Bank Job

by James Heneghan

  “Huh? Right. Anyway, I refused to do Iceberg’s laundry one day. ‘Do your own filthy laundry!’ I told her. She got mad, grabbed me by the arm and beat me with her cane. I didn’t cry. ‘You little trollop!’ she yelled at me. ‘You’re hard as bloody nails.’”

  “She sounds like a monster,” said Tom.

  “She was. After that, the other kids started calling me Nails. Then everyone was calling me Nails. I kinda liked the name.”

  “Suits you.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  Tom nodded again. “Nails are hard, but they’re sharp and they’re tough, and no matter how much they get battered they always keep their heads. That’s you all right—Nails. Hard as.”

  Except for the interruptions, Tom was a good listener. I liked the way he analyzed stuff, especially the bit about keeping my head. Billy didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was listening. He was pretending to read a comic book, but he didn’t turn the page once.

  “After another beating one day,” I continued, “I decided to live up to my new name. I kicked Iceberg twice—bam-bam—both shins.”

  “Sounds like the old cow deserved it.”

  “That’s what I thought. She collapsed shrieking on the floor. I was scared, but in a way I was glad. I had proved I could be hard as nails if I wanted. No more quiet Nell Ford who took what the bullies handed out. I was Nails. I was tough. I would never let anyone boss me around, ever again. Just let them try. Iceberg was shrieking and writhing on the floor like a rubber monkey and I ran away, slamming the door behind me. The police found me in a bus shelter late that night. Social Services closed old Iceberg down and sent me here, and I’ve been here ever since.”

  Tom said, “Wow!”

  I grinned. “So that’s the story.”

  “That was amazing. Remind me never to tangle with you, Nails, okay?”

  Janice called us downstairs for a family meeting when Rhoda had gone. She and Joseph were sitting together at the kitchen table looking totally grim.

  “Kids,” Janice said, “we’ve got some bad news.”

  “What’s up?” said Tom.

  I said, “Is there a problem?”

  I remembered that there was a small problem way back when I first came to the Hardys’, when the ministry ordered Joseph to get the old-fashioned wooden bedroom windows fixed. “Children need fresh air,” the social worker had said—this was the one we had before Rhoda. I don’t remember her name. The problem was that the old wooden windows wouldn’t open because they had a million coats of paint on them. So Joseph spent a whole weekend fixing them and then sent a form to the ministry showing that the work had been done.

  We sat. Joseph opened a bottle of beer. I watched how the muscles in his forearm moved. Joseph wasn’t a big man. Billy was a few inches taller, but Joseph looked solid and strong. What I liked most about him was that he didn’t preach. He never got up on a soapbox to lecture us. Janice, sitting beside him, was a calm, motherly woman with strands of gray showing in her dark hair. She was smart too. She didn’t lecture us either—well, not very often. They loved each other. Anyone could see that. “We married when we were in our teens and still wet behind the ears,” Janice always said, laughing. They wanted kids, but it never happened.

  We were their kids, their family.

  Joseph sighed as he looked at us. “There’s new ministry regulations since the last time Rhoda was here.”

  Billy groaned.

  Lisa, following Billy’s lead, groaned also.

  Joseph said, “One of the new regulations has to do with hygiene…”

  “Bathrooms,” said Janice.

  “We don’t have enough,” Joseph said. “With six people in the house, we need…”

  “…two full bathrooms minimum,” Janice finished.

  “Preferably two point five,” said Joseph.

  I looked at Billy. Billy looked at me. I knew what he was thinking: The ministry was right. We really didn’t have enough bathrooms. There was a full bathroom upstairs—tub, shower, sink, toilet—but only a toilet and sink in a small powder room downstairs. The house was built a zillion years ago.

  But so what? I thought.

  “We manage okay,” I said. “Usually, anyway.”

  “Not good enough,” said Joseph. “This has come up before. We were warned last year that there were going to be new regulations. So we checked with the…”

  “…Foster Parents Association,” said Janice.

