A BLIND EYE

by John Henderson

  ‘Hallelujah, at least someone hasn’t forgotten why we’re here,’ said Georgie, a trifle exasperated by the chit chat when there were far more exciting things to talk about.

  ‘Okay, okay, keep your shirt on, woman,’ chided Simon, raising his hands in submission. ‘Georgie, how have you been getting on doing some banking there?’

  ‘Fine. I’ve been in a few times and made some deposits. I’ve got to know some of the tellers, by sight I mean, and also the guard, old Charlie, who usually sits on a chair half way down the banking chamber. I’ve spoken to him a couple of times and although he has a pistol on his belt, I think he’d have a heart attack if he ever had to use it. Oh yes, I bought in a couple of the cash bags to show you what they looked like.’ Georgie removed the bags from a beach bag she had next to her and placed them on the table.

  ‘Sue, your turn,’ said Simon

  ‘I’ve been in a couple of times and have got to know Adam, the head supervisor downstairs. I thought it a good idea to get into his good books just in case we’re pushing for time to lodge the cash. I’ve no doubt the bank will slam the front door shut once they realise they’ve been robbed, and I don’t want to be caught holding a bag full of stolen ten pound notes.’

  ‘Good point,’ exclaimed Simon with admiration. ‘Noel and I have worked out our dress and we’ve even bought a couple of wigs. It doesn’t matter people can tell they’re wigs, it’s just to add a little to the confusion. Once we do the handover of the cash to you Georgie, we’ll head outside the bank and join the demonstration that should be marching up George Street, if our timing’s right. During the march we’ll discard most of the identifiable dress; with the rabble going on, nobody will take any notice, we hope. When we get to Town Hall, we’ll catch a train back to Wynyard and go up to Menzies.

  ‘Anyone for more coffee?’ asked Simon, looking at the three others in expectation. ‘Noel, come and give us a hand to organise this.’

  Noel didn’t have to be asked twice as he knew instinctively his boss, or ex boss, wanted a word. Having reached the kitchen, Simon filled the electric water jug, switched it on then turned to Noel. ‘Noel, I had an interesting talk to a bloke while at the races yesterday. It involves Rosey and Fisher, and it’s not squeaky clean. I’m not due back at Day Street until Monday week and with any luck I’ll have at least another week there before Cronulla. I’ll get in touch with you and we’ll organise a brew up on George Street and I’ll fill you in. Noel nodded and restrained himself from asking questions now his inquisitive nature had been piqued.

  On returning to the dining room, it was Georgie who reopened the conversation. ‘Simon, just confirming, it is the teller at the far end of the chamber, furthest from the front door that you propose to rob?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Simon. ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’

  ‘No, it’s just that the teller there couldn’t be much more than twenty years old and it looks like he’s been on the counter for no more than five minutes. He’s certainly not confident in handling cash at this stage, but I s’pose he has to learn somewhere.’

  ‘Well, that’s all the better. He shouldn’t give us any trouble then,’ said Noel.

  Georgie stretched back on her chair and clasped her hands behind her head. ‘And what do you propose to do when you’re his next customer. Just ask him to hand over all his ten pound notes, just like that?’

  Simon pursed his lips and frowned. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I will.’

  ‘Oh, I see, said Georgie skeptically. ‘All bluff. You hope to scare the little bugger into handing over all his tenners?’

  ‘Well, how would you do it, smarty-pants? We’ve decided on no guns and I agree with that. Hell, the last thing we want is old Charlie Rambo blasting away with a six gun or having a coronary,’ Simon replied.

  ‘Who’s Rambo, anyway?’ asked Sue enquiringly.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, I was referring to the security guard,’ replied Simon shaking his head. ‘So, apart from us all having to remember what role we are taking in this little venture, is there anything else we need to do or consider before we turn to a life of crime?’ Simon adopted a serious look on his face before turning to each person for a response. When none was forthcoming, he heaved a sigh and relaxed back into his chair as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘Good morning, sir. May I be of assistance?’ Georgie had been right. The teller behind the counter couldn’t have been much more than twenty years old, immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit, and wearing a pair of metal framed spectacles. His physical stature couldn’t prevent Simon thinking that here was the skinny kid at the beach who had sand kicked in his face by Brutus in his attempt to impress Olive. Simon felt a twinge of contrition, aware that the lad was going to be confronted in the very near future by two resolute bank robbers with a demand for his cash.

