Sheriff Randolph likely won reelection for life in Henderson County when he stepped into the civic center once bomb experts gave the all clear. He walked into the packed auditorium like General MacArthur returning to the Philippines, liberating the two thousand inside the arena after their nearly seven hours of confinement. A sweep of the civic center netted none of the gunmen.
The lights would come back on in Centertown before dawn.
Law enforcement interviews of the hostages continued for over a week, their version of events ranging wildly. Most estimated there were somewhere between ten and twenty armed men in the civic auditorium, stationed upstairs and downstairs. The arena itself suffered an estimated one hundred thousand dollars in damage from several hundred bullet holes put in its roof and walls by the gunmen. The damage was not covered by insurance, much to the chagrin of the tax payers of Centertown, since the policy on the building had been allowed to lapse due to an "oversight" by the mayor.
In fact, and no one would ever know it since the conspirators took the secret to their graves, there had never been more than three "gunmen" at a time inside the civic center. The "shock and awe" plan hatched by the five had worked like a charm when it came to taking over Centertown. Even the state's best detectives believed organized crime was involved in the robbery of the town, pointing to the five members of the hired help gunned down next to the Barren Fork, all of whom had ties to the criminal underworld. They were never able, however, to explain the blanks in their guns.
Harold had planned it that way. He knew investigators would never believe five regular guys with clean criminal records, with the exception of Doug's juvenile issues which were sealed, could pull off such a brilliant criminal endeavor.
Despite being a "public servant" who came from the right side of the tracks, Harold was quite the student of the criminal element and had always been fascinated by the classic crimes. The Centertown job itself was heavily influenced by the famous Brinks Robbery in Boston in 1950.
In that daring heist, which Harold studied backwards and forwards, 2.7 million in cash and checks were taken from the Brinks depository by gunmen who had carefully rehearsed the robbery much like the five rehearsed their takeover of Centertown. Had Harold survived, he would have been proud of the fact the Centertown robbery scored more than triple the amount of the Brinks heist.
Harold had learned that Brinks failed in the end, not due to the job itself, but the loose lips of those involved. By including only five in the inner circle, all people who he thought he knew, Harold believed they could avoid making the mistakes that the Brinks gang had made, mistakes that saw the Brinks gang all go to prison. However, in planning the grandiose robbery, Harold did not figure on one of his associates being a homicidal maniac.
EPILOGUE
The sun had barely come up in Centertown before the events of the previous evening came into focus. Four bank vaults cracked and two jewelry stores burglarized. The takeover hadn't been liberation by some misguided militia group hell bent on overthrowing the government. It was all about robbing the town blind, and rob they did.
Final counts put the take somewhere between nine and ten million in cash and jewels although the exact amount was never revealed. Along with that loss, much of which was covered by the FDIC and insurance, was the damage to Centertown utilities and its emergency dispatch. That price tag went deep into six figures.
In the area of human cost, fourteen lay dead around Centertown, nine of those Centertown residents, the other five being strangers who had never been to the fair city before.
Just as Harold had predicted, the media descended on Centertown like locusts, satellite trucks on every corner for over a week as the eyes of the country were focused on the small town that had been taken over by a mysterious band of robbers.
It made for excellent Christmas headlines, especially in the hometown Centertown Courier where its special Christmas edition wished its readers a Merry Christmas above the headline that read "Gunmen Assassinate Mayor, Kill Police Chief in Armed Takeover." But then, as is often the case in newspapers, the sub-headline proved to be the most thought provoking - "City Council Amongst Armed Conspirators"
The people of Centertown would treat city elections with the utmost seriousness in the future after realizing who they had elected, who they had entrusted to lead their city. Years prior, voters had been angered by the annexation of the regions outside Centertown proper and had decided to "vote the bums out" in mass. But, in doing so, they had let their votes be guided by anger, electing a group of angry men to lead them.
The candidates had submitted their names on the ballot, all wanting to change things in Centertown. And, when it came down to it, all were popular with the townspeople. It wasn't as if they took office planning to rob the town. That was an afterthought, a whimsy that somehow became reality.
