Her brother left town immediately upon graduation, marrying a girl in college and moving to Florida. She saw them and her young niece only at Christmas. This year was the exception, as they had to cancel due to prior obligations.
Tired of being the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, Brittany went off to college after high school, using grants, loans and part-time jobs to put herself through school. She had returned to her hometown after college, partly to help her mother who had become sick and partly hoping for the fairy tale romance after finding no real keepers during her time at the university. All boys wanted there was a little play.
Upon returning to her hometown four years ago, Brittany went to work at City Hall, first as secretary and then in human resources. Just last year, she had worked herself up to administrative assistant to the mayor, finally getting herself out of the poverty she had been raised in. It had been a long, hard road but she had gone above and beyond in her jobs at City Hall, earning every promotion and every pay raise. On the day of her most recent promotion, she recalled her last conversation with her mother, during which she expressed pride in Brittany’s years of hard work and success, and even apologizing for not being able to provide all the things other teens had.
"That's okay mom. You did the best you could do for us," Brittany had told to her as she clutched her mother’s hand, tears rolling down her face as she drew her last breath following her long battle with cancer.
Becoming decently successful in her career, it had now become her goal to find the handsome prince who would sweep her off her feet and take her to his castle to live happily ever after. The issue with finding the prince was she had been stuck kissing the frogs most of her life and hadn't even gotten close to the castle. Her prince was long overdue.
Just when she was beginning to give up the search, Joe walked in from out of the blue. He was boyishly handsome and fun to talk to, with a quirky sense of humor. He was also a genuine gentleman, something Brittany believed had died out with the dinosaurs, existing now as only an urban legend.
Brittany could feel herself becoming smitten with Joe right there on the spot, making her rethink her whole life strategy. She now wished she had gotten to know Joe long before, when she first sensed his interest. Now, in the flickering candlelight of the dark locker room, it was becoming clear to her that she may have found her prince; he was just disguised as a high school football coach. She only hoped now she hadn't waited too late.
For Joe, what began as a longshot to capture Brittany's attention had left him alone in a candlelit room with the point of his affection, her arm wrapped around his waist holding him tight to share their body warmth. That, in itself on a normal night, would have represented a wildly successful evening but now, his concern was for their safety and survival.
What was happening in Centertown? He tried the phones in the locker room area, all dead, leaving him in the dark, both literally and figuratively, as he watched the glow from near the civic center disappear. The fires were apparently burning themselves out. Both he and Brittany had surrendered their phones as ordered by the gunmen. What did people do before cellphones?
"Why would they lie and tell us to stay inside?" Joe asked aloud, not noticing Brittany's hand which was now rubbing his back. "Surely that has to be the real police. There's no way they could have taken over the whole city? Is there?"
Brittany hugged Joe close as she gazed out the window by his side. She was finally starting to recover from her harrowing experience at the arena. Her uncontrollable shaking was starting to subside.
"I didn't see that many," she said plainly. "I counted three in all, two on the stage with me and one back toward the back. I doubt three men can take over an entire town. Plus, I didn't see anybody outside, although you were pulling me along behind you pretty hard."
Joe agreed, thinking to himself had there been guards posted outside the arena he and Brittany would likely not still be alive. And, had snipers been on the roof, as Joe had feared as they fled, their silhouettes in the snow would have made them easy targets even in the darkness.
Reaching around to pull Brittany closer, their breath now visible in the candlelight each time they would exhale, Joe looked into her eyes.
"Let's get out of here," Joe said.
Brittany was somewhat disappointed they were leaving their romantic, yet quite cold, hideaway.
"I think we can make it to my place in about ten minutes if we try," Joe said, having already made up his mind. "Are you ready?"
Brittany nodded, ready to follow him anywhere, as Joe gave her a reassuring smile and opened the door. The freezing wind nearly cut the pair in two as it felt like he had opened the door to the freezer. However, before they could start their escape, Brittany reached and pushed the door back shut. She grabbed Joe by the collar and pulled him to her. Their lips met in a steamy passionate kiss. Surprised, but certainly not disappointed by her advance, Joe hesitated before embracing the beautiful brunette, pulling her close. They lost their balance in the moment with Brittany falling backward into the door. The awkwardness didn't discourage the couple as their kiss continued for several seconds before they reluctantly let go, both gazing into one another's eyes in shocked silence.
"What was that for?" Joe asked breathlessly, now reminded he had been alone with the most gorgeous woman in Centertown for the past hour.
"For saving my life," Brittany responded, still holding his gaze. "I didn't get to thank you properly earlier.
"Remind me to save your life more often," Joe said with a smirk.
"If we get through this, there's more where that came from," Brittany said giving Joe a smile as he opened the door and the two slipped into the frigid darkness.
WHAT COMES AROUND
Ralph grunted as he drug the last of the bags of cash to his van. His back was already aching after lugging three prior loads. Ralph had stuffed four large bank bags full of cash after finding the bills stacked high inside the vault. He had never seen so much money in his entire life, not even in his mind’s eye during his wildest dreams.