  ‘Yes, I think you may be able to help,’ said Simon with a confidence that belied his nervous state. ‘You haven’t been on the counter for very long, have you?’

  ‘No,’ replied the teller. ‘I’ve only been on for a couple of weeks but it’s working out really well,’ he said proudly. ‘The accountant, Mr. Grimble, says I will probably be appointed permanently as a teller. You see, I’m on probation just at the moment to see if it works out.’

  ‘Well, we certainly hope it turns out well for you, don’t we No…Norman?’ said Simon turning to his associate, his embarrassment already evident with his face taking on a bright shade of pink, a monumental blunder having been averted, just.

  Noel, or Norman, turned to Simon then back to the teller. ‘Yes, we hope you do real well.’ Noel, looking a trifle annoyed, leaned closer to Simon. ‘For Christ sake, get on with it. This isn’t supposed to be a social call,’ he whispered.

  ‘Ah yes, to business. Look, you’re a young bloke with good career prospects, and the rest of your life in front of you. Now, if I was to say to you, just for argument sake, that I had a gun in my pocket pointing directly at your chest, and asked you to hand over all your ten pound notes, what would you do?’

  Neither Simon nor Noel had given much thought to the possible response from the teller, once confronted. Irrespective of their expectations, the reply they received would most likely never have been considered. The teller looked thoughtful as he removed his spectacles and started to clean them with a small white cloth. After a few more seconds of deliberation, he replaced his spectacles on his thin, pale face, looked at Simon and said with calm alacrity, ‘Well now, that presents us with a conundrum. If you were to say you had a gun pointing at me, I’d probably do what you wanted and hand over the money you asked for. But as you haven’t said that you do have a gun pointing directly at me, the question is purely hypothetical, isn’t it?’

  The two aspiring bank robbers could not quite believe what they were hearing; to both bandits, the question posed was succinct and to the point, requiring a simple response. Obviously, somewhere along the line, the teller had encountered some difficulty in understanding the fundamental gist of the question posed as he continued his analysis. ‘Regrettably gentlemen, until you make a definitive statement one way or the other, the best I can do is evaluate the information you have provided, and endeavor to make a calculated assessment of the situation based on that information. Once I have completed an assessment and come to a conclusion, I would need to review that conclusion to determine if some sort of reaction would be necessary on my part. Of course, the very characteristics and nature of the extreme circumstances upon which you have prevailed upon me may negate the opportunity to consider the ramifications of any such reaction, as you will, no doubt, appreciate.

  ‘So, let’s make an arbitrary decision, just for the sake of argument, as you put it. You don’t really have a gun and you’re trying to deceive me into handing over all my ten pound notes. Looking at you two gentlemen, with your extraordinary attire and demeanour, which I doubt are typical examples of underworld gangsters, I would,
in all probability, take a chance and say you were bluffing. As a consequence, and not wishing to put a finer point on it, I would tell you to get stuffed. However, due to the fact that I place a great value on my life and considering the fact that I cannot be certain one way or the other if you have a gun or not, I would probably play it safe and accept that you do. Of course, the situation is still at the hypothetical level, so I can only give a hypothetical answer.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ sake. Of all the tellers in the world you had to pick this, this philosophical Einstein. Get on with it,’ Noel said, exasperated to distraction.

  Simon frowned and dropped the coin bag onto the counter. ‘Look here, you stupid boy, just hand over your bloody tenners and nobody will get hurt, okay?’

  ‘Ah, so now we come to the crux of the matter. You’re going to rob the bank. Yes, we were told on the last day of our teller’s course this might happen once, or at best twice in your career as a teller, and so soon in my career too,’ the teller proudly proclaimed.

