W hat’s the best way to rob a joint? Any way better than what we did.

Now, I’ve been in this line of work for years now, started as a youngster taking here and there. I’m not a bad guy, just always found that taking what you need from those that won’t miss it is just as noble a profession as any out there. I don’t make chemicals that kill people or bombs or burgers, I steal. I’m not Robin Hood, I’m a businessman.

I don’t remember the first time I stole something. I used to grab something every time I went to the market. For as long as I can think back, if I went into a store, I stole something. Probably something I didn’t want, definitely something I didn’t need. I’m not a klepto, don’t want some kinda rush. Just did it to do it. The upside is a lucrative lifestyle. The downside is the whole legality thing.

As I got older, it became less about little things and into bigger scores. My classmates were studying for their SATs and waiting for college responses while I was running a point of purchase donation scam. Does a person that drops a quarter into a jar really care where it goes to? Better me than some CEO.

Enough about me and more on how we got where we are. It started with a phone call. So much shit does. It was my brother-in-law. I wasn’t a fan.

"Hey, George, what’s up?"

"Hey, I got a job for you."

"Okay."

"You not interested?"

"What’s the job."

"Hot Rock National Bank."

"Good-bye George."

"Wait wait wait, don’t hang up. Just listen to me."

"I’ll give you two minutes."

"Okay, cool. Look, I know what you really do."

"And what is that?"

"Do I have to say it?"

"Just continue."

"So, I just got a security job there. I don’t get a gun or nothing, but it’s pretty cool.

"Minute and a half."

"They keep like nobody there for security, man, like nobody. Only one of us per shift. The tellers don’t have those triggers under the counters and they told me they got like a couple million in there."

"So, you want me to rob the bank you work at?"

"Hell yeah man. Like, in exchange for a finders fee or something. You can do it on one of my shifts, how they gonna know."

"You can’t quit right after the job."

"Well, yeah, I know." But from the tone of his voice, he didn’t.

"They watch for that."

"But man, this is a sweet deal."

"Tell you what, shoot me the details and I’ll talk to some guys about it."

"Sweet man. Thanks, like thanks a lot."

"No promises."

He brought a file folder over the next day. I call them dossiers. Always have and will. We all have a dossier locked up somewhere. I skimmed through it, looking at plans and pictures.

"How did you get the plans?"

"Just copied them man. Wasn’t nobody around."

"Except the camera."

"Naw, they don’t have one over the copy machine. Or in the office area at all."

"I need more pictures."

"What you need?"

"The vault, alarm, anything that could get us caught. I need to know where every camera and every sensor is. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I can get all that. Anything you need."

I worked with a few guys on a decently regular basis. Collin was an Irishman, a master of safes and alarms, though he insisted he be referred to as a jugger. He was busting bigger jobs than I could imagine before I was born. Resettled over here on account of rubbing the IRA the wrong way. And because he was part of a crew that robbed a bank for close to half a million. A maestro of profanity with a love for Cadbury eggs and Terry Pratchett. We always met at a bar, which he called a pub all the while lamenting the fact that it wasn’t a "proper pub".

"Oughta be a house. Like a bloody house, that’s a fucking pub not this shit."

"Yeah. That’s true. That’s why it says ‘Sports Bar’ out front and not pub. They make no qualms with what they are."

"Oughta be a proper pub. But that’s cream in the pale. Whatcha got in mind this time? Nother fucking pisser job?"

"No, something a little bigger."

"Bigger? Bloody lot of knackers we are, the shit we been doing. Be better off on me security back home."

"Well, the IRA . . ."

"Yeah, well . . ."

"I’m looking at a bank."

"A bank? You got me listening."

"Four or five guys, supposed to have over a mil."

"Over a mil? You ready for that bloody lot?"

"Yeah, we’re ready. Hell, you’ve done it before."

"I ain’t the only one bloody doing it. Who else we got?"

"Windham should be in. Haven’t talked to him yet but he’s gotta be running low."

"What bout you?"

"Me?"

"You running low?" Collin asked me. I wasn’t where I wanted to be, but I had enough to get by. Never go to the grocery store hungry and never plan a job when you’re broke. First rule of the occupation.

"Naw, I’m good. Not good enough to pilot this thing, but good."

"Who you got in mind to pilot?"

"Not quite sure yet. Maybe Monty."

"Monty got himself nabbed. Some proper bullshit up north."

"Gone away or waiting?"

"Oh, more than fucking gone away. We’ll see flying cars fore he sees the bloody sun."

"Damn." I needed a pilot, someone to float the expenses in return for a percentage of the take. Jobs can be expensive, capital is key. Pretty much like any business.

"What about Harper? That wanker got the cash?"

"It’s possible. I’ll run it by him tomorrow. Otherwise we may have a problem."

"Problem? Trying to do a fucking job without a pilot is bloody hell like trying to fly a damn plane without one. You let me know." Collin drank his whiskey. I drank my rum.

I met with Harper the next day at some new restaurant. Trying to be upscale however failing with the staff. Hard to justify ordering a seventy dollar steak from a chick with more facial piercings than teeth. Jesus, meth does bad things. Mahogany walls, finely carved wood-working, sleeved bartender with gauged ears. Modern elegance.

"You know we have a server shortage?" Harper tried to stay on top of current national events. "We do. Not enough of them so they have to scrap deeper and deeper into the barrel."

"Bound to hit the bottom eventually."

"Oh they already have." A server that smelled like a skunk and looked like Shaggy in a dress shirt brought us our drinks. Twelve dollar mixed affairs kept fresh with large ice spheres. The bartender was apparently a fan of the straw-alcohol-dipping fad. I didn’t plan to tip any higher. "Look at that guy. Would you hire him to work in a place like this?"

"No, but I don’t run a place like this. Neither do you. I got something to talk to you about."

"Not before the food. Never talk business before the food. It’s an old rule."

"It’s a fat man’s rule."

"Be that as it may. This place is supposed to have great cuts. That Japanese stuff."

"Kobe?"

"No, the other one."

"Pretty sure it’s Kobe."

"No, it’s not." The waiter brought the tray of food. Set out the spread.

"What type of beef is that?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Is it Kobe or that other one?"

