by Mike Faricy
“Milton! Damn it, I’ll have to put you down if you continue in this manner. For God’s sake, answer me you ingrate! Speak, speak!”
* * *
“I can’t really talk right now,” Daphne said to Lucerne, it was the fourth time he had called and she had inhaled an entire tub of chocolate chip cookies with him on the line. She looked longingly at the empty Tupperware tub, ran a finger around the outside edge to capture the last of the buttery crumbs.
“Look Tracey, I’m just checking up, makin sure you’re okay. Hell, the way you’re carrying on, you’d think I’m being a pain in the ass or something. Just got me concerned is all, what with that strike. That labor shit can be tough if a body’s not careful.”
“Oh that’s so sweet, but look, Lucerne, I mean, I appreciate your concern, honest, I do, but don’t worry, really sweetie, I’ll be all right.”
“Well, it’s just that you being so nice, I think sometimes you might not know what kind of assholes folks can be, and this here boss, this Osborne. He sounds like a mean little bastard.”
“Well, you’re right about that. Look, what if I did this, I mean I shouldn’t, but it’s so nice you care. I’ll give you my cell phone number, you can call me, no charge.”
“Now you’re thinking, I promise not to be a pain. I’ll be checking up a couple times just to make sure you’re safe. Course, you can call me anytime, specially if you’re feeling in danger or something.”
“I’ll do that, Lucerne, and thanks. I really mean it.”
* * *
Otto entered the bank lobby half expecting Cindy not to be at her window. But there she was, busily shoving rolls of quarters to a woman who was quickly stuffing them into a bag, no line behind her.
Cindy rolled her shoulders, glanced up at the wall clock inside the sweltering teller area. She just might make it. She exhaled up toward her forehead in a vain effort to cool her sweaty bangs. She was exhausted. She couldn’t remember if she’d taken a break today. She zoned out, closed her eyes, told herself she could hang on, make it through the day, she could do it.
“Well, so we finally get some time together. I was beginning to worry you didn’t want to see me!” Otto giggled.
Wrenched back to reality, her worst fears were confirmed. Otto grinned like an idiot behind a mask of zinc oxide.
“You can’t have your favorite customer getting upset, here,” he said. Then propped his briefcase up on the counter and looked around the half full lobby before opening it. He popped the two buttons on his briefcase, pulled out a grease stained paper bag and crammed it into the change well. His hand lingered, giving her the opportunity to touch him.
Cindy took tiny little breaths to fend off the nauseating sensation. She grabbed the opposite side of the bag and avoided his twittering fingers. He held on tightly as she pulled the bag, until eventually it ripped apart.
“That’s okay. I got more so don’t worry,” Otto said, working to calm her down. It wasn’t going to do if she got this upset over little things. She’d have his laundry screwed up in no time.
“So about what time do you think tonight? Closer to eight would be better for me.” He figured as long as she was getting all this free stuff on their date the least she could do would be to show up after the dinner rush.
Cindy suddenly felt light-headed, her stomach fluttered ever so threateningly. She swallowed hard, bit her lip to concentrate on the pain and quickly began counting greasy currency.
He continued talking as Cindy fought to close her mind to the outside world. She encoded his deposit slip, then shoved his receipt through the greasy trail the paper bag had left.
“… course after that if you wanted, you could see how we mix up the batter, maybe put some bacon on skewers you know, start to learn a little bit about the business,” he droned on.
“Got a little something special for you again, more treats. Cajun style this time!” he grinned. Then pulled a stained paper plate from his briefcase, restacked what looked like dog poop on a stick. He shoved and crammed the whole mess back into the coin well. It left a quarter inch crust of grease and batter along the bottom edge of the protective glass.
“No, no, no thanks, please, oh please, no.” She half whispered, afraid she might cry, fighting to swallow the lump in her throat. She pulled the saturated paper plate through the opening and placed it off to the side.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“Tonight then, closer to eight.” He gave her his two-fingered salute, then executed two crisp left facing movements and marched purposely out the door before she could respond.