  “And there was nothing they could do to help,” said Joseph. “The new rules are…”

  “…here to stay,” said Janice. “We’re not the only ones. We’ve been given six months to comply.”

  “What’s comply?” asked Lisa.

  Janice said, “Right now, darling, it means we need an extra bathroom.”

  I said, “What happens if we don’t get it?”

  Janice looked at Joseph.

  Joseph shrugged. “The ministry will reduce the number of kids allowed here…”

  “…to one or two,” Janice finished for him.

  “What!” said Tom. “You mean at least two of us would have to friggin’ leave?”

  “Break up the family!” I cried.

  “I’m afraid so, Nell,” Janice said.

  We all groaned, Billy, Tom, Lisa and me.

  Not another foster, I thought. Not another move. Not when it was so perfect here. Not when I’d finally found a family where I belonged.

  I was shattered.

  “Friggin’ ministry!” said Tom.

  “No good blaming the ministry,” said Janice. “They only want what’s best for kids.”

  Joseph said, “Janice and I already looked—a few months ago—into the possibility of having…”

  “…the downstairs toilet remodeled,” said Janice.

  We brightened up.

  “That’s it,” said Tom. “Remodel the downstairs bathroom. No problem.” He looked at Billy eagerly. “Right, Billy?” Then he looked at me. “Nails?”

  Joseph said. “We’d need to make room for a tub and shower.”

  “How could you do that?” I asked.

  “We figured to knock out the wall of the hall closet and put up a new wall where the closet doors are,” said Joseph. “Only problem is the expense—building materials, plumbing supplies and so on. Brent Murphy is a local contractor. He came and took a look. He reckoned it would cost us about…”

  “…ten thousand dollars,” said Janice, “including the new tub and shower and all the fittings.”

  Tom said, “Ten friggin’…You’re kidding!”

  Joseph shook his head.

  Janice said, “It’s ten thousand dollars that we don’t have right now.”

  “So what you’re saying,” said Tom, “is that at least two of us will have to leave and get sent somewhere else, and we’ll be split up for sure.”

  Silence.

  I looked at Billy and he looked at me. Tom was busy cracking his knuckles, and Lisa was about to cry—I could tell from the way she was wrinkling her nose. I squeezed her arm and she leaned into my shoulder.

  Janice said, “We’ve got six months to come up with a solution.” She shrugged.

  We stared at each other.

  Leave Janice and Joseph?

  Deadly.

  I knew how I felt, and I knew how the others felt. Our whole world was about to fall down around us.

  No one wanted to leave the Hardys’.

  No way.

  I would do just about anything to stay.

  Anything.

  Janice looked at all of us. I could tell she was crushed. “Now kids,” she said, “I don’t want you to worry too much. Joseph and I…”

  “We’re going to do everything we can,” said Joseph.

  “We didn’t tell you to make you worry,” said Janice. “We just don’t…”

  “…want any secrets in this family,” said Joseph. That night, Janice came upstairs to tuck Lisa into bed as she usually does. She looked tired.
There were wrinkles between her eyes that I hadn’t noticed before.

  She sat on the edge of Lisa’s bed smiling at both of us. “I don’t want you two to worry,” she said. “I’m sure everything will work out.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work out?” Lisa asked, sniffing, trying not to cry.

  “Let’s worry about that if it comes. We’ve got six months to think of something.”

  “I don’t want to leave here,” said Lisa. “Not ever. I don’t want to leave you and Joseph, or Nails and the boys. You’re my family.” Her face crumpled and tears glistened in her dark eyes.

  “I know, Sweetie Pie,” said Janice, rubbing her back. “And we don’t want to lose you either. You talk to her, Nell,” she said as she was leaving. “Try to make her see that things will work out—one way or the other.”

  Lisa cried.

  I felt like crying too. Our family was about to be annihilated.

  There had to be something we could do. There just had to be.

  We had to stay together.