"Yeah, that’s it. That one." He collected his tray and wandered off. Can’t really describe it better than that.

"He doesn’t know. It’s not Kobe. That‘s a basketball player."

"It can be both you know. Anyway, now that we have the food, how about we talk business?"

"Got a job brewing?"

"Yep"

"I figured as much, what’s the story?"

"I’m needing a pilot."

"A pilot?"

"You know what I mean. I’m getting a job together."

"How much?"

"Probably fifteen or twenty grand."

"You want me to float that?"

"That’s why I’m sitting here."

"What’s the play?"

"A bank."

"A bank? What bank?"

"Hot Rock."

"Bullshit. You’re not really thinking of hitting Hot Rock."

"Damn straight I am."

"Who you got in?"

"Collin so far. Windham should be in. Need a couple others."

"So you need a driver and some muscle?"

"And a pilot."

"I don’t have it but I can get it. Actually, I think we can help each other."

"How’s that?"

"Sterling’s isn’t doing so good." Harper owned several businesses, creating a frosted-glass front of legitimacy. A handful of laundromats, several gas stations and a small grocery store, Sterling’s. He had been making a healthy living on the wine and beer sales alone, making little on the rest. "That damn Beer Barn is killing me. Taking away my customers."

"Well, they are half the price."

"Shouldn’t matter. What happened to loyalty?"

"So what does that have to do with the job?"

"Well, I can think of a win-win here. You need some money, I need to make some money. You rob Sterling’s, take your twenty grand and boom I get reimbursed by the insurance company. And, of course, after the job I get my cut."

"You want me to rob your own store? Isn’t that place like a local institution?"

"It’s whatever. This is the only way I can get you your money."

And that’s how I agreed to rob a grocery store so that I could rob a bank.

As I had predicted, Windham was in. With minimal prodding as well. The bigger problem was the grocery job. Now, I’ve robbed stores before, but this was different. Mom and Pop business that stayed busy but luckily closed early. Plus, we knew everything we could possibly need to. The four of us met up at a Mexican place, eating tortillas and hot sauce.

"We knock over a bloody grocer? What we tryin to take, turnips and shitty grape piss?"

"Not just any, though, I own it. And ouch"

"I’m bloody well aware. A fucking dumb idea."

"Well now, let’s listen." Windham knew to ratchet Collin down. Once the Irishman’s blood got boiling, no iceberg would cool him off.

"It’s not a bad plan. They close at nine, the gas station across the street is twenty-four hours, so we go in through the back. I said. We go in on foot through the woods in the back, stay in the shadows. Roll up door should be the best place to get in."

"People can forget to lock that." Harper chimed.

"Good. We go in, you got any motion sensors?"

"No, and only cameras on the booze aisles and in the cash office, but you can cut them off from a panel in the warehouse."

"I’ll let you and Collin work that one out."

"How many men we taking?" Windham asked.

"I figure the three of us can take it easily."

"This is bloody crazy."

"But it’s gonna work."

Humidity and long sleeves don’t mix well, but dark blue was needed. Oh yeah. Always wear dark blue, never black. One blends in, the other sticks out. You figure it out. The woods were just a small thicket around the corner from where we parked our cars in a apartment complexes parking lot. We were sure to use guest spots. Sometimes we try to think ahead.

It was close to ninety even near midnight. We didn’t wear masks in the woods, though they would have done little but soak up sweat.

"Too bloody hot. Fucking mosquitoes bout to eat me alive. Ticks with wings."

"Maybe they just like you."

"They can take a bloody hint from me slappin em. Get enough blood sucked by me fucking wife."

"Well that’s lovely. Guess it‘s better than dealing with a banshee."

"Don’t fucking joke about that. They’re bloody real."

"Either of you bring a gun?" Windham asked. Even as a whisper too loud.

"Is that really a question to ask as we’re tip toeing through the woods in the dark? I mean, really?"

"Well I didn’t."

"Good. You won’t accidentally shoot anybody."

"It happened one time."

"Keep your voice down and come on. Hard enough to walk without having to keep up a conversation."

"Bloody knackers."

The roll up was unlocked as planned and we slipped inside. We each had an LED flashlight, lighter, brighter and longer lasting than the typical Maglight. Collin found the box along the wall, popped it open and went to work.

"Hey, can I get some ice cream outta the freezer? I never had it right out the freezer?"

"No Windham."

"You’re no fun anymore."

Collin closed the door, mission accomplished, and we headed into the store proper. The safe was in the office area in the front left corner. Collin headed that direction, I made a beeline for the registers. They left the tills in the drawer, a float amount of two hundred each. Every little bit counts.

Windham’s job was easy: standing out of sight by the windows and watch. If he saw anything, let us know. I expected him to do well. I was popping open the third register when I saw a light shine through the front window. On instinct, I hit the deck. I peeked around the side and saw a cop’s spotlight streaking back and forth. What I didn’t see was Windham. The light scanned slow, stopped at each register. Froze for a moment before flicking off.

I waited till I could hear gravel shifting before moving low toward the office. Collin was muttering curses the likes of which demons despise as he stuffed cash into a plastic bag.

"Can’t get the fucking drop."

"How much we talking?"

"The bloody fuck am I supposed to know? It’s a drop, the paperwork saying how much it is in in that drawer with it."

"Can you get it open?"

"Fucking gonna try."

"Good. Try as quiet as you can. Just had a peeper come by. Gone now, but might be apt to come back."

"Windham catch him?"

"Just get the drop."

I found Windham in the crackers, trying to choose between cheddar and pizza goldfish, sipping from a forty ounce. He was leaning against a half-full cart, rubbing his chin.

"The fuck?"

"What, oh hey, the old lady told me to pick up a few things."

"The old lady? You told her what we’re doing? Are you serious?"

"Well yeah. And she told me to pick up some things. I can’t remember if it was regular or pizza goldfish."

"Get your ass back to the window. You can do this after we get the money." I went back to the registers and pulled the till from my previous victim. I dumped the contents into a paper bag that held the others and headed for the next. Windham was at his post, crouched in the corner. I was dumping the last till when I heard the gunshot. For the second time that night, I jumped to the floor. Everything was silent, my ears slightly ringing. I looked to Windham, his head swinging back and forth. "What was that?" I crawled over.

