As if giving a lecture, Chip’s voice took on a droning quality. “It’s simple enough. I just had to find the back door program and key it to—”
“I don’t give a shit about that. You didn’t think this out. What do you think will happen if the police find out about you?” For the first time, it hit me that I shouldn’t be speaking these things aloud.
I drew close to him, hissing between my teeth. “Do you know what they do to people who hack government institutions? Ever since 9/11, the feds take a particularly dim view on this sort of thing.”
“You didn’t seem so concerned when I took an unauthorized tour of the bank files.”
“That’s different. You didn’t do anything to those files.”
Chip shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. No one will ever know.”
I clenched my fists to keep my hands from shaking. “Famous last words, Dillinger! You think Mr. Robbins can’t figure out who could have done this? You think half the school hasn’t noticed you, Phil, and me all hanging out together? You want to do me a favor? Don’t be a criminal. You don’t think like one.”
His face betrayed hurt. “No, really, Blue. It was nothing. Just your entire future.”
The momentum dropped out of my lecture, as if I’d driven over an ice patch in the middle of July. I flushed at the realization that my friend—my dear, dear friend—knew the stakes, but proceeded anyway. To save my ass. To him, that victory made it worth the risk.
Chip leaned close, eyes flashing, his voice barely a whisper. “First of all, I don’t care if he knows or not. His word won’t be worth shit in a couple of days. He could tell the police the honest truth—if he’s able to figure it out—and the locals won’t give him the time of day. Don’t give people too much credit, Blue. They’re lazy, and they accept the obvious explanation.” Chip’s voice cracked with passion.
“Why?” I had to know. “You don’t do this all the time...for other people, do you?”
Again, he looked stung. “Because I can’t stand the thought of anyone getting away with an attitude like his. It’s wrong, whether it happens to you, or Clinty, or anyone. I had a chance to stop him, so I did.”
I could hardly talk. “You could get in a whole lot of trouble if you get caught.”
He shrugged. “I won’t get caught. Besides, I couldn’t let you down, again.”
“Thank you.” Overwhelmed, I stared down at my tray full of cold lunch, trying to collect myself.
I picked up a cold fry and tossed it in my mouth, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. “Listen to me. Preaching to you about breaking the law. I’ve already been in this town too long.”
Chapter Ten
Perionne—November, 1978
Jim wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. How had he gotten into this? Their yellow Thunderbird® crept along Main Street. He pulled the car next to the curb in front of the First National Bank of Perionne. He almost kept driving.
The bank stood in sharp contrast to the archaic structures on each side, a brick frame with modern, curved corners. Jim looked around. The street shone with unseasonal, sunny sharpness, bringing glorious warmth to the pedestrians bustling about their mid-morning activities, making the idea of stealth pretty much moot.
Gunther and Crimley looked ready to go, hooded and gloved, prepared to spring into action.
Jim tensed behind the steering wheel, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. His entire future depended on whether or not these maniacs were clever enough to pull this heist off without getting caught. He didn’t like the odds.
He craned his neck to take in Gunther’s panting form in the back seat before settling his gaze upon Crimley, who sat up front. “Don’t screw anything up,” he growled before pulling the blue knitted ski mask over his face. “If the cops come chasing me, I’m pulling over. I’m not dying in a car wreck.”
Gunther grunted, shoving a pistol handle-first over the passenger seat to Crimley. Gunther’s breath sounded sharp and fast in the confinement of the car. “Dammit. Can’t load this. Put the cartridge in for me.”
Crimley’s eyes, the only part of his face peering out through the slot of the mask, rolled in exasperation. He cocked his shotgun and flipped the safety on before laying it across his lap.
“Hey. That thing’s pointed at me!” Jim said.
“Safety’s on. Hold your horses while I take care of Gimpy’s pistol. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen for five seconds.” Working around the confines of his gloves, Crimley grabbed a loaded cartridge from the glove box and snapped it into the pistol.
Jim shut his mouth but kept a wary eye on the gun.