  THREE

  MARCH 3

  I got the idea for the Musketeers the next night while we were watching an old movie from Joseph’s video collection. It was our usual Friday family night, with chips, popcorn and root beer—the works. The Three Musketeers, loyal seventeenth century swordsmen, fought for the king of France. I remembered reading the book and loving it. The movie wasn’t as good as the book, but it was good—especially all those hot guys in capes swishing their swords around. It was a change from our favorite gangster stories, old black-and-white films starring Humphrey Bogart and James Cagney.

  Billy and Tom liked the Musketeers movie too. We even watched all the extras. I loved their slogan, All for one and one for all. Loyalty and friendship. Cool! If only we—Billy and Tom and I—could be like the Musketeers and fight for Janice and Joseph and Lisa. And for ourselves of course—we didn’t want to break up the family. Nobody wanted to be carted away to some foster horror home.

  That was when the idea hit me. Why couldn’t we try to raise the ten grand for the extra bathroom? The three of us. The Three Musketeers.

  Why not?

  The next morning I was still thinking about the Three Musketeers and at least two of us having to leave the Hardys’.

  Everyone was up early. Tom helped Janice make waffles while Lisa and I did our usual Saturday chores, stripping the sheets and pillowcases off our beds and getting the wash started. Billy helped Joseph with outdoor chores, fixing the back fence and sweeping leaves off the front walk. Janice called us all when breakfast was ready.

  Janice and Joseph were quiet, not their usual cheerful selves. We were pretty quiet too. All except Billy. His face was flushed and his appetite was as good as ever. He even drained the dregs from the bowl of sliced fruit Janice served with the waffles.

  After breakfast Janice took Lisa out for a haircut. She wanted me to come with them, but I had decided to grow my hair out.

  Billy said to me and Tom, “Wanna take a walk up to the park?”

  I could tell he had a plan and I wanted to find out what it was, because I had a plan too.

  There was no rain, but there was a damp chill in the air. We grabbed our rain jackets. Janice, on one of her shopping sprees—she called them shopping seizures—found them at The Bay’s winter sale for less than half price. Mine was black, Tom’s was green, Billy’s was gray, and Lisa’s was red. Except for the colors and the sizes, they were identical.

  Patterson Hill Park was at the end of the block, a short walk from the house.

  We settled around a picnic table.

  Billy sat on the table, feet on the seat. He obviously had something on his mind. He would have something damp on his behind if he sat there for too long. I did a few leg stretches, leaning against the table.

  The park at that hour on a Saturday morning was busy with walkers and joggers. Tom bounced his basketball impatiently, frowning at Billy. He should have known better than to try to rush him. Billy always took as much time as he needed.

  Finally Billy said, “So what do you guys think we should do about this extra bathroom business?”

  “Huh? There’s nothing we can do,” said Tom. “Not so far as I can see anyway.” He tossed his ball from one hand to another. “I agree with the regulations. One bathroom for six people is ridiculously unsanitary. I used to have my own bathroom. All to myself. With a shower and a whirlpool tub. Four bathrooms we had altogether, three of them en-suite, for three people, can you believe it? That was before my mom and dad…” He stopped.

  Silence.

  Billy looked at Tom. “So you don’t mind leaving the Hardys’?”

  Tom said nothing. I couldn’t see his face because he’d turned away from us.

  I said, “I bet there’s something we can do. We could be like the guys in that movie last night, the Three Musketeers, working together, all for one and one for all. We could go out and get what we need. I bet we could raise the ten thousand.”

  Tom turned to me, annoyed. “Ten thousand bucks! It might as well be a million! We’re just kids. How can we raise that kind of money? Sell raffle tickets, maybe? Pet and babysitting? Dog walking? Yeah, right. Sometimes, Nails, I think you’re friggin’ brain-damaged or something.”

  Brain-damaged. I felt my insides shrink. A giant hand squeezed my heart.

  Billy looked at me and nodded slowly. “Nails is right. There is something we can do.”

  I smiled up at him. At least he didn’t think I was brain-damaged.

  “Oh yeah?” said Tom.

  “I’ve got a plan,” said Billy.