"It went off on accident."

"What went off? I thought you didn’t bring a gun?"

"I forgot."

"You forgot? How do you forget that you have a gun, what, in the back waistband of your pants?"

"Yeah."

"Christ Almighty. Give me the damn gun."

"You’re gonna give it back right?"

"Yes. You’ll get the gun back at the end of the job. Now go help Collin. Do not go shop. Look at me, listen to my words: do not go shop."

"Okay. Jeez I’m not an idiot."

"We’re still debating that."

I went to the manager’s cubicle, a raised office with half walls and no ceiling. Even had a little half door, perfect for midgets. I found the change till under the desk and set to it. Sat in the office chair to make it easier on my knees and was glad I didn’t stand as the light came back through the window. The chair kept me low enough, though I released the hydraulic to slide lower.

The light stopped and I heard footsteps outside. I was betting that the gas station called the cops because of the gunshot. Maybe he was just bored, either way, he was getting in the way. I remembered that we dropped the door back down after we came in and hoped neither of the others had opened it back up.

He eventually went away after looking through for several minutes, walking along the length of glass. I ran hunched over to the offices and found the men kicking at the bottom of the safe.

"No go?"

"Didn’t bring that bloody tool."

"You’re old, you get forgetful. Our buddy came back, probably heard a gunshot."

"That what that was? Which of you fucking morons brought a gun? Hell, I already know."

"I forgot, okay?"

"How do you bloody well forget . . ."

"We’ve been over this Collin. Let’s get the shit and hit the bricks. Any idea how much was in there?"

"Not twenty grand, I can tell you that. That fat bastard needs to go back to school, learn to fucking count. Got shit for brains, I tell you."

"That’s nice. Let’s go."

"Hold on, me wife wants me to pick-up a few things, else she’ll get cross."

"Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ."

"See, he told his old lady too."

"Just get the shit."

Our friend was gone when he left out the back, both of the guys pushing carts filled with filled bags. We made it into the woods, where the going became slower. Much slower.

"How else did you figure to get the bloody money back to the car?" Collin pushed the wheels through the leaved and over exposed roots. He made better of it than Windham.

"Just . . . I don’t wanna talk about it. This doesn’t look suspicious at all."

We came together at my place, after the guys dropped off their respective groceries. After it was all counted, we came out with a little over five thousand.

"That’s not the money we need. I thought Harper said that was how much he had in there." Windham said, drinking a beer and gnawing a knuckle.

"Bloody fucker lied. Gonna report twenty to the cops to get his money. Oughta take from him for shits and giggles."

"No, I’ll give him a ring tomorrow afternoon. He’ll be busy all morning. If he tried to hoodwink us, we’ll get our money."

"Fucking well better."

"Thank you Collin."

"Wanker."

"Can I have my gun back now?"

"You know I should keep it."

I got a hold of Harper around six the next evening. I was less than pleased with him.

"We clean and clear?"

"Yeah, I’m not round anybody or nothing. What’s up? Why didn’t you guys take the drop?"

"We couldn’t get into it."

"I thought you guys were at least half-way professional . . ."

"He forgot a tool, okay."

"That’s doesn’t make it sound any better."

"So the money was in the drop?"

"Yes."

"Why did you tell me this?"

"I figured you would know."

"How the hell would I just randomly know where all the money was? How am I supposed to some up with the rest now? Tell me Harper, how?"

"Well, I actually have an idea about that."

And that’s how I ended up agreeing to rob a seafood restaurant so that I could rob a bank.

"So how we getting the fucking money?" Collin asked. We were in a booth at a Waffle House, eating ham and cheese omelet’s. The Irishman drank a steady stream of coffee. The man lived on the stuff. Windham picked at his hash browns, covered in ketchup (the potatoes, not Windham) and sipped a chocolate milk.

"We hit the Jolly Roger."

"The bloody seafood place?"

"Oh man, they got really good cheese sticks. And popcorn shrimp."

"Shut up Windham. On a Saturday night, they’ll have enough to cover what we need. Especially with the holiday coming up. We hit them Saturday night, hit the bank Sunday. They’re closed Monday, gives us an extra day to light out. Collin, you got our other two guys worked out?"

"I got the guys. Loads better than Windham there, oughta trade him out for anything. He’s terrible."

"I can hear you, I’m right here."

"You want a bloody trophy and a fucking orange slice?"

"Children, no." The waitress came by and refilled the mugs. She was cute in an over-weight trailer park manner. Windham opened his mouth to flirt, saw my expression and held off. After she had walked away, I continued. "They close up around ten, everyone heads out but the manager who stays behind to handle the money. That’s when we hit them."

"How do we get in?"

"Front door. Break one of the little panes of glass, unlock the door. I’m willing to bet they’ll be listening to head phones or something anyway. We go in, tie up the manager, take the money and get the hell outta Dodge."

"Or we wait for the bloody ass to come out the back alone and take him the fuck back in."

"We could do that. Still got your iron, numb-nut?"

"Yeah, well not on me right now, but I still got it."

"Alright. Bring it along. Don’t shoot anybody. Collin bring the tools, all the tools, this time."

"Bloody lecturing me."

"Yeah, so, place shuts down around ten, takes him about half an hour to count out and head out. It’s a pretty nice place, they take in a pretty penny. We wait outside, take him in the parking lot. All the surrounding places are closed by nine, so there shouldn’t much any problem."

"Sounds good, boss man."

"Just don’t shoot anybody."

We stopped the manager as he was getting into his car, unprepared and easy to cajole. Three men in ski masks tend to help with this. Windham’s gun shut his mouth pretty quick.

"Take us inside." I told him. He was scared, can’t blame him. I’ve been in similar situations, I was scared then too.

"What?"

"Take us inside. We’re robbing the restaurant."

"Do what we say, Mr. Manager. I’m not scared to shoot somebody. I done it before."

"On accident."

"He doesn’t know that. Did you have to tell him?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Give em a bloody break. Least he got bullets in the fucking thing."