She shuddered as he departed the lobby. A dark stain ran from his shoulders down the length and breadth of his back, then transferred from his jersey to the back of the baggy blue jean cut offs.
“Oh disgusting,” Carol exclaimed. She swooped up the greasy paper plate laden with encrusted bacon strips, depositing the whole mess in a waste basket outside the teller area.
“Like it isn’t bad enough in here with all of us sweating. You sure attract them, honey!”
Cindy grabbed the Lysol can and sprayed down the counter area immediately in front of her, wiped the area clean with a fistful of paper towels. Then sprayed again for good measure.
* * *
I don’t know, thought Merlot, pulling the black wig back and binding the hair to form a pony tail. That doesn’t look half bad. He decided the odds of wearing a mask into a bank and not attracting attention were slim to none and so, opted for a disguise.
He wore a long, black haired wig, fake mustache, a Band-aid over the bridge of his nose, sunglasses, bulky loose fitting jeans, and shirt. He was beginning to believe there just might be an outside chance he could pull it off.
He had been practicing with a series of different notes, some stating he carried a bomb, others a gun, some made no mention of any weapon, but simply asked for money. He thought he would just bring a couple of trash bags, fill them with cash, get in and out quickly.
He looked at himself in the wall mirror again. He didn’t recognize the freak starring back at him from behind the mirrored glasses, hopefully Cindy wouldn’t either. His plan, such as it was, was not to say anything, just hand the note to the teller.
He reminded himself once more to wipe down the Saab for any trace of fingerprints. He planned to wear gloves anywhere near the damn thing from this point forward.
* * *
Osborne’s head still throbbed after bouncing off the brick wall. Add to that the chiming from the ice cream truck servicing the crowd, Milton snoring in a semi-comatose state on the couch and it was all too much.
He walked over to the snoring, drooling giant and kicked his shin. Milton groaned but other wise gave no reaction. He sprayed him again with disinfectant, then returned to his desk, reapplied an ice pack to his tender forehead.
He lifted the blinds, glanced down on the scene below, and was shocked to see someone had set up an Ipod and speakers. Sassie and the rest of her ilk were dancing to the delight of clapping police and a growing mob of onlookers. He slammed the blinds down strode over to Milton and kicked him again.
* * *
“All right, I’m moving. Relax will you,” Daphne said to a Pioneer Press photographer in response to his scowl and anxious arm directing her out of the way.
He wanted to get some decent shots of the thong clad picket line. He smelled a possible photography award, maybe a Pulitzer. His eagerness to get the shot, the lighting with just the right shadows had translated into a gentle but forceful assist to the rather large, sweaty woman.
“Sorry, just trying to get this shot,” he’d said, not in the least sorry.
Daphne struck a pose.
“You could take my picture.”
Like it isn’t tough enough hanging onto readers, he thought, pointing the camera and absently clicking in her general direction.
“Did you even take the picture? I didn’t see a flash.”
He glanced up at the sun beating down.
<
br /> “You wouldn’t, there’s enough natural light. Look, I gotta get these other shots, so if you’d excuse me.” He crouched and thrust himself delightfully close to Misty rubbing suntan lotion on a friend.
“Don’t you want my name for the paper?” Daphne called after him, stepping up to the ice-cream truck just as her cell rang.
“Hello.”
“What’ll it be this time?” the ice-cream man asked the large woman with the cell phone surgically attached to her ear.
His name was Morris and he had lost track of how many ice cream treats she’d purchased today, although he could probably figure it out if he took the time to count the different colored drips staining the front of her T-shirt.
He was thin bordering on gaunt, with dirty, lackluster hair. He might have been labeled ‘unattractive’ were it not for a definite rodent quality to his face, which caused him to be described as “extremely ugly”. This, in addition to years of selling overpriced ice cream to whiney kids and bitchy parents, had left Morris with a noticeable twitch and a hair trigger temper.
