Merlot (24 page)

The fact that he was wearing his jogging
clothes beneath his disguise, plus the shoulder-length wig and
mustache, caused him to sweat uncontrollably. Add to that the fact
that he wore rubber surgical gloves so he wouldn’t leave finger
prints and it all amounted to one big, sweatfest.

He was sweating so much that the adhesive on
his fake mustache failed. He had thrown the thing out the door,
while at a complete standstill on the freeway. At least the car
radio was working. From it he learned traffic was backed up for
miles due to some major accident that had shut the entire freeway
down.

He had hoped to enter the bank in the middle
of the noon rush, just get in and out quickly, avoid Cindy, hand
his sweaty note to a teller, grab a bag full of money and run. Now
he was way behind schedule, and as he drove around the armored car
parked next to the bank building he was preoccupied and almost ran
into three guys carrying a small roll of carpeting across the
parking lot.

“What the, hey, you God dammed idiot,” Mendel
yelled, slamming his left hand on the hood of the Saab and glaring
into the driver’s mirrored sunglasses.

“Watch where in the hell you’re driving,
dumbshit.”

“Man, you see that freak?” Elvis asked in his
nasal tone, keeping the carpet covered AK s tight against his leg.
“What a burnout.”

“Just keep moving, boys, stay together, we’re
almost there,” Lucerne said.

* * *

“Get a grip,” Merlot said to himself,
coasting the Saab to a stop next to a Dumpster. The temperature was
97, the humidity range not far behind, but climbing out of his Saab
felt like air-conditioned comfort.

“He held the empty revolver in his sweat
soaked waistband so it wouldn’t drop down his pants leg and clatter
onto the ground. Strands of rayon wig stuck to the sides of his
face, sweat rolled into his eyes and dripped off the tip of his
nose. His shirt was drenched a deep red wine color and his jeans
were soaked through with sweat.

“Dear God, please make this work,” he prayed,
pulling off his rubber gloves and walking toward the red brick bank
building.

* * *

Cindy glanced up and caught sight of Otto
pulling into the parking place. She determined she was not going to
run away. She would let him walk right up to her and when he asked
how she was doing she would face him head-on and lie. Working a
husband and four sick kids into the conversation should take care
of her problem once and for all.

* * *

Billy Truesdale was talking to Sidney as they
rolled a second grocery cart out to the armored car. Gary, standing
guard on the shady side of the armored car, swung the rear door
open as they approached. He helped lift the trash bags stuffed with
currency into the back, swinging them back and forth before tossing
them on top of the pile.

“See, what’d I tell ya, Billy, the two of us,
with Sidney’s help. Thanks Sidney. We can get this thing loaded in
half the time it takes that dumb shit Trevor to list all of the
things that are wrong with him. Of course, he always leaves out the
part about being an absolute idiot,” Gary said.

“Yeah, you wonder what they’re thinking,”
replied Sidney. “We got the same thing here. I could tell you a
month ago who was gonna call in sick today. Or the one’s that get
bottle flu after the Super Bowl. Who do they think they’re
kidding?”

“Say, little something extra today, boys.”
Sidney said and held out three cans of Coke.

“Man, that is a welcome sight. Thank you,
Sidney,” Billy said.

“Likewise,” Gary nodded.

* * *

Otto couldn’t believe his luck, he was next
in line to have Cindy take his deposit. He figured this would be
the perfect opportunity to set her straight on a couple of items,
not the least of which would be following directions. Gentle but
firm he reminded himself, gentle but firm.

* * *

Merlot made his way into the bank lobby
convinced everyone was looking at him. He was afraid the
excruciating drive in the Saab had brought him to the brink of
dehydration. Between a few thousand strands from his cheap wig
sticking all over his sweaty face, the revolver threatening to fall
down his pants leg, not making eye contact with Cindy, trying in
general not to bring attention to himself, he was in a bit of a
daze. He shuffled slowly forward, as far away as possible from
Cindy. He just hoped the teller wouldn’t scream when he handed her
the note.

* * *

Lucerne, Mendel and Elvis limped forward as
one big clump, glancing nervously from side to side.

“I say do it, man,” whispered Elvis, having
to gasp audibly with the toilet paper crammed up both nostrils.

“Mendel?” questioned Lucerne.