"Nope, I left them at home just in case." Windham said, which began a series of events. First, Mr. Manager hit the gun in Windham’s hand, knocked it to the ground and took off running as fast as his poor legs could take him. Second, Collin cursed and followed him. Third, I punched Windham in the nose and took off behind them. After about twenty yards, two things became clear: that Mr. Manager hadn’t run twenty yards in twenty years and that, though he may resemble Ichibod Crane, Collin could book it and was gaining fast. Coffee: creating finely tuned-up athletes for however long we’ve had coffee.

"Stop running." I said as Collin jumped on his back and he went down. All of us out of breath, wheezing basically, and I pulled by revolver from behind my back. "Okay, mister, this one is loading and I don’t fire on accident. Take us inside, now."

We got him up, pushed him towards the building, keys at the ready. Windham walked up, hand over his nose.

"Why did you punch me in the nose?" He asked me. I kicked him the balls.

We let Windham sit in a chair while we went into the office. Mr. Manager opened the safe and Collin got to work on the drop. He murmured to himself, much as he typically did and I motioned for Mr. Manager to have a seat.

"This shouldn’t take too long." I told him. I was pulling money from the safe, stuffing it into a burlap bag. Thinking back, I kinda wished I’d drawn a dollar sign on it. Whatever, I didn’t want the man getting nervous. "How long you been here?"

"Eleven years."

"Wow, that’s some commitment. Start at the bottom?"

"Dish washer, yeah."

"Nice. Married?"

"Yeah."

"Kids?"

"Yeah."

"You can say more than just yeah. We’re thieves. We’re not gonna hunt your family down and go all Chainsaw Massacre on em. Well, Sawney Beane over there might."

"I fucking heard that."

"Good for you."

"Why are you robbing us?"

"We’re not robbing you, we’re robbing this place. It’s not your money."

"It’s somebody’s money."

"Bout to be bloody ours."

"Is that really the line of conversation you want to have? Because it’s not what I’d rather talk about. What kind of desserts you got here? Anything in the fridge?"

"Do they have cheesecake?" Windham yelled from the other room. I heard him immediately moan, second guessing his raised voice.

"Do you have cheesecake?"

"Yeah, we have cheesecake."

"You didn’t have to kick me in the balls."

"I could have shot you."

"Bloody should have. Who the fuck brings a fucking gun to a robbery but no bloody fucking bullets?"

"Well, I didn’t want . . ."

"Just stop talking. We got the money, we got some damn good cheesecake, we’re getting away. Just stop talking." I clicked on the radio. Rod Stewart, Motown Song.

"Bloody love Rod Stewart."

"You didn’t have to kick me in the balls."

"The haul from the restaurant wasn’t bad, but we’re still a good five grand short."

"And ya still haven’t come up with a bloody plan on how to take Hot Rock yet. The fuck we gonna do that?"

"I’ve got an idea but we still need another five."

"Can’t fucking believe I can’t smoke in here. Bloody America."

"It’s progress. Or something." He drank his coffee, a steady supply per usual, as I ate my omelet. We came here to often, I was sure. Hell, they recognized us, and with their turn-over rate, that’s saying something.

"Wish I could taste anything." Windham said, pointing at his nose, or more accurately, the bandages over his broken nose.

"It was great when they reset it."

"Bout popped me bloody gut."

"It had better heal right. I don’t want no fucked up looking nose."

"You already bloody had one."

"Yeah, yeah, funny Irishman. Where we gonna get the rest of the money from?" Windham was quick to change the subject.

"I’m meeting up with Harper to work that out."

"Tell him to come up with better fucking jobs than me mother would’ve."

"I’ll pass your sentiment along."

"What do we do till then?"

"Well, Windham, you’re gonna remember to load your gun and then I need you to go out and get us some masks. Get five. Something good."

"I got it. I got good."

"Jesus I hope so. Collin, do some recon on Hot Rock. Check out what you can. Lay off the coffee."

"Fuck off."

"Fair enough."

Harper was his normal asshole self. He drank from a flask in his coat pocket, didn’t offer me any. Like I said, asshole. He had those big sunglasses, the kind old people like to wear. He still squinted. Never trust a squinter, my momma always said. Well, no she didn’t, but if she had been folksy, she would have. We stood outside a strip mall smoking.

"How the job go?"

"Not enough. Decent haul."

"Need more huh?"

"Yeah, and this chicken peck bullshit is getting old. We need the money now, Harper. No more bullshit." He recoiled, fake tan cracking.

"Okay, I get where you’re coming from. I expect the take to be a little higher. But I think I got the answer for you. Two words: armored car."

"No. I’m not robbing an armored car to get the money to rob a bank. That’s retarded."

"Okay, okay, so how about this, how about a car dealership?"

"A car dealer ship? What am I gonna do, steal all the cars? They can’t have that much in cash on hand. Are you even trying here?"

"I am, I am. Give me a day or so, I’ll put my ear to the ground, see what I hear coming up. If there’s a job, I’ll find it."

"That’s actually kinda worries me."

We took a break from the customary eating out meeting to instead gather at my place. We order pizza, drank beer, did the normal crime planning type stuff. These brainstorming sessions were rare, tossing stuff against the wall to see what would stick. And when you’re stuck for ideas, you’d be surprised what kinda shit sticks.

"Any ideas from you guys? Any at all?"

"We can rob a train." Windham said.

"Did he just bloody say a train?"

"Rob a train?"

"Yeah, you know, they used to do it all the time."

"In the eighteen hundreds yeah. What do you want to do, ride up on horses, set a trap on the tracks? Tie a maiden down to em before we leave? We’re not robbing a train. Any other ideas?"

"The train would work."

"I swear to God, if you say one more god damned word about robbing a train I’m gonna make you go sit in the corner. I will fashion you a dunce cap. I shit you not."

"Yeah, yeah. Oh hey, I got the masks."

"Good masks?"

"Oh yeah, you can see out of em real good." Windham pulled them out of his paper bag and we looked at them with a mixture of confusion and anger.

"What the hell are those?"

"Is that a bloody horse?"

"It’s My Little Pony."

"What?"

"It’s a cartoon . . ."

"Go sit in the god damned corner."

"What about bloody gas stations?"

"Not enough cash on hand."

"Even that beer barn? Them ladies get the best of me money some times."