First there was the widower Ralph Carter who everyone knew. He had owned a business in downtown Centertown for as long as anyone could remember. Who wouldn't trust a man like Ralph?
Then, there was Jerry Ferguson. He had fixed everyone's computer in Centertown at one time or another and the guys especially appreciated him turning his head when he invariably found their porn collections on their hard drives.
And, there was Randy Groves, the war hero who had bravely served his country in Iraq and had returned home to continue a successful construction business. Who would have ever suspected?
While there is always a debate which came first, the chicken or the egg, it could be debated had the men not been elected then perhaps the Centertown job would have never happened. After all, the poker games at which they planned the heist began as a way to blow off steam following their regular city council meetings on Saturdays. What started as a way to get around the Sunshine Law ended with them planning the crime of the century.
Forgotten in all the excitement was the fact there was a fourth alderman on the council, Father Louis Lebeau. He had never asked to join the group because the Father didn’t believe in gambling, aside from the weekly bingo games at the parish. Later on, the group was glad he was not part of their weekly gathering, as they figured he would probably never go for a plan to rob the town of nearly ten million dollars.
The evidence was overwhelming against Ralph, Randy and Jerry. Their frozen bodies were found the next morning, all wearing the uniforms of the robbers. Plus, all were armed with assault rifles. It was like Mother Nature had preserved the crime scenes in the deep freeze. It was also apparent Randy was the one who murdered the bankers along with the police chief and one of his patrolmen. Federal agents were even able to uncover evidence from his time in Iraq linking him to the murder of a suspected terrorist and his family. In the case of Randy, it all read like a road map to madness, a road map that ended in Centertown.
While the three ended up being exposed for their crimes, their names forever Mud in Centertown lore, Mayor Thorn, the mastermind of the heist, escaped the humiliation to some degree.
Like his board members, Harold had been elected in the same election when they threw the bums out. However, unlike the others, he had been groomed for the position and took advantage of the controversy to usurp power. And, much like he had led the rest of the five astray, he was able to continue his lies even after death. After all, two thousand people had seen him executed before their very eyes. When he was found, he bore the single gunshot wound to the head, matching up to what the witnesses had seen. No one would ever know of his involvement with the five. Instead, he would go down as the first Centertown mayor ever to be assassinated.
However, discoveries a few weeks later would prevent the town from canonizing him as a saint. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of funds missing from the city's treasury were eventually traced back to the late mayor. His memory would be allowed to fade away with only a select few knowing the truth. Among those select few was Mrs. Thorn, the grieving widow of Harold Thorn, who was presented a life insurance check for a half million dollars after her husband's death. Th
e money helped her "cope" with his passing a bit better.
And, the sympathy for her loss helped sweep her into office during the mayoral election two months later. As for fallen Police Chief Douglas Bouldin, he was heralded as a hero for his bravery in trying to fight back against the invading hoard. His funeral saw a procession which extended for over a mile with representatives from law enforcement agencies around the world. Bagpipes playing "Amazing Grace" cut through the still cold Centertown air the day after Christmas as they lowered his flag-draped casket into his final resting place. The West Bridge, which Sheriff Randolph had led his men across to liberate their city, ended up being named the Douglas Bouldin Memorial Bridge. The people of Centertown would never know he was involved in the crime and neither Joe nor Brittany would ever tell what they saw that night.
Actually, the couple never talked about it much, opting to start anew when the sun came up after that night. Brittany would also share the bare minimum of her knowledge of the crime, hoping to let the skeletons stay in the closet. Joe had the same philosophy, giving reporters only the watered down version about what actually happened.
Their reluctance to discuss the events of Christmas Eve night with each other would finally come to an end New Year's Eve, one week after the Centertown siege. Brittany felt she couldn't enter the next year without being totally honest with the man she now knew she loved and hoped to spend the rest of her life with.
Deciding to play it low key and avoid the regular New Year parties, the couple opted to see in the new year at Brittany's house, watching the ball drop on television while toasting the coming year with a couple of cold beers.
