Flagged Victor (31 page)

Bobby leaned into the booth, hit No Sale, and the drawer popped open. Chris flung Bobby away.

Lacking time for finesse, he pulled out the entire tray and shoved it into his gym bag. Then he ran.

This job had not gone according to plan. It had taken longer than expected, and he’d only gotten one tray. He was pissed.

But the rain and cold felt good. He’d gotten overheated in the raincoat because of the adrenalin and frustration, as though he were saran-wrapped inside a garbage bag. Running in the cold was a relief. He loped across the parking lot like a cloaked avenger, hooked onto the path, into the woods, and was gone. Zowie. Who was that masked man?

The bag with the till was awkward on his shoulder. Sticking up, the plastic corner kept knocking against the side of his neck. The only difference between the path now and the path when we were kids was that some knucklehead had put a fence across it, making claim to the woods as an extension of his backyard. If we were still kids, we would have kicked the shit out of that fence and used the boards for the walls of a new fort.

Chris did not break stride but reached out with one hand for the top of the fence and swung his legs up and over. Then he scrambled down the path, slick with pine needles and exposed roots, to the cul-de-sac where I waited in the car.

I had gotten out of the car and was standing by the open driver’s door, willing Chris to appear from the woods. I was not sure how much longer I could wait because of the police sirens
that screamed into the dark, rainy night. I could see blue and red lights flying along the main road above our neighbourhood. This meant they were driving away from the mall and toward us. They could not possibly have gone to the mall first, assessed the situation, and then reacted. So they must have reacted as soon as they knew a job had taken place. And they must have known in advance that this cul-de-sac was one of the great exit points for anyone doing a job at the mall, especially at the cinema. They were on to us, and they were coming to get us.

Panic unmans the best of us. There’s something addling about fear, something awful in the way it undermines our more rational intentions. I saw Chris emerging from the woods, yellow-slickered and sliding, and screamed for him to hurry up.

I got back in the car, slammed my door shut, and reached over to push open his door so that he could get in faster. He slipped and hit the side of the car with a clumsy bodycheck, then looked back over his shoulder at the police car rocketing along the highway as he tossed the bag in.

The till caught the frame of the door and money exploded into the sky like confetti.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! I screamed.

There was money on the car seat and on the dashboard and even stuck to the inside of the windshield. There was more money outside. Chris bent over and scooped piles of the stuff into the car, handful after handful, shovelling it in, while I scraped the stuff off the dash and windshield and tried to fling it to the floor.

Leave it! I said.

But he kept scooping and the cops kept coming. Finally, he hurled himself into the car.

Go, he said, in as calm a voice as I’d ever heard.

So go I did.

I’m not sure where my own calm came from. I wanted to hit the accelerator with both feet but I drove slowly even as Chris frantically stuffed cash back into his bag. We passed my house and turned the corner toward Oathill Lake. Another car came out of nowhere, some driveway or side street, and tucked in front of us. It rattled me, and I wondered if it was an unmarked police car. Then I saw an actual police car pull up behind us. Its lights were not flashing, but there was no other reason for it to have shown up.

Stay easy, Chris said.

If not for the car in front of us, I would have gunned it. Somehow, someway, I drove calmly forward. We approached the intersection where there was a three-way stop.

When the car in front of us reached the stop sign, it tapped lightly on the brakes but did not fully stop. As if nervous of the police behind us, or utterly unaware, it picked up speed and drove for the lake. I reached the line and stopped carefully, trying not to panic.

The cop lights flashed, and suddenly we were in a blue and red world. I squeezed my eyes tight and felt every cell in my body implode, a million little aneurysms at once. The cop car gunned forward, surged around us, and chased after the car that had rolled through the stop sign.

I did not know what to do.

Just drive, Chris whispered, as though the cops might hear us.

We rounded the bend and saw that the cop car had cut off the other car, angling it onto the curb. Two uniformed cops were
standing outside their car with their weapons drawn and aimed at the driver within.