"We’ll put a pin it."

"What about a strip club?" Windham asked from the corner. I’d rolled some butcher paper into a dunce cap and he sat facing the wall wearing it. He knew when not to argue.

"A strip club?"

"Yeah. Can I leave the corner?"

"Tell us more about your strip club idea first."

"Don’t your old lady roll at one them?" Collin asked Windham.

"Not anymore. But on a good night, that place she was at would take it in a good five grand. Plus what we can get from the strippers and guys."

"You wanna rob strippers?"

"Yeah,"

"You don’t bloody rob strippers. Bout like robbing a fucking nun. You just don’t do that shit."

"We’re thieves, man, not bandits."

"Bloody reavers."

"Damn right. I’ll run that by Harper maybe, maybe. Hope he’s got something up his sleeve or this whole thing’s a bust."

"Alright, I got something. Good payday."

"How good?"

"Should be ten or so."

"That’s a tad more than we need, but it’ll work. What’s the job?"

"Well, there’s a guy traveling with some money, you take it from him."

"Perhaps a little more elaboration?" I met Harper at a burger joint. He spent his time glaring at a new beer place across the way. Girls in swim suits ran around the pumps, selling car washes and pumping gas. You would hear one of them scream from time to time, sprayed with water or something. And every time the sounds reached all the way to our ears, Harper ground his teeth.

"I hate that fucking place. All of them."

"I’m sure you have your reasons, but I don’t care. Tell me about the damn job. Who’s the guy? Where’s he now, where’s he going, how’s he getting there? Tell me that shit."

"Okay, okay, sorry. I just hate that place. Taking my business and opening . . ."

"I don’t care. Get to the fucking job."

"Sorry. You ever heard of Lemmings?"

"The little gerbil things that everybody thinks run off cliffs but really don‘t?"

"No, the town."

"Place way the hell out in the middle of fucking nothing?"

"Yeah, that one. Well, they got a guy bringing some money out of there and to the Fed. Too far to send an armored car, plus nobody really goes after something like that."

"How’s he traveling? Car?"

"Train."

"You want me to rob a train?"

"Yeah."

"For ten grand?"

"Yeah, or around that. Think about it, the train coming out of there has three passenger cars, mostly empty cause hell, who takes the train. Minimal staffing, just get on like regular passengers or something and you know, do whatever it is that you do."

"It’s a little more complicated than that."

"But it’ll get you the money."

And that’s how I ended up agreeing to rob a train, a train, a god damned train, so that I could rob a bank.

"How the hell did you get blue prints to an Amtrak station?" I had to ask Collin. He’d come in with these notes scribbled on a yellow legal pad, rambling about set-ups and carriage areas.

"On the bloody internet. Not hard to find. Mostly written in fucking German. Lousy krauts."

"Do you know German?"

"Enough to read the bloody prints. The rest is just shit."

"Find anything interesting? Or at least helpful?"

"Not much. We not waiting on the bloody feeb?"

"He’ll be along. What do you have?"

"Our luck is in. They’ve got a bloody spot right by where they load em up. Easiest fucking place to hide. Me mother couldn’t have come up with shit more simple."

"So we wait there, let everybody get aboard, grab the ticketman, go in with the masks and guns ready. Probably best that we make sure Windham doesn’t have any bullets. Last thing we need."

"You know what the bastard looks like?"

"Yeah, Harper got me a picture. Looks like a banker."

"Bloody figures. When we doing this?"

"We‘ll head that way tomorrow. At least a four hour drive. Should be fun."

The drive was closer to five hours. Lemmings was a city of about sixty thousand out in the desert. Nothing around it save for a few tiny towns that used it as a hub. And I mean tiny. Pretty sure one of them is a ranch and a post office. The small banks funneled into the larger one in the big city and from there the cash was taken back to civilization every so often. According to Harper, roughly ten grand at a time, and much like other banks, they used regular old transport. This particular shipment was heading out on the six-thirty train.

We ate at a truck stop halfway out, the only building for miles, not a bad little buffet. The waitress was older and redhead, wish I could remember her name. We grabbed some Slim Jims for the road and made it into Lemmings around 2.

"Only thing that sucks is that we gotta book it soon as we get the money." Windham said. We were sitting in the car, watching the station. We waited until nearly five before heading inside. Collin got a ham sandwich from a vending machine that we warned him not to eat. We succeeded in talking him out of the egg salad.

"Those aren’t eggs in there."

"Well, they may have been eggs at some point."

"I doubt that."

We sat on a bench against a wall, watching the door and a series of game shows on a tv mounted in a corner. I mostly watched the door. I’d gotten the picture of the guy from Harper and memorized it as best as possible. Kept it in my pocket just in case. The other guys had looked it over for several minutes on the drive over. Short, husky, balding. Looked like a banker or a mob lawyer. The kind of fella that sticks out round those parts.

At six Windham went to the bathroom and slipped out into the carriage area. His job was to keep an eye on the train once it came in in case he got by us without us seeing.

By six-fifteen, Collin started to fidget.

"The fuck is he?"

"It’s not time yet."

"He’s a bloody banker and bloody bankers are always fucking early. Should’ve been here by now."

"Just give it time."

Six-thirty came and passed. We listened as the train headed off, Windham came back into the station.

"I didn’t see him."

"Yeah, neither did we."

"The fucks going on?"

"I’ll find out." I went out front as they stewed a bit and called Harper.

"Didn’t expect to hear from you this quick."

"He didn’t get on the train. We’re at the station, he was never here. What’s the deal?"

"Wait, what? He’s supposed to be there."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but he’s not. What the fuck is going on?"

"I don’t know, let me call you back. I gotta make a call."

"Hurry up or I’ll let the Irishman answer."

"That’s not funny."

I went to walk back inside but they were at the door waiting. Collin looked pissed, Windham looked like an idiot. Such were their natural expressions.

"What’s the fucking deal?"

"He’s gonna call me back."

"Call you back? The fuck are we supposed to do until then? Twiddle with our bloody selves?"

"We’ll go by that diner we saw on Main Street. I could eat, how bout you fellas?"

"I could eat."

"Need more than a bloody sandwich on me stomach."

