Day of Reckoning

by John Katzenbach

  Olivia smiled, felt the power surging within her, and slid herself up over her partner.

  Just before noon, the brigade gathered in the living room. “Okay,” Olivia said. “We’re going to run through our assignments again. It’s important that no one have any questions about their precise role.”

  Abruptly she pointed at Emily. “What’s your job?”

  “I’m in the bank first, at the counter filling out a form. I cover the bank guard when I see the brothers make their move on the armored truck.”

  Olivia wheeled swiftly, and pointed at the two black men.

  Kwanzi answered. “We’re the ones who start the play. We take down the armored truck guards. Right when they’re going through the doors. Sundiata takes the inside, I take the outside.”

  “Ché?”

  “I cover the bank tellers, make certain no one hits the alarm.”

  She nodded, then swiftly rocked toward Duncan. “And?”

  “I drive the first van. I park at the corner of River and Sunset, so I can see the front of the bank. As soon as I see Kwanzi and Sundiata make their move, I pull in front of the bank and open the rear doors.”

  “And then?”

  “Stay cool.”

  “Right. Megan?”

  Megan took a deep breath and, trying to keep her voice from quivering, said: “I stay in the second van parked behind the drug­store, with the engine running. I wait until the first van shows up. Then, when everyone’s aboard, I take off. Slowly, and drive down Sunset, past the bank.”

  “Right.”

  Olivia hesitated. “What about inside the bank?”

  Kwanzi answered quickly. “No shooting. Not if you can help it. And if you gotta shoot, aim at the ceiling. Remember, nothing will bring the pigs faster than gunfire.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “And I don’t wanna take a murder fall.”

  “I think everyone should leave the safety catches on their weapons engaged,” Duncan said. “That way we can be certain there’ll be no mistakes. We’ve got to remember our objectives: Get the money, make a statement. If we shoot up the place, then the pig press will just call us a bunch of bank robbers.”

  The others nodded. Olivia spoke: “The brother is right. Remember why we’re there. Nobody get itchy with their gun.”

  “What if the guards go for their weapons?” asked Emily.

  “Won’t happen,” replied Olivia. “Once we get the drop on them, they’re trained to just go along.” She laughed. “After all, it isn’t their money.” There were smiles all around the room. “Look, we’ll be in and out before they know what hit them.”

  Sundiata picked up. “Another thing. Leave the teller drawers alone. They may have a couple of grand there, but they’ve also got special marked bills and alarms. So nobody get greedy. We’re going after the truck’s money, brothers and sisters, so let’s be cool.”

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  “Could be as much as a hundred grand.”

  This figure, spoken before, still impressed them. After a moment, Olivia broke the silence.

  “Questions?”

  “Who’s going to carry the watch?” Duncan asked.

  Olivia replied: “I am. I’m at the door, watching the street. Four minutes, in and out. Minimum response time, assuming someone is dumb enough to set off an alarm, is five minutes. We’ll have sixty seconds to clear the scene, before the first cop car arrives. And the pig will probably just run right into the bank, too, not set out looking for us. So remember, when I say ‘Go!’ we go. Everyone got that?”

  “The sister’s right,” Kwanzi said. “When Sundiata and I got busted before in that liquor store, it was because we didn’t leave when the going was good. Nobody fuck up, man.”

  “We are an army,” Olivia said. “Act like one.”

  “Right on,” said the two black men in unison.

  “Remember,” said Olivia. “We leave in the order we went in. Right into the back of the truck.”

  There was nervous laughter.

  “All right,” said Olivia, glancing at her watch. “It’s getting close. We leave in an hour.”

  The group paused before breaking up. Kwanzi produced a bottle of scotch, took a long pull, then passed it to Sundiata. “Here,” said Sundiata, passing the bottle on. “Give you a little jolt to your nerves.” The two black men looked at each other and laughed.

  Fucking fake macho queers, thought Olivia. Two black prison faggots. And they think I’m dumb enough to trust them. They think they’re using us with all their fake revolutionary garbage talk and their new phony African names. I can see through them in an instant. They don’t know who they’re really dealing with. They don’t know about my fire, and they’re going to get burnt.

  Megan cornered Duncan in the kitchen. He was sitting at a small, cheap table with a linoleum counter top, staring at a pistol and a clip of cartridges, lie looked up when she came in. “I don’t really think I need this, Meg. I’m just driving, and I’d better keep both hands on the wheel.”

  He half-smiled, trying to twist his face into a confident grin, but instead simply added lines of worry to his appearance. “You know, this entire past week I’ve been terrified that I would shoot myself in the leg. Odd, isn’t it, how you can wrap all your fears into one specific fantasy? I see myself in front of the bank, by the van, gun in hand, and everything going just right. Then the gun goes off. It’s like it’s in slow motion. I can see the bullet as it hits my leg. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but there’s blood, and I can’t drive the van anymore, and they have to leave me behind. I break out into a cold sweat, just talking about it.”

  He shook his head. “Bizarre, huh?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been tossing and turning in your sleep, too.”

  “Not sleeping well, I’ll give you that. I feel like I’m tired all the time.”

