by CW Johnson
~~~
“I’ve seen you before,” the old woman said. “You’re that lady on the news.” She was sitting behind a wide information booth located in the lobby of John the Baptist Hospital.
The news woman looked down at the old woman’s name tag. “Hi, uh, Bettie…how are you? I guess you must be a volunteer here—”
“Natalie Brown,” the old lady said. “You’re Natalie Brown.” She looked around the reporter at the disheveled, sandy-haired young man wrestling with a camera, two bags, and a box. “That’s a TV camera, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, Bettie. You know what? If you want to you can help us get a story for the news. We’re working on one right now as a matter of fact.”
“Really?” the old lady said grinning. “Why are you talking to me like I’m five? I’m old, not five.”
Natalie smiled. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’m used to it. How can I help?”
“We’re looking for Senator Groyden’s room—”
Bettie was already shaking her head. “Sorry, can’t help you there.”
“Why not?”
“Because that room is off limits.”
“But we’re the press. Politicians love the press.”
“First I’ve heard of that. They specifically told me not to give the press his room number. I’ve sent five of you guys packing already.”
“Why won’t you just let us sneak—?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s because he’s, you know, sick.” The old lady slowly stood up from her chair, glanced warily around the vast lobby and leaned forward. “What’s going on? Why’s everybody trying to see this guy?”
“If I tell you, will you tell us his room number?”
“Maybe.”
The reporter leaned closer to the old lady. “The place is filling up with big shots coming in from all over.”
“Coming in where—this hospital?”
“No, Nashville.”
“What do you mean by big shots?”
“A couple of senators, religious higher-ups, people like that. This guy was one of them, but he had a little heart attack. That’s why we’re here. We want to find out—”
“What’s a religious higher-up?”
“Popes, cardinals, I don’t know. Somebody said they saw Wayne Madsen at the airport this morning.”
“Justice Wayne Madsen? The Supreme Court justice?”
“Yeah, he came in this morning.”
“No entourage?”
“No, they’re like…incognito or something.”
“What are they all doing here?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
The old lady sat down, leaned back in her chair and sniffed. “So that’s it, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Can we get the room number?”
“Sorry, no-can-do.”
“But you said—”
“I said maybe.”
“Okay,” the reporter said, looking around the hospital lobby. She turned to her cameraman. “What do you think, Brett?”
“I don’t know,” the cameraman said. “We gotta have something.”
The reporter glanced back at the old lady behind the booth. “We came here for a story. We can’t very well leave without one. Go ahead and roll the camera.”
The cameraman lifted the camera to his shoulder and aimed it at the old lady behind the booth.
“What the hell ya doing?” the old lady hollered.
The reporter reached and produced a microphone from one of the boxes the cameraman was carrying and plugged it in. She stood between the camera and the old lady with the palm of her hand facing the camera and began dropping fingers.
“Hey,” the old lady yowled, “I don’t want to be on the news. We’re not supposed to tell you anything!”
Five, four, three, two, one. “This is Natalie Brown, reporting for Channel Two News. I’m here at John the Baptist Hospital talking to Bettie, a volunteer at the information desk and eyewitness to a late-breaking story. Apparently, Senator Groyden of Maine has been rushed to this hos—”
The old lady began pulling on the reporters arm. “Hey!” she yelled.
The reporter stopped talking.
“Room number 446,” the old lady hissed.
“Thanks, Bettie,” the reporter said. She turned and began putting her equipment away. The old lady scowled at them as they wrestled their camera gear towards the elevator.
~~~
Barney had never seen anything quite like it. At first, Brother Michael paced back and forth, up and down the sidewalk crying. Barney was afraid of the attention, but no one seemed to notice, or care. After a time Brother Michael seemed to return to his senses. He sat back down on the curb and stared at the veranda across the street. “We must go now,” he said, finally. “It’ll be late soon.”
He stood and continued west. The other two fell in behind. They walked another two blocks before Brother Michael made a turn into a parking lot surrounding a branch of the Cumberland Bank and Trust. He continued on into an alley behind the bank. Once there, he sat down and motioned for Barney to sit next to him.
“Inside the bank,” he said quietly, “you’ll find a set of stairs leading down to a small break room.”
Barney felt the color drain from his face as he realized Michael was about to attempt a bank heist.
“Once inside the break room,” Michael continued, “you’ll find a door off to the left. It’ll have a plate on it that reads, ‘Electrical Room.’”
Barney looked at Pete to see his reaction, but Pete appeared to be happily taking it all in.
“Inside the electrical room,” Michael said, “you’ll find metal boxes mounted on the walls. You want the one labeled ‘P1A.’ Use your tools to take off the front panel.”
Barney stared at Brother Michael, wondering what would happen if he suddenly bucked and ran.
“There are things in there that are not to be touched,” Michael continued. “Don’t touch anything I don’t specifically tell you to touch.”
Barney nodded.