"Good."

"So I tell the copper ‘Not my bloody boat, not my bloody problem’ and he still tried to get me to pay for the fucking thing. Kind of shit is that?"

"The legal kind." We were eating at a booth, each of us chewing on a fatty steak or over-done hash browns.

"Like bloody rubber. The fuck they learn to make these things?"

"Not everyone can be as talented as all those well-known Irish chefs."

"We got some you know."

"I’m sure."

"I like em. They’re good when they’re crunchy."

"See, Windham likes them."

"And he’s a bloody idiot."

"Hey."

"Well, he is right."

"I’m not an idiot."

"Bloody well are."

"Wanna go, old man?" WIndham put his fork down. My phone started to ring. I stood up, pulled it out of my pocket and headed outside.

"Windham, he’d destroy you. We both know it. Yeah, it’s sad but it’s true. Be back in a sec." I went outside and answered. "Tell me something, Harper."

"Found out the deal. They changed plans. Last minute kind of thing."

"They changed plans?"

"Yeah, but I didn’t know. Only a couple guys did. Last minute, I tell you."

"Okay, that’s . . . whatever, what’s the new plan?"

"Oh, he’s taking the bus."

"The bus?"

"Yeah."

"He’s taking money on a Greyhound?"

"Yeah."

"That’s retarded."

"Which is why they’re doing it. Who’s going to think of robbing a bus?"

"Who would have thought to rob a train?"

"That’s fair."

"So when does the bus leave?"

"It already left."

"What? When?"

"Six-thirty."

"So, he’s already on the road?"

"Yeah. That gonna be a problem?"

"Nope, I’ll figure something out."

And that’s how I agreed to rob a fucking bus so that I could rob a bank.

"We gotta go." I dropped a fifty on the table, more than enough to cover, and gestured for them to get up.

"Not done with me coffee."

"Get it to go. He’s on a bus."

"A bus? When does it leave?"

"Already left."

"Well shit. We gotta go."

"It’s supposed to be somewhere between here and there. I figure we can catch up and hit it at the truck stop. Dollars to doughnuts they stop there."

"Dollars to doughnuts?"

"Shut up. We use the masks. Windham, you got them?"

"Yeah, back here with me."

"We wait till everybody but the driver goes inside. Most of them should if not all. Grab him, make him open the luggage, grab the money, get the fuck outta dodge."

"Sounds like a plan. What could go wrong."

"Pretty sure we’re gonna find out."

"Can I get some of that jerky while we’re there? Stuff is good."

"Yu just ate, Windham."

"It’s for later. Hard to find good jerky."

"No, you can’t have any God damned jerky."

"Fine, no need to be an asshole about it."

"Can I bloody shoot him?"

"Give him time, he’ll do it for you."

"I can hear you guys."

"I would hope so."

"Bloody idiot."

"And if shit goes wrong?"

"We wing it. Push comes to shove, I call Harper."

We made it to the truck stop, and of course, the bus was there waiting. As you can’t see what went down, let me set the stage for you good folks. We parked next to the bus, masks already in place. Yes, we kept the horse ones. Don’t ask me why.

"Got your guns ready?"

"You’re bloody right."

"Uh guys."

"What Windham?"

"I don’t have my gun." We both turned and faced him, twin looks of shock and yet somehow expectation on our faces.

"What do you mean you don’t bloody have it?"

"I had it, but it’s not in the holster."

"Where was the last time you had it?"

"At the diner. I showed it to the waitress when you were on the phone."

"You showed her your God dam gun?"

"She was cute."

"What the fuck Windham?"

"I think I left it in the booth."

"Is it registered?"

"No."

"Then we can deal. Collin, you got your back-up?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Give it to him."

"He’ll just shoot his dick off."

"Hey."

"Be that as it may, give it to him."

"Bloody ridiculous" Collin put his foot up on the dash and pulled a snub-nosed .357 from his ankle. "You bloody lose this and I’ll fucking kill you."

"I’ll let him." I said as we slipped into the masks and stepped outside.

The driver was alone, luckily, standing by the bus door. We came around the front and he had n time to react when Collin leveled the gun and told him to open the luggage compartments. He was a short fat man, going bald in an unattractive way, with a wimpy mustache. With his life in jeopardy, he did what many men in his place would do: piss his pants and start sniveling.

"Are you fucking serious?" Collin asked as the driver blubbered like a child.

"Please don’t kill me."

"Then open the damn compartment." I told him and, thankfully, that snapped him into action. He wobbled backward, snapping open the compartments as I nodded to Collin and he walked away, pulling a knife from behind his back. I started looking into through the bags and suitcases, Windham watched the driver and I felt the bus lower towards the front corner.

"Are those from My Little Pony?" The driver asked, wiping tears and snot from his face. I found the described bag, then another two identical beside it. I grabbed all three and pulled out of the bus, throwing them over my shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up. Let’s go, we’ve got it." I trotted to the front of the bus as Windham back away from the driver, keeping his eyes peeled. Collin met me at the corner and took one of the bags. We jogged to the car, Collin stopping on the way, raising the bottom of his mask, and throwing up onto the pavement. "Ah shit."

"Fucking eggs. Made me sick myself." Collin said between wretches and streams of unmentionables. He was moving forward when we heard the gunshot, a car window twenty feet behind me shattering.

"What the hell?" Windham said as he ran passed me towards the car. I grabbed Collin by the arm and dragged him forward, still vomiting, several more shots ringing out.

"Somebody doesn’t want their money stolen. Get to the fucking car."

"Bloody American eggs."

"Those weren’t fucking eggs. Or maybe they were and they were passed . . . Just come on. Now is not the time." Windham had the door open so I dumped Collin inside and ran around. I threw the bag over the driver’s seat into the back and jumped in.

"I’m gonna shoot back."

"No, Windham, do not shoot back." I cranked the car, threw her in drive and surged forward onto the roadway.

"Why not?"

"Just don’t." I watched the lot in the mirror, a man in a suit running to the bus, realizing the tire were flat, rooting through the luggage.

"You never let me fire a gun."

"You should think about that for a second."

"Why?"

"Exactly. That’s fucking exactly right."

"Where we bloody going?"