He had parked his truck here on a lark almost four hours ago and business had been booming ever since, which to Morris’s way of thinking meant he had to work even harder.
“Are you still out of banana fudge bars? Hang on, Lucerne,” Daphne said, pulling the phone away from her face. “Well?”
“I told you before, you ate the last one around two o’clock,” he twitched. “Where exactly, do you think I’m gonna get any more? Pick something else.”
“Oh be quiet, you,” Daphne giggled into the phone, pointed and mouthed the words ‘Creamy Dreamy bar’ to Morris.
“Jesus, do I have this, do, do I have that,” Morris muttered, jerking involuntarily for a moment before reaching deep into his diminished cooler and handing her a Creamy Dreamy bar.
“Here, now you’ve eaten the last of these, too. So don’t come back here asking for another, cause I ain’t got one. Four fifty.”
“Oh Lucerne, that’s so nice of you,” Daphne giggled. She slid four dollar bills and two quarters across his little counter, tore the wrapper off with her teeth and crammed a third of the bar into her mouth.
“All right, Tracey, look, I’m gonna check on ya all later, just making sure everything’s okay,” Lucerne said.
“You are so sweet, you’ve really been a big help. I can’t thank you enough. I just wish there was some way to repay you,” Daphne said pulling the phone away from her ear, licking dripping ice cream off her hand and phone.
“… maybe sometime tomorrow afternoon. You could even come along,” he said just as she put the phone back to her ear.
“Yeah, that would be fine with me,” she replied, having no idea what he was talking about, concentrating instead on the large drip of creamy vanilla she was going to miss if she didn’t hurry.
“Whoops, gotta go,” she said clicking her phone off and quickly attacking the ice cream before she lost the large drop to gravity.
“Yes!” Lucerne said out loud, Tracey was going to join them. Just rob this damn bank, pick her up and they would be set.
* * *
Merlot was locking his office door before heading to Wiener’s for poker night. His disguise, along with the two trash bags, revolver and various robbery notes were hidden beneath the cushions on the couch.
“Merlot,” Patti called sweetly from behind the bar. She’d been almost nauseatingly nice ever since posting the newspaper photo of Merlot with Dickie on the web site.
She leaned forward seductively as he approached. Placed her hands on the bar and rested her breasts on top so that it looked like she was offering them up.
“Just wanted to let you know, I packed the kids off to the lake this morning with my ex. So, they’re gone until next weekend,” she dropped her voice an octave or two, making it sound extremely sexy.
Merlot swallowed hard, getting rid of the reflexive urge to suggest they run to her place for a quick ten-minute dinner and a sleepless night of debauchery. Any other time he might have jumped at the chance, dismissing all thoughts of propriety or consequences as only he could do.
“Oh man, that sounds great, Patti, I’m sure you deserve a week off just to recharge your batteries and relax.”
Patti moved her hands slightly, offering the hors d‘oeuvre tray again.
He felt hot, as if the air conditioning had suddenly shut off. A droplet of sweat slowly worked its way down his spine.
“Look, rest up. Sorry, but I’ve got a meeting I’m late for, see you tomorrow.” As he spoke he backed toward the door, spun on his heel, and walked out as quickly as he could, not sure he was capable of withstanding another offer.
* * *
Otto was late collecting his receipts, but he didn’t want to leave his stand, afraid there was a good chance he’d miss her and she’d get upset.
Typical, he thought, looking at his watch, again. Already a half hour late for their date. He’d have to talk with her about that, punctuality was important. He guessed she was spending time in front of the mirror making herself look perfect, time just getting away from her.
“You getting deposits, Otto?” Josh asked.
“Yeah, I know, I’ve got someone coming to see me tonight. I wanted to be here when she showed up so I wouldn’t have to run around looking for her at the other stands.”
“Her? You got a sister?”
“Naw, girlfriend,” Otto said.
“A girlfriend, really, no kidding? Wow, I’d like to meet her, I can’t imagine,” he said the last part under his breath.