  Megan took a deep breath and quickly looked about. The others were all spread throughout the house; they seemed to have a few precious moments alone. Now, she ordered herself, do it now. Tell him!

  “Duncan, are you sure about what we’re doing?”

  She saw him start to get angry. She cursed herself. She’d picked the absolute wrong way to start the conversation.

  “No, no, I know what you’re going to say,” she continued quickly, screaming commands to herself. “I agree with you about commitment and action. I agree that something has to be done. But look at us. Are you sure this is the right way?”

  “I won’t talk about it again,” he snapped.

  Pigheaded man, she thought. I hate him as much as I love him when he acts like this. Makes up his fucking mind, then damn the consequences. Doesn’t like to think about anybody else. Well, here’s something he hasn’t considered.

  “Okay,” she said angrily. “We won’t talk about it. Let’s talk about something else, something totally fucking different—”

  She took a deep breath.

  “—I think I’m pregnant.”

  A wondrous look of mingled surprise, shock, and a small touch of pleasure fled across his face.

  For a moment he just looked at her, then he asked: “You think what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Better say it again.”

  “I think I’m pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? A baby?”

  “Christ, Duncan!”

  “Well, that’s . . . that’s—that’s—”

  “What?”

  “Well, that’s wonderful. We’re going to have a baby. I guess we should actually tie the knot, huh? Make it all legal and everything. Wow! I mean, far out. I mean, are you sure?”

  “Not completely. But all the signs are there. I should go down to the free clinic and get checked for sure, but I’m pretty cert
ain.”

  She looked over and saw what she thought of as the old Duncan. Half boyish delight, half concerned man. She saw his face flash with an enthusiasm that she had not seen for months, and it comforted her. Lost, for just a few seconds, were the plans for the day.

  Duncan leaned back in his chair.

  “I don’t know what to say.” He grinned. “I mean, this is really something. You know, everyone always wonders how they’re gonna react when they get news like this. Whew! Far out. Far fucking out. This is like jumping on a roller coaster once it’s already started . . . Jesus, we ought to call your folks, I suppose. It’s been months since you talked to them. Are they ever gonna be surprised . . .”

  She looked at him and saw only the Duncan she loved, watching as he rolled this news over in his mind, obviously delighted, con­fused, proud. Abruptly, however, she saw concern hit his face.

  He hesitated. “Hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, you want to have the baby, huh? Were you thinking about maybe not having it?”

  “Duncan, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I thought I’d better make sure, you know.” He started to grin again, oblivious to the grimness of his surroundings. “Well, well, well. What a kick in the pants. This is really—”

  He stopped in midsentence.

  His eyes fell on the weapon on the table in front of him.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “I get it now.”

  He looked hard at Megan.

  “You’re not bullshitting me? This isn’t some kind of—”

  She interrupted. “Duncan! You bastard! You think I’d lie about something like this?”

  The force of her instant anger calmed him.

  “No, no, no, I mean, it’s just with what you’re saying and what we’ve got to do.”

  He paused. His shoulders slumped in turmoil.

  “This is a mess,” he said. “A big mess.”

  He looked at the gun. He looked at her.

  “I mean, what are we going to do?”

  “This changes things,” she insisted.

  “It does. No, does it? I mean, what does it do? We can’t back out now. What do we stand for, what kind of commitment have we made?”

  She started to answer, words boiling up inside her, ready to leap from her mouth. But she cut them off abruptly at the sound of footsteps hurrying toward where they sat in the kitchen. Her mouth open, her hand reaching across the table for Duncan’s, she looked up and saw Bill and Emily enter the room. Ché and Emma, she thought. The big fucking revolutionaries.

  What are we doing here? Megan asked herself.

  She did not have time to form a reply.

  Emily was carrying a pump-action 12-gauge shotgun at port arms. She slammed back on the handle fiercely, chambering a shell. The sound was like an icicle in Megan’s stomach. “Time,” Emily said in a cold, even voice. “Time to get it on.”

  “Ready, set, go,” said Bill. He had wrapped a bandana around his neck to hide the scar. “Time to start. Let’s hit it.”

  In sudden and almost total despair, Megan watched as Duncan slid the clip of cartridges into the pistol and rose. He jammed the gun into his belt.

  Duncan felt dizzy, as if a hundred hands were spinning him in a thousand different directions.

  Then, both feeling as if they were being swept violently out to sea by a floodtide, Duncan and Megan followed Bill and Emily through the door.

  At the American Pesticide plant on Sutter Road, two men parked an old armored truck near the main entrance and walked inside, heading toward the comptroller’s office. One man was portly, red-faced with exertion, and in his late fifties. His companion was wiry and less than half his partner’s age. The younger man seemed jumpy, filled with nervous energy. He kept taking off his pale blue policeman-style hat, rubbing a hand through his hair, and then replacing the hat. The older man finally grasped his companion by the arm and slowed his pace.

  “Listen, Bobby-boy, take it easy. I wanna make it to retirement, and if you keep racing around, I ain’t gonna. I’m gonna fall down dead with a heart attack. And you try explaining that to the boss.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Howard. I’ll take it easy.”