Give a wide berth, Chris said, and go around like nothing is happening on Sesame Street.

So I did.

Chris’s house was a block away. We drove up the gradual hill, still hugging the contour of the lake, and around the corner. I could not help but gun it on the straightaway, and Chris didn’t stop me. When we reached the house, I launched into his expansive driveway. All my delayed panic had flooded my system. I turned off the ignition, my hands shaking, and looked to Chris.

Jesus, you’re bleeding, I said. His chin and neck were wet with blood, an ugly open slit was puckered with gore. Were you shot?

He touched the blood.

I think the till caught me in the face when I jumped the fence, he said. Got any tissues?

What bank robber carries tissues? I had none. Chris took a few bills and smeared the blood away from his chin and neck. It did no good whatsoever, so he lifted his shirt to his face and towelled himself, Shroud of Turin style. It only smeared the blood more.

I think we should get the fuck inside the house, I said.

Chris thought that was a good idea. We could still see the pulse of blue and red police lights strobing in the air. Chris tucked the gym bag with the money behind the hedge near the front door. A moment later, the door flung open and his dad stood in the entranceway.

I stared at Mr. R even as Chris, to hide his blood-smeared face, turned his back and looked out on the street.

What’s going on? Mr. R said. He was gazing off toward the strobing lights.

They pulled over some melon head in a sports car rolling through a stop sign, Chris answered.

Is that all? Mr. R said.

I guess, Chris said. They drew down on him and slapped the cuffs on.

No kidding? Mr. R said. He looked impressed.

We stood there watching the street for the next thing that might happen.

Must have been flagged victor, I suggested.

Mr. R said nothing, then asked us if we were coming inside or taking a shower together on the porch. Chris laughed, told him we’d be right in, but didn’t turn around.

I released my held breath and leaned against the wall to stay upright.

Flagged victor. Finally, us.

Chris
wanted to see Susan and go out and celebrate. I wanted to crawl home and die. Before parting, we did manage to laugh about the cash flying everywhere, but I was shaking as well.

Just like when Butch and Sundance used too much dynamite to blow up the train safe, I said, You sure know how to blow things up, Butch!

But after ten minutes or so of tearful side-splitting laughter, Chris announced he needed to go get laid immediately.

Despite the rain, I walked down to the lake and stood on the pier. I could not help but remember that other night when
I had stumbled out of the woods after chainsawing Paul’s tree fort and ended up in the back of Officer Drury’s squad car, blubbering like a baby.

How far you’ve come. How far.

I realized that I had no sense of agency in my life. Everything that happened to me happened because of someone or something else. I was not the main character in my own life story, at best a trusty sidekick. This was no way to live. The epiphany left me feeling depleted, if not annihilated.

When I finally got home, my father was already in bed, my mother in the kitchen. She was puttering. Cleaning counters that looked clean. Reorganizing a cupboard full of Tupperware. She looked tired but managed a small smile when she saw me.

You’re soaked, she said, and threw me a tea towel.

I took it and put my face into the rough, recently washed cloth. It smelled of home.

Your father’s not well, she said, while my face was still buried.

I looked up. I had never before heard her say anything like that.

What do you mean? I asked.

He had some tests done today at the hospital. We’ll know more soon.

What kind of tests? I asked.

She looked uncertain, as if she’d said too much.

Some blood in his stool. It could be anything.

A word that could only make one laugh. But I didn’t laugh.

Could be anything like what? I asked. I felt like a little kid. This was why no one trusted me on anything. I panicked. I needed. I was heavy.

Could be hemorrhoids, she said. Could be an ulcer. There’s
no point in speculating. It only leads you to worry. We’ll know more next week.

I started to say something else.

It’s okay, she said, and smiled. It will be fine.

I stopped. Okay, I said.

Oh, I forgot to tell you, she said. Chris just called. He asked you to call him. No matter how late.

He did?

That’s what he said, so I guess you better call him.

Okay, I said. I made no move for the phone.

I think I’ll get changed first, I said. I’m getting cold.