“In that panel,” Michael said, “you’ll find five different colors of wire. The only ones that concern you are the white ones. They’ll all lead to one junction point. There should only be about ten of them. You’re looking for one white wire in particular. It’ll look different to you.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll know it when you see it. Now, when you see the wire, loosen the screw but do not take it out until I give you a signal.”
“What signal?”
“You’ll know it when you get it.”
Brother Michael picked up the electrician’s shirt. For the first time, Barney noticed it had a patch over the pocket that read ‘Music City Electric’.
“Put this on,” Michael said, pushing the shirt at him.
Barney put the shirt on and Michael helped him with the tool pouch. “Why do I have to do this?” he said, whining. “Why don’t Pet—er—Peter do it?”
Michael pulled Barney away from Pete, dragging him deeper into the alley. Once they were out of Pete’s earshot, he turned to Barney and whispered. “The Father has chosen you because of your superior abilities. We’ll need them if we are to have any hope of pulling this thing off. Do you understand?”
Barney glanced back at Pete. “I understand completely.”
“Good,” Brother Michael said. “Go into the bank and tell the girl at the counter you work for Music City Electric and that you have come to look at the outdoor GFI circuit. Got it?”
“Okay,” Barney said. He slowly moved off toward the front door of the bank desperately trying to remember all he’d been told. He reached the corner and turned back.
“What’ll happen if they won’t let me in?”
“They will.”
Barney paused and decided to chance it. “How you know all this stuff?”
Brother Michael smiled. “I know at ten o’clock this morning Brian Mines, the ban
k manager, told Sarah Vasso, one of the loan officers, to call Music City Electric about a problem that Andy Ostler, the gardener, was having with the outside GFI circuit. Music City Electric said they’d be here to fix the problem around…” Michael glanced down at a non-existent wristwatch. “Let’s see, around...now.”
Barney gave Brother Michael the thumbs up and disappeared around the corner.
“Now?” he hollered, reappearing from around the corner. “They’re coming now? What if they come and I’m already in there?”
“They forgot; now go!” Michael shooed him away with his hands. Barney hesitated, shook his head, and moved off.
~~~
Michael turned his attention to his new suit.
“What sh-should I d-do, Brother M-M-Michael?” Pete said.
“Peter, you’ll be our guardian. Without you standing guard, we have no hope of pulling this thing off. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Pete said.
Michael smiled and patted Pete on the shoulder.
“Are w-we g-gonna rob the bank, B-Brother Michael?”
“Of course not, Peter. Why would you even ask?”
Pete looked on bewildered as Brother Michael began putting on his suit.
~~~
Inside the bank lobby, Barney was trying to look confident as his tool bags clanked and jingled. He walked to the nearest teller. “I’m with Music City Elec—”
“You know where to go?” she asked in a thick, African-American verve.
“Uh…downstairs?”
“Yeah, downstairs and to the left. You’ll see it.”
“Thanks,” Barney said. So far, so good, he thought as he clattered down the stairs.
The break room was tiny so it was easy to spot the door sporting the electrical room sign. He opened it to find a small, musty-smelling room crammed with equipment—probably the heater and water heater—he wasn’t sure. Five grey metal boxes were mounted on one of the walls along with racks of what looked like computer equipment. Identical pipes coming out of some of the boxes rose to the ceiling, leveled off, and disappeared through the walls. Little blue and white wires were stretched throughout the room, all originating from a sheet of plywood hanging on another wall. He wondered if these were some of the wires he was never supposed to touch.
He noticed labels on the grey boxes just as Brother Michael had said, but some of the boxes were much smaller than others. He realized with a start that he’d completely forgotten which box he was told to open.
“What should I do now?” he asked himself out loud. “I can’t do this.”
Panicking, he reached for the door but noticed a soft, orange glow coming from one of the boxes. He looked closer. P1A. That’s it.
With newfound confidence, he pulled out his screwdriver and began removing the front cover. Once it was off, he could see the smaller cover Brother Michael had talked about. He carefully removed it, exposing all of the wire in the box, and noticed some of the wires were bigger than others. Some were factory-colored, but the big ones seemed to be taped. One of the big ones was taped white. He followed it to a point where all of the white wires were screwed into a bar attached to the back of the panel. He looked at the other big wires with tape on them and remembered Brother Michael’s warning not to touch them.
He went back to inspecting the white wires again when he noticed one of them had the same orange glow. “No way. I’m friggin’ James Bond here. Now, I’m supposed to loosen this screw…I just hope I don’t get killed.”
He closed his eyes and quickly pushed the screwdriver into the bar holding the white wires…nothing. He opened his eyes, found the glowing white wire, and loosened the screw.
“Okay,” he said out loud, “now I wait for some sort of signal.”
~~~
Upstairs, a handsome young man in a new suit waited in line. When it was his turn, he stepped up to the teller and asked to see Mr. Mines. When the teller inquired as to his business with the bank manager, he told the teller to tell Mr. Mines that he had questions about young Hanna Christensen’s account, questions only Mr. Mines could answer.
