell you about having an emergency contact?”
“I don’t need an emergency contact. This is Boyle’s fault. That is one paranoid agent you have working for you. First off, we don’t even know that I was exposed to anything, and second, we don’t know that he has anything deadly or contagious,” I argued.
Carver looked at me, knowing that I was slashed with the same letter opener that had been shoved through Thompkins’ gut, making my first point moot.
“Well, we’re going to find out. I will find out.” Mark looked like he was in no mood to be reckoned with. The nurse came back, checked the injection sites, and took my temperature. “Is she okay?”
“You might experience some flu-like symptoms. It’s a common side effect. Headache, dizziness, fever, joint pain, some nausea.” I sighed. Medicines and I rarely got along. With the exception of OTC pain relievers, I was a total lightweight. “Do you have anyone to keep an eye on you just in case?” she asked, speaking directly to me and not Mark, even though he was the one who asked the question.
“Of course, she does,” he responded. Apparently being my emergency contact gave him some kind of authority over me. I’d have to remember to get that changed sooner instead of later. I signed the release forms and stood up. I was probably imagining the queasy feeling. It was the power of suggestion, I reminded myself, trying to use reverse psychology to counteract it. “Carver, take her home. I’ll be there as soon as I get some definite answers.”
“Guys,” I protested, “I’m perfectly fine. Can’t we just go back to work?” But my words fell on deaf ears as Carver led me out of the building.
* * *
Arriving home at almost nine p.m., I still wanted to accomplish a lot of things tonight. The first was to shower and change. It was one of the few rituals I had, a coping mechanism to deal with horrible days. Today counted.
“Can you call in an order for some sandwiches and soup from the deli around the corner?” I asked Michael as I grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my drawer.
“No problem.” He knew my habits. “Take your time.”
When I emerged, my head was beginning to throb and the nausea was setting in. I took a seat at my kitchen table and glanced at the wrapped sandwiches and vat of chicken soup he ordered, along with the stack of individually wrapped saltine crackers. Opening a pack, I nibbled on a cracker as Michael poured a glass of ginger ale and put it on the table in front of me.
“You were starting to look a little peaked in the car. Also puce, which isn’t a good color on anybody,” he teased. I finished my crackers and got up to get a pen and paper. “Now what are you doing?”
“Newsflash, we have reports to file and debriefs to go through.” I tossed him a questioning look. “How long have you been doing this job?”
“Oh, so that’s what you’re doing with all those late night hours in front of the computer at the office.” He slapped his palm against his forehead. “I thought you were surfing for internet porn like everyone else.” He grabbed the pen from my hand. “Tonight, you’re not writing a report.” I glared at him, thinking this was his way of telling me to rest. I had no desire to rest. I had a desire to work. Getting a couple injections at the hospital didn’t mean there was anything wrong with me. “I’m writing your report tonight and conducting your debrief.”
“Michael,” I sighed, “I can do it myself.”
“No. Jablonsky gave me strict instructions. Frankly, our boss is scary as hell.”
Picking up another pack of crackers and taking a sip of the soda, I began the extensive recount of the entire situation while Michael scribbled furiously to keep up. Having a personal assistant was something I could get used to. Now if only he could cook and clean, then maybe he’d be a keeper.
Twelve
By the time Jablonsky showed up at my apartment, I was curled up on the couch. Carver finished my paperwork and was putting the final touches on his. Even though he suggested I go to bed, I was exercising my dominion. Here, I was in charge. Queen of the ca
stle.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked, sitting up. The pounding in my head had increased.
“Douchebag’s out of surgery. We had a lovely chat. He’s undergoing some tests now. It’ll be a few hours until we know if he’s clean or not,” Mark offered. He looked over Carver’s shoulder before coming over to the couch and pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. “You can take down a guy twice your size in under a minute but fill a syringe with antibiotics and it knocks you on your ass. Crazy world we live in.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Mind if I watch the game?” Jablonsky asked, sitting on the other end of the couch and picking up the remote as I slumped back down.
“What game?”
“The sports channel is showing classic basketball games all week long.” I hated basketball, and he knew it. “I thought since I was hanging around here while we wait for news on Thompkins, I could at least watch some television.” He tossed a glance to Michael. “Carver, why don’t you join me and grab the rest of those sandwiches?” I stared at Mark like he was insane. “Would you mind sitting up so there will be room for all three of us?”
“Fine,” I growled, getting off the couch and going into my room. The entire point was for me to go to bed. Frankly, I was happy for the excuse to drop the tough act, but there was no reason Jablonsky needed to know that. There was also a good chance he already did.
Snuggling under the covers, I tried to get warm. Eventually, I dozed as the sound of sports commentary and hushed whispers carried through my apartment and into my bedroom, lulling me to sleep. A couple hours later, I climbed out of bed in search of something to drink. Jablonsky was asleep on my couch, snoring slightly. Michael was sitting at my kitchen counter, looking exhausted as he went over the reports. Mark brought a stack with him when he showed up, but I didn’t bother to give them a second thought.