  “What kind of plan?” said Tom.

  Billy said, “The way I see it, the only way we’re ever gonna get the kind of money we need is…” He paused, looking at me, then at Tom.

  “Is?” Tom said, kicking the picnic table impatiently. “Is what?”

  “Steal it,” said Billy.

  “What?” Tom’s dark eyebrows disappeared under his spiky black hair.

  “Funny,” I said, but I didn’t laugh. “Tell us another one, Billy.”

  “I’m serious,” said Billy. “I’ve thought it all out. We need to be like the Three Musketeers. Nails is dead right. We need to go out and take what we need.”

  “What?” Tom stared at Billy. “No way. I hate the friggin’ idea. You won’t catch me stealing. Besides, the Three Musketeers never actually stole anything, did they?”

  “Yes, they did,” said Billy. “They stole from the bad guys and gave to the good guys.”

  “No, they didn’t,” said Tom. “You’re getting them mixed up with Robin Hood.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “The Musketeers gave to the good guys.”

  Tom said, “Didn’t you watch that video last night? Were you awake? They weren’t stealing money. They were protecting the king. Tell him, Nails.”

  “We’d be protecting the family,” Billy said before I could open my mouth. “Same thing.”

  “You’re so full of crap,” Tom said, “Stealing is for losers. Everyone knows that.”

  “Just who were you thinking of stealing from?” I asked.

  “The bank,” said Billy, casually checking out his fingernails.

  Tom’s jaw dropped. For once he was speechless.

  Billy smiled his slow smile.

  “The bank?” I said. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. The bank is the obvious choice. It’s the place with all the money.”

  Nobody said anything. Billy stomped his long legs on the picnic table’s seat, grinning at us like a happy Buddha.

  Then he said, “Think of Joseph’s old gangster movies. Think how easy it is. You walk into a bank, you tell them it’s a holdup, and you walk out with their money. Remember Edward G. Robinson in—I forget the title—and Steve McQueen in that St. Louis movie? And Gene Hackman in Heist?”

  “But they had guns and knives. Or something serious and scary,”
I said. “And besides, they’re only movies, not real life.”

  “Sometimes bank robbers have a note. Just a note. No weapons.” Billy made his voice deep and scary. “A note and a scary voice.”

  “You’d never get away with it,” Tom said. “You’re a total lunatic.”

  “But we would. My plan is foolproof. The reason bank robbers get caught is because…gather round while I give you a lesson in advanced physics.”

  Tom stared.

  “Bank robbers get caught,” said Billy, his voice lowered, “because they don’t work together like pickpockets.”

  “Pickpockets?” I said. “What do pickpockets got to do with it?”

  “And what’s advanced physics got to do with it?” asked Tom.

  Tom was a straight-A science student.

  Billy answered Tom. “Advanced physics is the universal movement of bodies and particles. Matter and energy.”

  “So?”

  “For us, money is the matter and we’re the energy.” He turned to me. “A pickpocket is smart. As soon as he steals a wallet, he hands it off to a partner faster than the speed of light. His partner then disappears. That way, if the mark feels his wallet being lifted and he grabs the pickpocket, or if the police catch him, the pickpocket looks innocent because he hasn’t got the wallet. Get it?”

  Tom said, “I get it all right. It’s not advanced physics, it’s advanced garbage. Your mind has snapped, Billy. Totally snapped.”

  “There’d be nothing to it. We could raise the ten grand in no time flat. Don’t you see?”

  “No way.” Tom shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  With that, he stomped away like he wanted to crush every worm and bug in the rain-soaked turf.

  Billy called, “No point going off mad, Tom. Come back and talk. Be reasonable.”

  Tom hesitated. I could see he was trying to decide what to do. Finally he shook his head and came back. He stood, hands on hips, unconvinced, waiting to hear what other craziness Billy had to deal out.

  But I spoke first. “Tom’s right, Billy. It’s nice of you to try figure out a way we can all stay together with the Hardys, but kids robbing banks makes no sense, no sense at all.”