  ‘Come on, get on with it, just hand over all your tens,’ demanded Noel, who was by now feeling things weren’t going quite as planned.

  ‘Yes, by all means,’ replied the teller, who dropped down behind the counter of his teller’s box only to quickly reappear with a bundle of ten pound notes neatly bundled and secured with a rubber band. He continued to disappear and reappear with a rhythmic bobbing action while Simon stuffed the money into the coin bag. Eventually the bag was full, but the teller continued to draw the ten pound notes from behind the counter. Simon, unable to stuff further notes into the bag suddenly realised that if they took any more, they would be unable to fit them into the safe deposit box, let alone get any more into the cash bag.

  ‘Hold it there, sonny, we have just about all we want,’ he said to the teller on one of his bobbing appearances. It was clear the teller hadn’t heard Simon’s instruction as he continued to pile ten pound notes onto the counter. ‘Look, you imbecile, I just told you, we have enough, thank you very much. We don’t want any more of your cash.’

  The teller baulked, a bundle of ten pound notes in each hand, an incredulous look on his face. ‘What do you mean, you have enough? You’re robbing a bank, and now you say you don’t want any more money?’

  ****

  As the high drama with the teller continued to gain momentum, Georgie and Sue had both independently come to the same conclusion that Noel had already arrived at; things were not going according to plan. Georgie was already in the banking chamber and, having made a deposit with one of the tellers, started to leave with the expectation the planned sequence of events would unfold as so often rehearsed. However, instead of a brazen collision with two brutish bank robbers eager to make their getaway, she had made her way through the banking chamber without incident, only to pass Sue eagerly waiting at the top of the stairs to the safe deposit area in anticipation of a bundle of cash being dropped into her briefcase.

  As she reached the steps to the George Street footpath, Georgie decided she and Sue should consult as to what they could do about the calamity now developing. As she turned to go back to talk to Sue, Georgie noticed the increasing crowd in George Street as the anti Vietnam War demonstration approached from the direction of Circular Quay. She could see placards held above the crowd demanding the withdrawal of Australian troops and a cessation to Australia’s involvement in the war, and hear the chanting and whistle blowing that accompanied the march.

  Sue, in the meantime, decided to take the weight off her feet while she waited for the robbery to get back on track and had taken a seat on one of the stone lion statues that reclined in the bank’s vestibule. The thought crossed her mind that it might have been a good idea to have brought a book along, probably War and Peace considering the time spent waiting.

  Now somewhat perturbed by the lack of progress in the execution of a simple bank robbery, and the proximity of the anti Vietnam demonstration in George Street, Georgie approached Sue and asked, ‘What the hell’s going on and what are those two idiots up to? For heaven’s sake, how much time do they need to rob a bloody bank? If they don’t get a move on, the demonstration will be dead and gone and Simon and Noel will be left looking like a pair of garden gnomes stranded in the middle of George Street.’

  ‘I can see them,’ said Sue, as she stood and peered into the banking chamber. ‘They seem to be in discussion with the teller, probably talking about football or the weather. How about you go and take a seat in the chamber and keep an eye on the boys. Once they start moving you could start walking towards the door. If anyone ever asks why the delay after your banking business, just say you’d been to the loo. I’ll stay here and wait for you to make the drop.’

  To the girls the wait was an eternity, but eventually there was progress as Simon and Noel made their way as nonchalantly as they could through the chamber towards the front door, both men carrying identical cash bags, one full of ten pound notes, the other full of newspaper. The first exchange of the cash bag had already been successfully completed with Simon passing the bag of tenners to Noel below the counter and out of sight of the teller. Simon was unperturbed, conscious as he was of the many bank customers passing furtive glances at the two gaudily dressed gentlemen making their way through the chamber towards the front door of the bank.

  ‘Oops, sorry love, didn’t see you. You okay?’ Noel had made contact with Georgie, nearly knocking her off her feet with far more vigor than Georgie had expected.