The thick bank bags were stuffed to the point where Ralph had to pull them behind him on the floor like Santa dragging his bag of toys to his sleigh. He was barely able to hoist them into the back of the van. He gave a grunt each lift, feeling the pull in his back.
"Where is Randy?" he wondered aloud.
The plan called for Randy to serve as lookout and help in the heavy lifting since Ralph was getting up in years.
"This isn’t a job for an old man," he muttered as he grew more irritated with his partner in crime with each load. Ralph still had a sharp mind but his body had begun to betray him. Just three years ago, not long after Linda's passing, the stress of losing his wife and being alone for the first time in his life had finally caught up to him. Ralph was rushed to the hospital after collapsing at work one day. The doctor's diagnosis was that he had suffered a mild heart attack. Since then, Ralph had remained on a cocktail of medications meant to keep him alive. He knew he had a ticking time bomb in his chest and tugging at heavy bags of money was not what the doctor ordered.
"But what a way to go," Ralph thought to himself.
While he didn't necessarily like the idea of dying, passing away lying in a pile of money brought a smile to his face. If he did drop dead from the stress, he would die rich. At least he wouldn't let some doctor kill him like they had his wife.
After lugging the last bag into the rear of the van, Ralph paused to collect his thoughts and catch his breath. He marked down on his crude manifest, detailing the take from the first bank. Turning the key, thankful the van started on such a cold night, he drove to the opposite end of Main Street. The drive was no easy task in itself as he was barely able to see the downtown street through the darkness and blowing snow. The roads were now blending in with the sidewalks as the white powder had piled higher during the half hour he was in the bank. This was truly the storm of the century in Centertown.
"Where are you at?" Ralph
asked on their private channel with a tone of irritation in his voice as he hoped for a response from Randy. There was none.
Pulling up in front of First Third Bank, Ralph grabbed his tools of the trade again, leaving the million dollars from City Bank unguarded as he made entry into the bank. He didn't even bother locking the van. After all, who was going to steal anything on Christmas Eve?
First Third proved an even easier mark. Ralph was able to conquer the vault in less than twenty minutes. The haul, however, was disappointing. If the money bags were right, he was only making off with a little over three quarters of a million.
"What a waste of time," Ralph said to himself as he began walking the bags to his van.
He again wondered where his partner in crime had gone. His back was starting to ache. Three more banks to go, then it was on to the easy work.
Unknown to the other members of the five, Randy was more interested in payback than the payout. He figured he could have his cake and eat it too, exacting a little revenge before improving his tax bracket. While Ralph was busy cleaning out the town, Randy was planning to clean up some loose ends when it came to the bankers who had refused his pleas during the housing market collapse. The cold-hearted bean counters had left him to lose everything. Centertown was now the Wild West being run by outlaws and he planned on handing out some frontier justice.
"I'm sorry Mr. Groves but your business is not an acceptable risk to our board members given the current economic climate," Randy recalled City Bank President John Archer telling him in turning down his bail out.
"But I've always been on time on my payments. I haven't been late once. I've been loyal," Randy remembered begging.
He knew other businesses, of more preferred clients, had been bailed out by the bank. That knowledge gnawed at him.
Randy had always felt like an outsider since moving to Centertown many years ago after splitting with his father's demolition firm in favor of the more lucrative construction market. He had become a well-known member of the town, but due to the fact he "wasn't from around here" he had always been treated like a second-class citizen. It was almost like the natives had a private club that no one else could become a member of.
"I'm sorry Mr. Groves. It's out of my hands," President Archer had told him.
There was a tone of finality in the banker's voice, a tone Randy could still hear in his ears as his motorcycle rolled up in front of the posh Archer home. The large white columns of the palatial home greeted visitors and served to only further irritate Randy when he drove by daily. He hoped every day that he would eventually get to set the score straight. The day had come.
Now, Randy's only hope was that Mr. Archer was home. He grabbed his shotgun off the sling on his bike, leaving behind his automatic weapon with which he had gotten so much pleasure earlier, terrorizing the citizens of Centertown.
Walking with purpose up the steps and between those damn columns, Randy paused, looking at the wreath that adorned the Archers' front door. He ripped down the wreath and threw it into the yard before knocking lightly. Leaning over to look inside, Randy realized, with some delight, that someone must be home. The flickering of candles suggested the rich folks were making do during the blackout. Hearing footsteps on the hardwood floor approaching, Randy stood patiently as he heard the lock click and the door slowly swung open.
Mr. Archer never knew what hit him as Randy cracked him across the nose with the butt of his shotgun as soon as the door opened. The solid strike left blood spraying across his entryway floor. The banker's wife screamed in terror as the masked man stepped inside and stood over her prone husband who lay bleeding profusely in his pajamas from his obviously broken nose.
“Shut up lady," Randy growled, pointing menacingly at the middle aged woman as she stood petrified with fear, her hands over her mouth.
Kicking Archer in the gut, prompting a groan from the injured bank president, Randy was a man possessed. He was feeding off the screams and fear much as he had during the war.