"I know place."

When I was in my early twenties, I may have made a little money moving things from here to there. And by things may have I mean did and by things I mean drugs, particularly pot. And in those days, there were times when I needed to lie low for one reason or another, hence why I knew about the mine.

I’d been heading back to the city with more shrink-wrapped, bricked-up marijuana than I could smoke in a lifetime when I’d gotten a warning over the radio about cops up ahead on the look out for a feller such as myself. Needing to get off the only road, I took the first dirt path I saw and drove until I came to the mine. It was a good ten miles off the highway, hidden around the side of a tall hill. The path was hard to follow though I eventually learned it well.

I turned off onto the trail, Windham’s face practically stuck to the rear window as he watched behind us and Collin murmuring curses to himself. It was that moment I realized I was still wearing the mask, so I took it off. I also realized that the mask was hiding the smell of vomit and something else I couldn’t place. I considered putting the mask back on, but decided against it.

"Where we going?"

"The mine."

"Where?"

"The mine."

"Where’s that at?"

"It’s where we’re going."

‘Cadbury, that’s who knows how to make a bloody egg. Not this fucking shit you pass off."

"That’s nice Collin. Thanks for your input."

"What mine?"

"The old Sumner Mine. Some old fool that though gold was out here. Built a mine out in the middle of nowhere, no gold anywhere to be found. Just a crazy old man that dies broke."

"I heard of him. Yeah, I heard of him. He like poured all his money into that place and got nothing back out. What’s it called? A money pit?"

"Yep, that’s exactly what it was. But for us, it’s a place to hide out for a little bit." I said as Collin mumbled to himself. "Yeah, I know, fucking Cadbury."

I parked the car inside the mine, the opening a good fit. Collin took off his shirt, tossing it to the ground. The sun was going down, blues, reds and a spectrum between cast upon the sky. We watched it drop, darkness creeping in.

"How deep is that thing?"

"The mine?"

"Yeah."

"Never gone all the way back. I’ve got a place set up not too far in. I’ll get a fire going."

"Bet you wish I’d gotten that jerky now."

"Windham, I swear to God, I will shoot you, drag you out there and bury you just deep enough that the critters have to try in order to eat your corpse. No one will ever find you, no one will ever know you’re dead. Don’t test me." I left him slack jawed and went into the mine.

Okay, so here’s the deal on the Sumner Mine. Or Old Sumner Mine. Whatever. See, old man Sumner had been lucky. His granddaddy and papa had been cattlemen, made a killing off it. And a good chunk of that money they invested in land. A shit load of land. And that wasn’t particularly valuable, well, until Sumner struck oil there. Yeah, sometimes winning is just in the blood.

So here’s Sumner, cattle baron inheritance and now he strikes it rich again in the oil business. What is a man to do? Well, his answer was mine for gold. He spent almost all of his fortune on the mine, convinced he’d find more than any investment inside a vein. And he’d gone bust. Or damn near, his kids had his right of attorney taken away before he could go through all of it. And now, it sat out here abandoned. Pretty sure his kids sold the land off. Don’t know for sure.

"Collin, grab the money. Count it up, see how much we’ve got."

"You gonna get Harper on the horn?"

"Not yet. Let’s check the lay of the land first."

"I still don’t feel too bloody great."

"Don’t smell it either."

"Make me bloody sick again."

"Yeah let’s not do that." We lugged the bags into the cave. I kept a few supplies at a camp site, lantern, sleeping bag, few cans of food. I was able to get together enough wood for a small fire pretty quick and got her started. I went back out into the night, listening to the sounds of nature. Picked up a stray stick here and there to keep feeding the flames. I was expecting to stay at least the night.

"Well, we’ve got bloody good news and bad news." Collin said when I cam back into the cave. The bags were empty, the bills stacked in rows.

"What is it?"

"Good news, Harper was wrong on how much it is. Bloody ten grand my arse, it’s closer to five million."

"We just stole five million dollars?" Windham asked, sitting forward. He was plastic spoon deep in a can of Beenie-Weenie, chewing loudly. The cave’s echo didn’t help.

"Well, that’s the bloody bad news. We stole five millions dollars in counterfeit money."

"It’s fake?"

"As the smile on a bride’s daddy at a shotgun wedding."

"So we have roughly five million dollars in fake money."

"Yeah."

"What quality of fake are we talking?"

"Well, some of it’ll pass as the real thing. Some would never pass less the shop keep was blind."

"How much will pass?"

"Bout two million."

"I gotta make a phone call." I walked back out and kept to the trail as I tried to find a signal. After almost half an hour of trying, I went back to the cave.

"Get him?"

"No, can’t find a signal."

"With the technology they got now-days, how can’t you get a signal." Windham pulled out his phone. Looked at the screen. "Shit, I ain’t got a signal either. Collin?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, I figure we’re in that white part of those coverage maps. You know, the part where you don’t want a signal, you need it. And yet, that’s where they never have it."

"So what’s the plan?"

"Only phone I know of round here is back at the truck stop."

"Can’t take the bloody car back. They’ll be on you like fucking flies."

"Yeah, I’m gonna have to hitch it."

"Hitch it?"

"Best shot we’ve got. If I’m lucky I’ll get a signal before I get there, but I’m doubting it."

The traffic was pretty slim when I made it back to the highway. I checked my watch as I walked, saw it was nearly midnight. Good luck getting a ride. I checked my phone every fifty yards or so, with no so much as a teasing blip. I ended up getting a ride with an older fellow heading to visit his granddaughter.

"Tomorrow’s her third birthday." He told me as we made small talk. I came up with some bullshit story about camping and having to use the phone. Well it was only partially bullshit.

"Third huh? She your first grandchild?"

"Yes sir, yes sir. Apple of my eye. She’s my eldest’s first born."

"How man kids you got?"

"Three. You?"

"Me? No kids. Dodged that bullet so far."

"Got a wife?"

"No sir."

"Husband? I’m not one to judge."

"No sir. But it would be a wife if it was between those. People can do whatever they want, but my vine don’t swing that way." We laughed. An oldies station was playing low on the radio. Hang On Sloopy in the clock’s green light. I took an occasional glance at the phone, but was refused a signal each time. He told me about his wife back home, how she’d started the signs of dementia and had to be watched at all times.