“Stay cool, not yet, just keep her cool,
boys,” Mendel cautioned.

* * *

Though longer than the other three lines
Merlot’s was moving substantially faster and he suddenly found
himself faced with his moment of truth. He quickly glanced down the
length of the counter at Cindy. She was just finishing up with a
woman, the mentally challenged guy wearing the Vikings jersey was
next in line.

Merlot took a deep breath, dug into the
pocket of his jeans and handed his sweat soaked note to the teller.
He took a half step back keeping his hand on the revolver lifting
it ever so slightly. If she had any questions a quick flash without
pulling the thing out of his jeans would get his point across. His
heart pounded as she unfolded the note, looked at it for a long
moment before staring quizzically into his mirrored sunglasses.

“I’m sorry sir, the ink has run all over your
note, I can’t read it.” She spoke slowly and distinctly, forming
each word carefully as if he might have difficulty in
understanding.

“Do you speak English?” she asked.

* * *

Otto stepped up to Cindy’s window, smiled,
snapped open his briefcase, and reminded himself, gentle but
firm.

Cindy smiled back at Otto and kept repeating,
a husband and four sick kids, a husband and four sick kids.

* * *

“Fucking now, dudes!” Mendel roared,
unfolding the stock, bringing his AK up over his head and firing a
long burst across the ceiling. Ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack,
pausing for half a beat before stitching another burst
ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack across the top of the
protective glass in front of the tellers windows.

***

“What the hell was that?” asked Gary standing
in the shade of the armored car. He was almost finished with his
Coke and he was letting the engine idle, hoping the air conditioner
would cool the front seat down before they climbed in and drove
back to Central.

“That craps been going on all damn week. If
it’s not the damn midday parade it’s some other bullshit, fireworks
or something,” Sidney replied.

“Fireworks? In daylight?” Billy asked
draining the last of his Diet Coke.

“Ahh, they probably set that shit off
whenever they guess some fatty’s weight correctly,” all three of
them laughed.

***

“Everyone down on the floor now! Get your
hands up where we can see ‘em, and shut the fuck up!” Mendel
roared.

The customers caught in the crowded little
lobby crouched down and thrust their hands in the air. Otto knelt
down in the corner, pushed his briefcase behind him, felt the
reassuring grips on the forty-five just under his jersey and
glared. Cindy was in trouble. Time for Sheriff Otto to come to the
rescue.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” Merlot
said dropping to the floor.

“Hey, burnout, you heard the man, shut up!”
Elvis said, taking a few steps in Merlot’s direction, pointing the
AK at the tip of his nose.

By this time Lucerne had entered the teller
area via the door in Sidney’s office. This wasn’t a matter of
concern to Sidney just now, since he was still standing outside in
the shade of the armored car, telling jokes.

“Come on, fill ‘em up, fill ‘em up,” Lucerne
encouraged the tellers who were anxiously shoveling cash. Silent
alarms went off as they pulled bills out of the alarm well in their
cash drawers. Everyone hurriedly dumped cash into the green trash
bags Lucerne held.

“You too, lady!” he shouted to the
flushed-faced college girl counting currency in the vault. She had
cutoffs, a tank top, wide eyes and a trembling lip.

“Me?” she pointed to herself
questioningly.

“Yeah, you, Think you’re special? Come on,
fill up this damn bag?” He motioned with the thirty-eight, and she
quickly started shoveling bricks of banded currency into the trash
bag.

In the distance Mendel thought he heard the
wail of a siren. He looked nervously over at Elvis, who blinked
back hearing the exact same thing.

“Grab the freak,” he said to Elvis, motioning
toward Merlot with his AK before pounding on the glass to get
Lucerne’s attention. He nodded at Cindy and yelled, “We gotta get
going man, right now, grab her!”

The whole operation took little more than 90
seconds, barely enough time for Sidney to get to the punch line in
his Ole and Lena joke.

As Billy laughed politely he glanced through
the drive-up teller windows. His first thought was the girls were
all stretching together, until he realized their hands were raised,
the lobby looked empty, and three guys were running out the door
with bulging trash bags and some pretty serious-looking weapons.
They pushed a teller and a long-haired freak in front of them.

Billy cut his laugh short, “Ahh, Sidney?”