Crimley reached back and shoved the pistol into Gunther’s eager hand. “There ya go. The one-handed special. Just point and shoot.”
Gunther slid the proffered pistol into the right pocket of his tattered jean jacket. “You ready, Crimley?”
“All set. Let’s do it. Remember, no one gets hurt.”
In unison, Crimley and Gunther popped open the car doors and sprinted toward the bank’s glass double doors.
Jim lowered his forehead to the steering wheel, fighting back stark terror. He could do nothing now, but wait.
* * * *
Crimley and Gunther burst into the lobby before the small group of people had a chance to react. Crimley beelined for the front counter. Gunther held back, waving his pistol at six customers cordoned in the roped-off queue. “Everyone on the ground! Now!”
The women screamed, dropping paperwork, and men stared with their mouths hanging open. As Gunther danced around them like a tribal wildman, the customers fell over themselves to drop prone on the floor.
Crimley sprinted through the swinging side door partition that led back to the teller’s area. He barely had a moment to recognize the blue of a uniformed guard across the lobby before the figure blurred into motion. With practiced ease, Crimley locked in a critical shot, and then dropped his aim low.
He fired; the air crackled.
Red flesh tore from the guard’s thigh. He stumbled, teetering off balance and falling face-first onto the floor, the gun flying from his hand and skittering across the marble tile.
A scream erupted from one of the women lying on the floor.
Crimley kept the shotgun trained on the bleeding man, standing between him and the row of tellers.
From under the wounded man, a puddle of blood spread, slowly creeping across the marble floor.
Gunther’s yell cut through the room, trying to overpower the shrill screams of the hysterical customers. “Don’t anyone fuckin’ move! No heroes. You hear me? I said don’t move. Lady, shut up!”
Crimley ignored his partner, now pointing his gun at the first teller. “You. Open your drawer. Quickly. Move it.”
Crimley watched, eagle-eyed, as the teller’s shaking hands struggled with a ring of keys. His gaze fell upon an empty money sack in the storage space beneath her station. “Stop. Reach down. Grab that sack, but not too fast.”
Behind him, Crimley heard Gunther’s screaming voice. “Dammit, lady. I told you to shut up!”
Crimley risked a glance toward the lobby. He saw Gunther bent over the queue, waving his gun at the tearful, older woman.
He glimpsed the combat-crazed gleam in Gunther’s eyes and saw a man who had been pushed too far—like a predatorial animal. Crimley sensed fear and imminent death in the air. He needed to take control of the situation.
Crimley almost yelled Gunther’s name, but caught himself. “Hey! Calm down. Just watch them. We’ve got it under control.”
“She’d better shut up, or she gets it.” Gunther stepped over the rope and stood over the sprawled woman, who still whimpered.
Crimley heard a sudden thump that brought his attention to the teller next to him. In a shaking panic, she’d dropped the bag, and now stood watching him, wringing her hands.
“Hey! Pick up the sack.”
The teller leaned over and gripped the satchel.
“Open it up. Let’
s see the inside. Looks good. Now, open your drawer and put the money in. Quickly!” He shouted. “Hurry the hell up!”
The teller yanked her drawer open.
“Just the loose money. No bound cash. I’m not stupid. I know about marked money, so don’t dig too deep.”
The teller shoved loose cash into the bag by the handful.
“That’s good. Now, walk to the next one.”
The woman gripped the satchel with both hands, trying to control her shaking fingers. She crab-shuffled to the next station.
“Open it.”
“I…I can’t. I don’t have the keys.” Her eyes closed, and her voice took on a high, whining beg. “Please, don’t shoot me.”
Crimley didn’t like her answer. “Don’t fuck with me. Who can open it?”
An older blonde woman with graying streaks in her hair stepped forward from the gathered group of tellers in the middle of the room. She approached slowly, arms raised over her head and a ring of keys hooked over her index finger.
Crimley trained the gun on the approaching woman.