"Some days she’s all there, same as the woman I met way back when. Then the next, she doesn’t know where she is, who I am, who she is."

We made it to the truck stop in good time, said our goodbyes; he was a good man. Far too few like him left in the world. I walked to the line of phones, three dinosaurs in a pavement desert. Found his number in my contacts (because no one remembers phone numbers anymore) and punched it in. It rang through a cycle, I hung up and dialed again. I had to repeat this four times before he answered. Rather obvious he’d been asleep.

"Who is this?"

"It’s me Harper, we gotta talk."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Do you know why I’m sitting on five million dollars in counterfeit money?" I asked and heard the sound of something drop on the other end followed by a curse.

"Shit, I dropped the phone, did you just say five million?"

"Yeah, I also said that it’s all fake."

"How fake?"

"Collin says about two mill is passable. What did you get us into?"

"That’s not what was supposed to be there. You sure it was the guy?"

"Pretty sure, He was shooting at us, so I got a decent look."

"He see you? Any of you?"

"We had on masks."

"I saw something on the news earlier bout a shoot out at the truck stop, figured it was you guys,"

"You hear anything else?"

"Nope. Cops are being quiet."

"Who set this up?"

"What?"

"Who set this up?"

"Don’t worry bout that, he’s solid. In fact, I’m gonna give him a call real quick. Call me back in about ten minutes." He hung up before I could argue so I went inside. Shopped around the store, grabbing some jerky and bottles of water. I filled a Styrofoam cup with black coffee and paid out at the register, being sure to use cash. I asked the cashier about what had happened earlier but they didn’t know much. After paying, I went back out and waited the time asked for.

I gave him five minutes extra before calling and he answered on the first ring.

"Okay, I got the low down."

"And sharing it would be great."

"You need to burn the money."

"I’m sorry, I thought you just told me to burn five million dollars."

"Fake dollars."

"I can still get forty to fifty cents on the dollar for almost half it. That’s better than burning it."

"Look, this is bigger than you think, so just trust me on this one. Burn it."

"The fuck is going on Harper?"

"Just trust me."

"Harper, tell me what the fuck is going on." I said, voice becoming stern. He always crumbled when that happened. This was no exception.

"Okay, look, I didn’t know about this part. They knew the money was fake."

"I kinda figured that."

"The whole point from their end was for it to be stolen, never recovered and replaced with the real thing."

"So basically insurance fraud."

"More or less, yeah."

"And who is this for?"

"It’s best I not say, but they’re an organization that rhymes with Martel."

"Ah Jesus."

"It’s fine, it’s fine. Listen, it’s fine. You still got the money?"

"The fuck kinda question is that? Of course we have it. No, we threw it away."

"They want you to burn it. Destroy it. They’ll pay you a ‘contractor’s fee’. Should come out to around what you’re needing."

"So they’ll pay us ten grand to burn five million in fake money?"

"That’s the long and short of it."

"That’s retarded."

"That’s worth ten grand."

The walk back took longer. The later it became, the more difficult to catch a ride. It took me sloe to an hour before I saw the trail turn-off up ahead. I went an extra few hundred yards, waiting until I didn’t see any headlight before I ducked off the shoulder and doubled back. The trail was harder to follow on foot and in near darkness. The screen of my phone could only do so much. Flashlight setting my ass.

When I finally made it back to the cave, both guys were gone from the fire. The money was packed back up in the bags, the flames high but not too high as to hide the lantern light from deeper in the cave.

"Where’d you idgits go?" I asked as I walked. The walls were square, almost smooth.

"How far back you say you been before?" Collin asked from ahead, the sound echoing. I passed the spot I remember as my farthest travel and continued.

"Just about here. Why?" I walked around a curve and saw them sitting in front of several wooden boxes. I recognized the markings on the side, as would anyone who had ever heard of TNT. And I don’t mean the cable channel. "Oh Jesus, he just left that in here?"

"Well, yes and no." Windham said, he and Collin smiling back and forth. I’d never seen them both smile at the same time. Don’t actually think I’d ever seen Collin smile period.

"What the hell is going on here? The two of you look happy as clams. Starting to kinda freak me out."

"Well, try this on for bloody size." Collin said as he flipped open one of the boxes. I leaned in, blinking in the semi-light. One of them shinned a flashlight and my eyes confirmed what I thought I was seeing.

"Well that explains a lot."

"Bugger used the nitro to blast the hole, kept these for something else."

"That’s a way to out it. The sum bitch wasn’t crazy, sure as fuck didn’t put himself in the poor house." I said as I opened the other boxes, finding the same thing. Each was filled with gold. Gold that old man Sumner had mined and hidden. He hadn’t blown a fortune, he’d created and hoarded one. "Jesus Christ."

"Fuck Hot Rock. They got nothing on this shit."

"Ain’t that the damn truth. We sure it’s real?"

"Oh it’s bloody real."

"So we’re basically millionaires?"

"Yeah."

"Well then I don’t bad about telling you that we have to burn the money."

"Burn it?"

"Yeah, apparently this was some insurance fraud bullshit. They get paid back for the amount in real money, we destroy the fake and get a little reward on the back end."

"How much?"

"Does it matter anymore?"

"Not one bit." Collin said as he stood and walked back to the campsite. We took turns feeding handfuls of cash into the fire, each time feeling a tinge of guilt. Burning money was not something I ever saw myself doing. Even if it was fake. Windham seemed to enjoy it quite a bit so Collin and I let him do most of it. Reminded me of a kid, smiling and giggling as he dumped handfuls over the flames.

"Can’t believe we’re bloody burning money."

"We’ve got more."

"And Harper don’t need to know a bit about it."

"I can agree with that. We’ll give him a good chunk of the backend for this shit."

"I’m keeping part. Got fucking shot at."

"But at least Windham didn’t shoot you."

"That is a bloody miracle." Collin said as we all laughed. We decided to finish the cash off before going back to collect the crates. What started as three small timers trying to rob a big time bank ended with three millionaires sitting around a campfire burning bags full of cash.

I suppose stranger things have happened. But that’s another story.

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