Mendel picked up on the sound of scattering
Coke cans and three figures diving over the hedge on his right. He
and his brothers, pushed the two hostages. They were almost to the
Fleetwood just as a round whistled past his ear and left a
softball-sized hole in their windshield.

“Christ!” exclaimed Lucerne as a second round
hit the right front tire and a hissing rush caused the huge car to
lean forward.

Lucerne turned with his thirty-eight and
fired blindly in the general direction of the bank. He just caught
the hint of a purple blur jumping behind a wide brick support
column and fired again in that general direction.

“Shit, man, where is he?” shouted Mendel.

As if in answer, a shaking hand poked a
forty-five around the corner of the column and fired, shattering
the rear window of the vehicle next to the Fleetwood.

“God damn it!” roared Mendel letting loose
with a burst of rounds raking back and forth across the front of
the brick column.

Behind the column Otto cringed, eyes squeezed
shut as chips of brick and mortar shot past either side and a cloud
of red dust enveloped him.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, Hail Mary, full of
grace,” he screamed, too frightened to remember the rest of his
prayer.

“Get to that damn truck,” Mendel cried,
changing direction, pushing Cindy and Merlot in the general
direction of the armored car.

“Elvis, smoke that bastard behind them
bricks, damn it.”

Elvis raised his AK and began firing bursts
at the column, hoping to keep whomever it was pinned down until
they got away, “Ack-ack-ack-ack. Ack-ack-ack-ack.
Ack-ack-ack-ack.”

“She’s running,” Lucerne yelled as he climbed
into the driver’s seat. “Get ‘em in the back, man, come on let’s
go!” he screamed, pushing a lit green button on the dash marked
rear door. He heard an audible click and the button immediately
changed color to red. “Come on, man, come on!”

Mendel ran to the rear of the truck, carrying
the trash bags, pushing Cindy and Merlot ahead of him. “Elvis, come
on man, come on!”

Elvis, walked backwards toward the armored
car, firing continual bursts at the chipped and scarred column.

“Ahh, Hail Mary,” Otto screamed in
terror.

Mendel tossed the trash bags into the rear of
the armored car, pushed Merlot out of the way, jumped in, then
pointed his AK at Cindy, motioning her to follow him. Cindy quickly
climbed in. Then Elvis dove into the rear of the armored car, and
motioned for Merlot.

Mendel was pounding his palm on the front
wall of the armored car. “Drive baby, drive!” he screamed as the
armored car lurched forward. Merlot did his best to hop into the
back of the accelerating vehicle just as Otto, stunned and unable
to hear anything, poked a visibly shaking hand around the chewed
corner of the brick column and fired a final round.

“Zing” the round whistled off the open rear
door.

“Ahh, fuck!” screamed Merlot sailing into the
rear of the armored car, landing on top of the trash bags.

“Pull that damn door closed,” Mendel screamed
at Elvis as they raced down the alley.

“Jesus Christ,” Merlot groaned. His rear felt
as if it were on fire from molten lava. A burning, slashing pain
ran left to right across his rear.

“Son of a bitch just got shot in the ass!”
exclaimed Elvis. Arching the eyebrow above his good eye, staring at
the puckered, ripped, and bloody jeans as Merlot lay face -down,
groaning.

“Quit your bellyaching, you dumb shit. That’s
barely a flesh wound, damn ricochet is all, hardly a new crack in
your ass!” Mendel said disgustedly.

“Oh my God, that fucking hurts!” Merlot
screamed, his mirrored sunglasses fell off. The dive into the back
of the armored car and subsequent rolling around had pulled his
long-haired wig down just above his eyebrows.

“Hey, what the hell’s this shit?” Elvis
shouted. Then pulled Merlot’s wig and leveled his AK at the back of
his head.

“What the fuck?” exclaimed Mendel.

“Tony?” asked Cindy, sounding even more
incredulous.

“Oh God, I’ve been shot!” groaned Merlot.

“You’re gonna be hurtin’ a lot worse, you
don’t start talking awfully God damn fast! You some kind of
undercover cop or weirdo or something?” Mendel shouted. He thrust
the barrel of his AK between Merlot’s eyes. As the vehicle sped
down the street rocking back and forth, the gun barrel repeatedly
bounced off his forehead.