  “And, Bobby-boy, please call me Fred.”

  “Sure, Mr. Howard.”

  They continued down the hallway at a gentle speed. After a second the older man spoke.

  “This gotta be your first real assignment. You acting real nervous.”

  The younger man nodded. “Yup. All I been doing is walking around inside department stores all night for the last couple of months. Since I got out of the service in April. That isn’t much like any real job, like this is.”

  “That’s the truth. You been overseas?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See any action?”

  “Well, kinda. I was in a couple of firefights. But mostly I just did what everybody else did, you know—humped around in the jungle without seeing too much, trying not to get dumb and dead, you know what I mean?”

  “Sure. So why’re you so nervous now?”

  “I never got to carry no money nowhere before. Least of all somebody else’s.”

  The older man laughed. “Better get used to it, kid, you wanna stick with this outfit.”

  The younger man hesitated. “This is kinda like a waiting job for me,” he said.

  “You gotta application in at the police?”

  “Yup. Took both the local police and the state police exams. My uncle was a cop. It’s a pretty good deal.”

  “Good for you, kid. Most kids today don’t wanna have anything to do with the police force. Just wanna grow their hippie hair down and smoke dope. Being a cop’s a good thing. Help people. Do what’s right, you know, for society and all. I was a cop once.”

  “No shit? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah. Military police in Korea, then twenty years on the force in Parkersville. Just me and three other guys. Retired back a few years ago and started working for the Pinkertons. Just another eight months and it’ll be three-pension time. The army, the Parkersville force, and this outfit. Every month, just like clockwork.”

  “Jeez, Mr. Howard, not bad. What’re you gonna do?”

  “Gonna outfit me a little trailer and take the wife to Florida for a while. Do some real fishing, huh.”

  “Jeez, that sounds great.”

  “You bet.”

  The older man pointed at an office. “In here. Hey, kid, you ever seen”—he glanced at an invoice—“twenny-one thousand nine hunnert and twenty-three bucks and thirty-seven cents all in one spot?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, you’re gonna get educated right now. Just don’t you go and start gettin’ nervous on me again, ’cause this ain’t no big deal. Not by no account. Wait till you got to carry a million.”

  He grinned at the younger man and opened the door to the comptroller’s office. The two men walked inside.

  A young secretary greeted the older guard.

  “Fred Howard, five minutes late as usual. How are you today?”

  “Just fine, Martha. And who’s watching the clock?”

  She laughed and asked, “Where’s Mr. Williams today?”

  “That old fool’s come down with the flu.”

  “Well, won’t you introduce me to your new partner?”

  The older man laughed. “Sure! Martha, this is Bobby Miller. Bobby, meet Martha Matthews.”

  The two young people shook hands.

  The young man stammered an embarrassed hello.

  “Gotta do better than that, you expect to get this pretty gal out on a date,” said the older.

  The young woman and man both flushed. “Fred!” she exclaimed. “You incorrigible old coot.”

&nbs
p; He laughed. “Don’t even understan’ that word,” he said.

  The young woman turned to the young man. “Don’t you pay him any mind. He’s just an old relic that should have been put out to pasture a hundred years ago.”

  The older man laughed, delighted at the teasing.

  “This going to be your regular assignment?” she asked the younger.

  He nodded. “I believe so. At least till my orders come through.”

  “He’s gonna be a real cop, Martha. Good one, too, I’ll bet.”

  “Well,” she said, smiling, “that’s good. Real good. I’m going to be right here,” she continued. “I guess I’ll see you next time.”

  The older guard hooted before either of the younger people could speak. The secretary turned to him; “Okay, Fred, you know where the money is. Sign these, you old buzzard, and get on out of here before that bank closes.”

  She smiled at the older man, who scribbled his name on some documents.

  In the truck, driving toward the bank on Sunset Street, the older guard said, “I think she liked you. You got a girl already?”

  “No, sir. You think she did?”

  “No shit.”

  The younger man laughed. “Well, maybe. Just maybe I’ll give her a shot.”

  “She’s a right nice gal,” the older man said. “I been watching her for ’bout a year. She started as a dictationist and stock gal, worked up to comptroller’s secretary real fast. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

  “That ain’t all,” said the younger.

  Both men laughed.

  After a moment’s silence, the older asked, “So, when you were overseas. Things ever get real hairy?”

  “Couple times, in firefights. You know, it was always dark and I’d be shooting away. Had no idea if I hit anything. Scared the hell out of everybody, though.” He smiled. “It weren’t so bad. What about you?”

  “Korea was fucking horrible. At least you guys didn’t freeze your nuts off. But the scaredest I ever been was in a high-speed chase after some guys who held up a liquor store. They were driving a ’vette, see, and I was in my cruiser. On the straightaways I could catch ’em, but every time we went around a corner, well, they could downshift that sucker and take off. I thought I was gonna buy it for sure doin’ a hunnert and twenny. Hell, it was kinda a relief when they spun out and me and some state boys started to shoot it out with ’em. There mighta been bullets kicking up all around, but at least I had my feet on the ground, you catch my drift.”