"I have a confession to make before the new year," Brittany said sheepishly as she sat on the couch in Joe's arms.
"Don't tell me you're married or something," Joe quipped with a grin.
"No, nothing like that," Brittany said in a nervous voice.
Pausing to make sure she put things just right, Brittany sat up and took both of Joe's hands, looking him in the eyes.
"What if I told you I know where the money is?" she asked.
Joe's eyes got wide. He figured the money was long gone. Sure, he'd thought about the whereabouts of the missing millions but it had been amongst the embargoed subject matters so he hadn't brought it up. She had never fully told him everything she knew about the heist.
"Well, I guess I'd have to turn you in for the reward," Joe shot back, still grinning.
"Can't you ever be serious?" Brittany said, slapping him in the head with a couch pillow.
"I’m sorry," Joe said, still somewhat taken back by what he was hearing. "Well, do you know where it is?"
"Yes," Brittany responded.
"Is it buried under a big W somewhere?" Joe asked.
"Um no. It's closer than you think," Brittany said. "You're sitting on it."
It was like seeing Fort Knox for the first time when Brittany opened the door to her basement, the dank cellar which once was only home for a washer-dryer combination and perhaps some rats, now home to nearly ten million in cash and jewels. All Joe could do was stand speechless.
It was Harold's plan to stash the loot in Brittany's basement believing it would be the last place anyone would check. His plan was to return a week later and transport the cache of riches to a more secure location outside town once the heat had cooled off. Then, much like the Brinks gang, they would wait a couple of years before starting to spend their fortune. With the deaths of all the five, Brittany had inherited it, so to speak.
"Should I give it back?" Brittany asked, looking questioningly at Joe.
Without answering, Joe walked Brittany back up the steps and turned out the light to the cellar, closing the door behind them,
"We'll make that decision next year," Joe said with a wink as the ball dropped, leaning forward to give his sweetheart a new year kiss.
They would never give the money back, well, at least not all of it.
For Joe, his heroic actions in front of the two thousand inside the arena only endeared him to the people of Henderson County. His romance with the damsel in distress he had saved that night made for a love story every high school girl would aspire to. Who cared about a knight in shining armor when there was Coach Joe? It was a fairytale romance.
As if his popularity couldn't get any higher, the following season was one for the record books for the Henderson Sentinels as they went undefeated and finally won that state title the people of Henderson County had dreamed about. Coach Joe had brought them back to greatness.
His success didn't go unnoticed. The call he had been hoping for came just one week after the championship. Andrew Jackson College offered him their head coaching job, complete with a healthy raise in pay from his high school job. However, in a move that surprised even himself, Joe turned down the job and decided to go for a second title in Henderson County.
Joe and Brittany were married a month after his team won their state championship, Brittany becoming Brittany Williams, their nuptials coming just in time for bitter-sweet news. It seemed one of Joe's "long-lost great-uncles" passed away leaving his fortune to his favorite nephew. It was quite the dowry, enough where Joe was able to donate money to build a new field house for the Henderson Sentinels, his only requirement that they name it after the late Patrolman Eddie Jenkins. It had always annoyed Joe that the patrolman, who was the only true hero of that evening, had never been given his due.
The Williams would go on to make several other sizeable donations to the community, becoming one of the town's most philanthropic couples through donations of scholarships and assistance in local building and school projects. Only they knew the true source of their fortune - a fortune gained by an ill-advised crime hatched by five average Joes. It was the crime of the century - almost.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roger Duane Sherrill is a career journalist serving as crime and courts reporter with the Southern Standard newspaper in McMinnville, Tenn., the small southern town where he was born and raised. He has won numerous journalistic awards during his time in newspaper including Best Story of the Year and Best News Photograph. In addition to hard news, he is also a noted columnist, penning weekly humor column “The Family Man” and political satire “Taking a Stand.”
While he has published thousands of newspaper stories and columns during his journalistic career, he has only recently branched out into fiction writing, penning seven completed manuscripts to date. Average Joe is his second published novel. His debut murder/mystery novel Red Dog Saloon, released in late 2013, has met with critical acclaim.
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