This was the only way I could think of to escape to the other phone. And with that, I bolted upstairs.

I
dragged the phone by its extra-long extension cord and huddled on the floor beside my bed. I even listened for sound from the other receiver as I dialed the number.

When Chris answered, his voice was so cheery, so light in its lack of worry, that I wondered if I was going mad.

What’s going on? I asked.

He hesitated. Long enough to make me wonder.

I hid the till and counted the cash. Now I’m heading over to Susan’s. We’re going to kick back for an hour or so. Then go out for drinks. Splash out a bit. Figured you ought to be there.

You guys haven’t had a lot of fun lately, I offered magnanimously. Go spend some dough on each other.

Very kind of you, sir, very kind. Want to know how much?

I didn’t want to know how much. Yeah, what’d we take?

Just over two grand.

Silence.

Shit, I said. I did not know what I meant by that.

Yeah, he said. I bet we could have tripled that if I’d gotten there five or ten minutes earlier. Should have had you in the lobby, spying on the whole deal and giving me a signal. Probably not a one-man job.

I supposed he meant it didn’t take a man to drive the car. I agreed with him.

Live and learn, I said.

Live and learn, he repeated.

More silence.

One minor setback, he said.

My heart beating. What’s that?

Can’t find the gun.

What do you mean?

Must have fallen out somewhere.

How?

I could hear him shrug. I’m not even sure what I did with it. Can’t remember if I stuffed it in the waist of my pants or in the bag. But it must have popped out at some point.

Man, that’s not even funny.

Not funny at all.

You check everywhere?

Everywhere I could think. Behind the hedge, under the seat of the car. I even drove back to the cul-de-sac, looked around where we parked, walked up through the woods.

Heart thumping thumping thumping.

Did you see any police?

Not just then. Did find a couple twenties though. Just lying there in the wet.

Money everywhere.

You look all over the woods? I asked. Where you jumped the fence?

‘Course I did. Darker than fuck though. Couldn’t see much.

You didn’t bring a flashlight? Like I was Mr. Common Sense.

Didn’t exactly want to advertise my presence.

Oh, right.

Anyway, I’m heading out. Just wanted you to know the situation. If you change your mind, we’ll probably go to the hotel like last time. Don’t be shy, come on by.

And with that, he clicked off.

Just heading out. Just wanted you to know. Don’t be shy, come on by. All that lightness dazzling in its insanity. I crawled into bed and lay in the dark, the weight of the cosmos pressing down.

Three-thirty
in the morning, I still hadn’t slept. But I knew where the gun was.

I got up as quietly as I could, crept downstairs, and drank a glass of water. I was amazed by my awakeness. I put on a jacket and boots, and snuck outside.

The world was silent, a post-drip haziness and calm. The aloneness of it comforted me.

I walked the block and a half to the swamp. All of the houses around were dim and asleep. No one would have noticed my ghost passing through the mist.

I’d expected orange cones. Yellow tape. Signs that police had crawled all over the place, were crawling still. Nothing.

I walked up the path into the woods.

When I was a child, I would explore the woods with all the time in the world. Back then, I’d been hooked into the universe. It had been my friend. The memory made me realize how divorced from that connection I’d become. Was that the origin of the wrongness in my life? I drove those thoughts from my brain and thought about nothing. I only saw. I saw wet leaves and exposed roots and pine needles in pools of water. I squished. I stepped. I hopped easily over the fence.

I saw the gun beneath a clump of leaves, handle sticking out, nozzle poking through. It gleamed in the no-light. I leaned over, picked it up, and tucked it into my pocket.

I thanked the woods and the rain and the universe and I walked home.

I
slept in until ten-thirty and only awoke because my mother was pushing my shoulder. She had the phone in her hand. It’s Chris, she said. Do you two need to move in together or something? You’re like a married couple.

I did not like this joke. I took the phone and asked her to leave. She was used to being asked to leave when I woke up. She probably thought it was because I was grumpy. Hopefully, she didn’t suspect my enormous and unbreakable morning wood.