"Stop it. You're hurting him!" Mrs. Archer screamed, her voice pleading.
"You have no idea," Randy growled, his teeth clenched as he put the gun to the head of the banker. "You shouldn't have been such a selfish piece of crap."
With that Randy stepped back and unceremoniously pulled the trigger, the muzzle flash of the shotgun lighting up the house. The banker's head disappeared from the point-blank execution-style blast, blood spraying Randy's pants and covering the banker's wife.
Her blood curdling screams could be heard by the whole neighborhood, but no one would come to help. Her face was locked in an expression of terror after the horrific sight she had just witnessed.
"I said shut up," Randy said as he leveled the still smoking shotgun on her with hellfire burning in his eyes.
He nearly cut her in half with the single round of buckshot he coolly fired into the torso of the frantic woman. Her screams fell silent as the concussion of the shotgun blast reverberated through the house.
Ejecting the shell on top of Mr. Archer's body, Randy calmly walked out of the slaughterhouse. His boots left bloody prints in the white snow as he walked to his motorcycle. He holstered his shotgun and put on his helmet as he mounted the machine.
Randy kick started his bike and headed to his next stop. Citizens of the posh banker's neighborhood cowered at their windows, watching as he disappeared into the darkness. The screams they heard that night would haunt them for years to come. For Randy, the night was young. He had a timetable to keep and the fun had just started. He had more scores to settle and an endless supply of ammo.
A WOMAN’S SCORN
The ringing of a thousand cell phones was driving Harold crazy, making him think, in hindsight, that he should have made them turn off their phones before surrendering them. The phones had been swept into a large pile and were setting in the corner of the room. Their chirping was nonstop. Despite the cold outside, where the mercury was about to fall into single digits, the auditorium was actually becoming quite warm in his heavy gear. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back.
Still leaned up against the stage, moving only to make an announcement here or there through his megaphone, Harold was starting to feel a little stir crazy. The hostages were now more comfortable with their situation, at least as comfortable as they could be while being held hostage by armed men who had proven their willingness to kill. They were moving about the arena, whispering in low tones and congregating in cliques, much as they did in their everyday lives. The rich were with the rich, the poor with the poor. Even the threat of death wasn't enough to mix the classes.
Harold had to warn them a couple of times about talking, cutting down on any of those who might be planning a counterattack. He had to keep them on their toes. The police officers were still off to themselves, all forbidden to talk. The one Randy had struck was holding a bag of ice on his head, a show of goodwill by Doug.
Toward the back of the arena, Harold could make out Mayor Thorn's recent widow being comforted by throngs of friends, almost as if she was standing by the casket of her late husband. If he could have only read Mrs. Thorn's mind, however, even Harold would have been surprised to learn that behind her "state of shock” act was a woman struggling not to jump up and dance with gibbering glee. The five weren't the only ones doing a magnificent acting job that evening. Violet Thorn's performance was worthy of an Academy Award. Her mournful cries, complete with crocodile tears, were enough to break anyone's heart.
Sure, the sudden finality of seeing her husband summarily executed because of a ringing cellphone was kind of numbing, but then she had already gotten a jumpstart on being numb as she had bellied up early and often to the cash bar at the back of the auditorium. She had already reached a good state of lip numbness when her husband's ticket was punched, her buzz just now subsiding. For Mrs. Thorn, that was the only downside of the night.
Actually, behind her poker face, Violet Thorn was the happiest widow in the world. She was finally free of h
er cheating piece-of-crap husband. It was as if a massive weight had been lifted from her finely-proportioned chest.
It was no secret that Mayor Thorn enjoyed his power, especially when it came to the women. He took full advantage of his office, both figuratively and literally. His conduct would make Bill Clinton look like a choir boy when it came to office shenanigans. To see him, you would have thought the mayor was a rock star rather than the executive officer of a small city.
He had a way of parlaying his position into getting into compromising positions with those of the opposite sex. If he had spent as much time promoting their fair city as he did trying to get into the pants of his tart of the week, then Centertown would have surely been state capitol by now.
For Centertown's first lady, it was humiliating to walk down the street knowing that everyone was aware that her husband was a skirt chaser. She could sense their whispers as she passed by. She kept a false smile plastered on her face to deflect her inward hatred of her husband and her life as a whole. Mrs. Thorn was a proud woman, so it was more than humiliating to be the butt of jokes and a laughing stock with the townspeople.
On more than one occasion she had seriously considered trying to hire someone to kill her husband. However, she would defeat the temptation each time, given the fact she didn't want to end as an episode of "Snapped", caught trying to hire a hit man to off her husband. It seemed like every wife who had ever tried to hire a hit man had always ended up hiring an undercover cop. Why couldn't a woman just have her husband killed without cops getting in the way? They put "until death do we part" in the marriage vows for a reason. It was the way out.
In the end, Mrs. Thorn had decided to do it the old-fashioned way, by divorcing the jerk and taking him for everything he was worth, which wasn't that much. But the idea of stripping him bare was appealing to the scorned woman.
Average Joe Page 8