  Georgie turned, a look of unfeigned anger on her face. ‘Bloody lout,’ she said, her voice raised in an aggressive verbal attack on the retreating bank customer. ‘Next time why don’t you watch where you’re going? Bloody men; no manners these days,’ she fumed. Having just about purged all her anger, Georgie turned and walked from the banking chamber, stopping just outside the entrance to readjust her disheveled dress and comb her hair after the brutal attack by some weird looking idiot.

  CHAPTER 13

  Detective Chief Inspector Damien Rose, dressed in mufti, arrived at the Head Office of the Bank of New South Wales some two hours after an alleged robbery. Local uniformed police and two plain clothed CIB detectives, a sergeant and a constable, had made preliminary enquiries and had established a crime scene. It was from these officers that the Chief received a general outline of events. The sergeant, Sergeant Stuart Romaine, had made an arbitrary decision in selecting a number of witnesses for questioning, all of whom had been present in the banking chamber at the time of the alleged offence, while other witnesses were in the process of making statements to the uniformed police.

  There were two significant justifications for Chief Inspector Rose to take control of the investigation. The first was that he was the senior CIB officer present at the crime scene. The second was a not too polite direction issued by the Chief Superintendent, Neville Paxton, to Superintendent Nigel Fisher ordering Fisher to get his senior inspector over to the bank. Paxton had received a ’phone call from Howard Milner, head of the Foreign Exchange and Investments office of the bank, soon after the robbery asking Paxton for his personal intervention into the matter. Chief Inspector Rose had dutifully picked up his coat and headed for the crime scene, thus destroying any preconceived ideas he may have had of knocking off early, taking into account it was a Friday afternoon.

  On arrival at the bank and surveying the scene, Chief Rose set about making up a list of people he considered may be of help in his investigation, most of those on the list being bank employees. ‘Sergeant Romaine, do you know of anyone in particular I should start my questioning with?’ Detective Chief Inspector Rose asked officiously.

  Sergeant Romaine extracted his notebook from his coat pocket and flicked the pages. ‘Ah, yes sir. Here it is,’ he replied after ceasing to flick. ‘There’s a Mr. Paul Slater who appears to be in charge of things at the bank. He said he’ll see you in his office up on the seventh floor. Apparently he’s the Chief Operations Officer and goes under the acronym of The COO. The staff refers to him a
s The Pigeon for some unknown reason.’

  ‘Oh, so he’ll condescend to see me, will he? That’s nice of Mr. Slater. Thanks Sarge, I’ll go and see him now. In view of it going on five, I’m anxious to get as many statements before we release the witnesses. Apart from this bloke Slater, I’ll talk to the teller and the security guard before calling it quits.’

  ‘Right, sir. I get right back to taking some more statements,’ replied Sergeant Romaine, eager to impress a chief inspector.

  Entry to Paul Slater’s office was policed by a tall, pretentious looking brunet woman in her mid twenties, who sat at a desk strategically positioned beside a large oak door. The sole function of the secretary appeared to be nothing more than to prohibit entrance to the inner sanctum without the credentials of the visitor being thoroughly scrutinised. ‘Mr. Slater sir, there’s a gentleman to see you, a Chief Inspector Rose,’ the secretary announced in a very husky voice via a small white intercom system.

  ‘Thanks Sonja, please show him in.’ The secretary stood and gave Chief Rose a look of contemptuous superiority before opening the door to Mr. Paul Slater’s office. The first thing the Chief noticed on entering was that he was walking on a plush beige carpet. Gees, and I thought I was doing okay when they provided me with a mat, he thought as he eyed the voluptuous décor of Mr. Slater’s office. Apart from the mahogany desk which was at least twice the size of the pine desk located in the Chief’s office, all the considerable seating was strictly leather, not a trace of vinyl to be found. Another aspect Chief Rose readily identified was the freshness of the air, a freshness he could never expect at Day Street in light of an air conditioning system that would spring out of action on more occasions than it would spring into action.