“I’m just a little surprised that’s all. You’ve never mentioned her before. How long you been going out?” For once Josh had stopped working.
“You’d like her. Wants to learn all about the business, you know, when she’s finally got the time, finishes her other chores and all.”
“Other chores?”
“Well, yeah, you know laundry, cleaning, that sort of thing, women’s work.”
“Laundry and cleaning? You mean to tell me she does your laundry and cleans? I gotta meet this chick. How long did you say you two been going out together?”
“Ahh, for a while now, sort of,” Otto replied vaguely, suddenly feeling the urge to gather the cash deposits from the other stands.
“A while?”
“Look, her name is Cindy. She’ll be asking for me so tell her to just stay put, I’ll be back. I gave her a half off coupon so just in case she lost it.”
“A half-off coupon? That’s really nice of you, Otto.”
* * *
Cindy was finally calming down after the most horrible day at work, ever. She replaced the receiver just long enough to obtain a dial tone, having taken the phone off the hook as an added precaution in the event that awful Otto person had somehow found her home number. She shuddered at the mere thought before dialing Merlot.
“Yeah,” he answered on the fourth or fifth ring, absently nodded toward Victor to deal him in.
A moment later he put his finger in his ear, got up from the table, and walked out the front door so he could hear.
“Merlot, you in or out, man?”
“Hello, I’m sorry. Hello, hello?” ignoring Dickie’s comment.
“Hi Tony, Cindy.”
“Hi, Cindy. How’s it going?” his mind flashed to tomorrow and his desperate plan to rob the bank.
“I’m just taking it easy after another day from hell. Look, I just wanted to apologize for not being able to give you a couple of minutes today. It was really sweet of you to come by, but we were so jammed. No one takes breaks during this week. I just didn’t want you to take it personal, that’s all.”
“Hey ass wipe, you in or what?” Dickie, yelled through the screen door.
Merlot shook his head and waved Dickie away.
“I’m sorry, what was that, I didn’t hear you,” Cindy said.
“Oh nothing, just one of my associates. So Cindy, if you don’t take a break, do you ever get to just step away from
the counter. I mean, you must have to use the bathroom once in a while, don’t you?”
“Sort of depends, I guess.”
“You must grab a lunch even if it’s for a couple of minutes. Just wondering is all. Don’t worry, I’m not going to come over and see you or anything tomorrow, because I’ll be really busy.”
“We take really short lunches in the basement. It’s just the way it is during fair week. Course the flip side of that is we get an extra vacation day to use later and a nice bonus for the week, but believe me we earn both of them.”
“What time do you usually break for lunch?” he asked.
“Maybe about 1:15, after the other girls, but I still wouldn’t have time to see you, Tony. It’s just too crazy, and some days, like yesterday, it was about 2:00, and then I just had half a sandwich out of sight, stealing a bite from time to time. I never really even took a lunch, so it wouldn’t be a good idea to plan on something like that.”
“Hey, look, I should get back into this meeting. How about I call you next week after Labor Day? Holiday weekends are a crazy time in my business. Maybe we can spend another quiet night together, when both our schedules return to normal.”
“Yeah, I’d really like that, thanks, see you,” she said, feeling much better.
Fuck! He thought, now what?
* * *
“What we’re going to do is a couple of dry runs getting the hell out of here,” Mendel explained, talking over his shoulder to Elvis in the backseat. They had the AKs loaded and ready, one in the backseat on the floor and the other resting next to Mendel.
Since Lucerne would be driving, he had a 38 special tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He had come to the conclusion that it might be better to get Tracey after they took down the bank instead of bringing her along. Neither Mendel nor Elvis would be able to see the wisdom or recognize the true love involved.
“See, it’s just two and a half blocks to the freeway from here. That’s Highway 280. We take this back route, avoid the stoplight, fair traffic and all. Everyone, including the cops are gonna be stacked up out there, meanwhile we’ll shoot through the neighborhood. Some bastard is bound to see us leaving the scene tomorrow, but we’re out of sight in less than half a block.”