Her blue-eyed gaze remained steady. “I’m the manager.” She spoke in an even tone. “I’m holding the keys to all the drawers. I’ll get the money for you.” Her voice continued in calm conviction as she approached the swinging door, even though Crimley’s gun—pointed straight at her head—never wavered.
Crimley gathered this was not her first experience with a bank robbery. Even better. The last thing I need is some teenage moron freaking out on me. He prodded the young girl next to him with the end of his shotgun. “Give your boss the money bag, then get on the floor. Quickly!”
“Are they fucking with you?” Gunther called.
The manager reached out to unlock the drawer, but her hands shook, and the key ring fell.
“Pick it up!” Crimley’s voice echoed through the bank.
“I knew it!” Gunther called. “We need to show these fuckers we mean business.”
A shot shattered the air; a woman’s hysteria was cut off in mid-cry.
Crimley’s blood turned to ice.
He whirled to face the lobby, no longer concerned about the money bag. He saw a woman pinned under Gunther’s feet, a pool of blood forming under her body. “Damn you, Gunther! You killed her.”
“Goddam right.” Grinning madly, Gunther pointed his gun at a young man in a three-piece business suit. The man lay face down, eyes squeezed shut, mumbling to himself.
Gunther called out, “They fuck with you anymore, this one gets it next.”
Crimley gawked at the mad scene before him, unable to move for several precious seconds. He stared at the pool of the woman’s blood flowing across the marble floor.
My fault, puttin’ my lot in with that psychopath. Damn it all.
Then clarity returned, and Crimley leveled the shotgun at the manager with renewed purpose. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on what couldn’t be undone.
“Pick up the keys! Now!” The manager grabbed the keys, but her hands trembled too much to work them.
“Give ‘em to me!” He snatched the key ring from her and motioned her aside.
Gunther continued to scream at the prone, terrified young man on the floor. “Goddamn right I shot her! I’ll shoot all of you, if you don’t shut up!”
Crimley unlocked the drawer and pulled up a large stack of loose money. He called out into the lobby. “Be cool! I’ve got it!”
While Crimley worked, Gunther’s voice continued to reach him.
“You wanna’ fuck with somebody? How about this?” A second shot rang out.
Crimley swore, realizing too late the unforgivable part he’d played in setting a crazed maniac loose on innocent victims, but his hands never stopped manipulating a third drawer. He shoved a large pile of money into the bag.
Gunther’s voice reached Crimley as he sealed up the bag. “Guy kept mumbling and praying, like God could stop a bullet or something. I guess it didn’t work.” Gunther’s evil cackle resonated through the building.
All Crimley could think about was getting Gunther out as fast as possible.
Gunther continued to taunt. “Anyone else wanna start something?”
The bag bulged. Crimley had planned to empty all of the drawers and the vault. No way to do that now. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“What? Why? We’re not done.”
“Yes we are. We’ve got plenty.” Crimley jogged through the swinging partition. “Let’s move! Go! Now!”
They bolted through the doors, across the short cement path, and into the waiting car. The tires squealed, and the Thunderbird® sped down the road.
* * * *
Jim steered with one hand and pulled his mask off with the other. He took a sharp turn onto Main Street while releasing a hissing breath. They had to go another half a mile to the town limits, where they could access the dirt roads.
Crimley tore off his mask and twisted his body to scream at the man behind him. “Goddamn it, Gunther! You shot two people! You killed them!”
“Hold on! Red light!” Jim gunned the car across the yellow line, blowing past the waiting cars and through the intersection, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pickup truck. Then, Crimley’s words sank in.
“What?” Jim shouted. Please tell me I didn’t hear them right.
“So what?” Gunther said. “You shot the guard.”
The inside of the car exploded into screaming chaos, but only one fact sunk into Jim’s shell-shocked mind—people died today because of me. Somehow his body responded automatically to the task of manipulating the car through traffic and keeping them alive. Unable to take the noise of the other two, Jim bellowed his own warning. “Shut up and hold on!”