“Please wait there.” The teller said, motioning towards a loan officer’s vacant desk. She disappeared into the back. After a time, the puzzled-looking teller returned from the back with an ashen-faced, middle-aged man. Once there, the middle-aged man stood partially in the hall, timidly peeking around the corner. The young man in the new suit stood up and pushed his hand toward Mr. Mines.
“My name is Michael. Could we talk in your office?”
The bank manager casually scanned the room before shifting his gaze back to Michael. “Uh, yes, yes, of course… this way.”
The two men walked the short distance to the small office where Mr. Mines offered Michael a seat. Mines took his seat and began shuffling through papers. Michael waited patiently as the bank manager continued to stall for time.
“You say…you’re here regarding…Hann—”
“Hanna Christensen,” Michael said, staring into the shifting eyes of the bank manager.
“I see,” The manager said, standing. “You know, I’ll be right ba—”
“I’m not a cop,” Michael said.
Mines staggered and clutched the corner of his desk. “Yes…but…I really should—”
“I had a friend once who bought himself a little boxer puppy,” Michael said. “You’ve seen those dogs, haven’t you Mr. Mines?”
The bank manager didn’t respond.
“No? Well, anyway…my friend had a problem. You see, he knew at some point, because of the breed, he’d have to cut that poor little puppy’s tail off. He was a very softhearted sort and couldn’t imagine the shock of having one’s entire tail brutally hacked off like that, so do you know what he ended up doing Mr. Mines?”
The manager’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“He wanted to ease the puppy into it. He ended up cutting an inch off each week until it was just the right size.” Michael paused for effect. “I bet that tail got pretty sore after a while, Mr. Mines. Sometimes it’s less painful to just get things over with, don’t you think?
That’s what you’ve been doing all this time, isn’t it Brian? Instead of just cutting that tail off way back at the beginning, you chose to live with this thing all these many years. Each year you tell yourself that next year you’re going to the police and confess…finally getting it over with. You know it’s just a matter of time before they find her… dumb move covering her with your jacket. You were so young and upset. It’s easy to see how you could have completely forgotten your mother’s habit of marking your clothing. You also know that once they do find her, there’s no way they’ll believe your story, but you keep putting it off… thinking maybe you still have a little more time. Just one more year, you tell yourself…chop, chop, chop.”
The bank manager collapsed into his chair.
“The papers say they’re about to start a major reconstruction project in the old subdivision. They’ll be digging that road up pretty soon.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Brian Mines said quickly. “We were both just little kids.”
Michael raised a hand. “I know that, but the police won’t understand.”
Mines raised his eyes off the floor. “What the hell do you want?”
“I’m here to make a deal with you, Brian. You make my problems go away, and I’ll take care of yours.”
“How do you know about—?”
“How do I know Hanna Christensen’s little body is buried in a shallow grave just under the asphalt road in front of your childhood friend Tyler’s house? I don’t know Brian…just a lucky guess I suppose.”
Brian snorted. He leaned back in his chair, scanned the ceiling of his office before leveling a menacing glare back at Michael. “Well, I got news for you. Look up to your right. You see that security camera? It has an extra little goodie. It records audio. Everything you just said was recorded onto a security tape even I can’t get into and since you’
re now an accessory, we’ll both be going off to prison.”
“Goodness, gracious,” Michael said laughing. “So rude to someone who is trying so hard to help you.” He reached for the phone on the desk. “What’s your favorite teller’s extension, Brian?”
“What in God’s name are you doing now?”
“As I said, I’ll take care of your problem if you take care of mine. The extension?”
“5549,” the manager said softly, slumping heavily into his chair.
Michael spoke into the phone. “Yes, this is Music City Electric. I’m getting interference on my partner’s cell phone. Would you mind going downstairs and telling him to turn off that circuit for, say, about, two minutes, then turn it back on? He’ll know what you mean. Thank you.”
Michael put the phone down and smiled at the bank manager who was staring back down at the floor.
~~~
“Some guy called and told you to turn off that circuit for two minutes and then turn it back on.” The robustious voice bellowed from the other side of the closed door.
“Okay,” Barney hollered back. Now that’s what I call a signal, he said to himself as he jerked the wire out of the neutral bar.
~~~
Barney had no way of knowing it, but the neutral wire he had just pulled loose, was one that was being shared by three different circuits, on three different phases. When the neutral was lifted, the path back to ground was interrupted. This immediately changed the one hundred and ten volt circuit, into a two hundred and eight volt circuit, sharing two phases.
The surge protector at the computer in Sarah Vasso’s office sensed the change and momentarily absorbed the extra voltage long enough for a built in device to create a short circuit.
Down in the basement, at virtually the same moment, breaker number fourteen sensed the short and switched off with a loud click inches from Barney’s face. Barney yelped and jumped back.
Just on the other side of the door, in the break room, the only receptacle on circuit sixteen, was powering an old Crock-pot. It too, became part of the two pole, two hundred and eight volt circuit. The old element held its own, and quickly began heating up. As the element held, circuits number sixteen and eighteen, Phase B and C, were now free to concentrate their collective two hundred and eight volts on the one hundred and ten volt transformer inside the video machine, wired to the banks security cameras.