The car roared up the street; Jim jerked the wheel to the right, steering the car onto the dirt road. “Here we go!” Jim floored the car, opening all eight cylinders of the T-Bird’s power.
The car shot forward like a rocket, pushing Jim back into the seat with familiar velocity. So far, no one chased them.
“Perfect!” Gunther cackled. “By the time Perionne’s finest get organized, we’ll be in another car and out of town.”
“Gunther,” Jim yelled. “Did you kill someone, you son of a bitch?”
Crimley answered with a voice of shocked mourning. “Two people. Shot ’em in cold blood.”
Gunther slammed his arm against the back of the seat with a leathery thump. “Fuck you, Crimley! You shot the guard.”
“Oh, God.” Jim groaned.
“I shot him in the leg, you dumb asshole! He’s still alive.”
Jim jabbed an accusing finger at Gunther. “You got me involved with murder, you sonofabitch!”
The seats shook. The car had drifted off the road, and a thousand pounds of speeding bulk tore through dirt and side-brush. Crimley gripped the wheel and eased the roaring beast of a car back onto the road. “Careful. The way you’re driving, we’ll be pulled over for speeding before they even know who they’re chasing.”
“They won’t chase us. A cop starts after us, I’m pulling over.”
“You are not!” screamed Gunther. “I’ll blow your brains out right here if—”
“That’s enough from you,” yelled Crimley.
Jim needed to pay attention. The dirt road they followed ran parallel to the paved road leading to the highway overpass. Flashing red sirens caught and held Jim’s attention.
“Crimley, Gunther, duck!”
Jim cut the wheel hard left, turning off into loose dirt and brush. The car veered away from the blockade of cars and officers stationed at the on-ramp and focusing their attention on the oncoming traffic moving from the other direction.
The ride grew bumpy, but Jim controlled the car’s path, testing old reflexes he thought had left him years ago. For the next three miles, Jim guided the T-Bird as it tore across the countryside, keeping a true course across the dusty land. He waited for the squealing of sirens that never came. They’d escaped the police, at least for
now.
Crimley spoke first, unable to hide the awe in his voice. “Who’da thought they’d get a roadblock up so fast? Looks like the Perionne police force doesn’t take kindly to a couple of their citizens getting murdered. Just the fire up their ass they needed to get those roadblocks in place, pronto.” He directed his next words at Jim. “You saved us back there. Thanks.”
Jim ignored the gratitude. “Here’s the turnoff. Everyone hold on.”
Jim skidded the Thunderbird® off the dirt road and across the parking lot of the derby arena. He pulled the car into a spot near his own. The doors popped open, and the three men jumped out.
Crimley and Gunther ran up to Jim’s car and waited expectantly.
Jim looked from one to the other. “No way, deal’s off. I can’t even get you onto the highway. You might as well turn yourselves in. I’m done.”
“Jim,” Gunther shouted, and pointed his handgun at Jim’s head. “You’re done when we say you’re done.”
“Shit!” Crimley swatted the shotgun handle down on Gunther’s good hand.
Gunther yelped, and the pistol dropped to the ground.
Crimley brought the shotgun up and rammed the stock into Gunther’s chest.
Gunther fell back against the car, pinned.
Crimley held the gun between them. “That’s enough!” In a flash of motion, he pressed the edge of a knife against Gunther’s throat.
Jim could only watch, mouth hanging open.
Gunther tensed and froze.
“I said, ‘that’s enough,’ little man. Think you’re tough, ’cause you shot a couple of defenseless people? Well, I’ll slit you from ear to ear, and leave yer body for the crows.”
Gunther glared but held back. He took a deep breath and answered in a slower tone. “Okay, Crimley. You win.”
There was a long, tense pause between the three men. Jim watched, wide-eyed, while Crimley glared at the now-cowering Gunther.
“All right,” said Crimley. “For starters, no more pistols for you. Second, we’re burying the guns and the money.”
“Why the hell we doing that?” asked Gunther.
Haunting Blue Page 8
