by Brian Keene
Sherm stuck his pistol out of the vault, followed by his head.
“What the hell is going on, Tommy? Who the fuck is that?”
“He says his name is Lucas. Apparently, he delivers the water bottles for the cooler. I just found him hiding in the janitor's closet.”
“Oh fuck me running! Bring that son of a bitch here. Now!”
“Benjy,” I called, trying to keep my voice calm, “come on out now, buddy.”
Timidly, he opened the door and peered outside. His little hands were still dripping soapy water. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Lucas, and he started to shut the door again.
“It's okay, Benjy. Go on back to your mom and let Sherm tie you up again.”
“But Mr. Tommy—”
“Listen to me now, Benjy. Just do it. I promise that everything will be all right.”
“Okay, Mr. Tommy.”
He trotted off toward the vault, with Sherm keeping an eye on him the whole way down the hall. I waved my pistol, indicating to Lucas that he should follow.
“Keep your fucking hands up where I can see them.”
“It's cool, man. It's cool. Just don't shoot me, you hear? I didn't mean any harm. I was just scared, man. I was real fucking scared.”
“Who did you call on that cell phone?” I asked.
He flinched.
“N-nobody!”
Keeping the pistol trained on him, I snatched the cell phone from his grasp. The lights on the keypad were still lit up and the screen showed the last number dialed.
911
“Oh shit. You called the cops?”
“I'm sorry. Please don't shoot me, mister.”
“What were you doing in there anyway? How did you get inside the bank?”
“I was just doing my job. That's all. I deliver the water and pick up the empty bottles every Thursday. Finished up the bank's delivery and I was in the bathroom washing my hands when I heard the shooting start, so I hid inside the closet. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but I figured it was a robbery of some kind.”
“Guess you were right.”
I followed him down the hall and shoved him into the vault ahead of me. Sherm appraised him with a grim smile.
“Well, well, well. Check this shit out. What do we have here? A late guest to the party?”
A look of recognition flashed between Lucas and Sharon and Kim. Sherm and I both caught it immediately.
“Oh, I see you've already met the ladies?” Sherm pulled out the duct tape. “Sit your ass down, now.”
“I'm sorry, Lucas,” Sharon said.
“Shut up!” Sherm pulled off a strip and began to bind the driver's hands behind his back. Lucas began to shake.
“Look, I-I got a wife and two kids at home, and another one in college. Please don't kill me. I'm begging you here, man. I'll do anything you guys want.”
“What I want is for you to shut up,” Sherm snapped.
He turned to glare at Kim and Sharon and they shrank back against the wall, straining against their duct tape bonds.
“When exactly were you going to tell me that this guy was in the bank with us?”
The menace in Sherm's voice was almost palpable.
“We didn't know,” Sharon protested. “Honestly, Sherm. When you rounded us up, I figured that he must have gotten out. I wasn't exactly paying attention to everything that was going on when the shooting started.”
“You're lying, bitch.”
“No, I'm not. I swear to you, it's true.”
“Goddamn it, leave her alone,” Dugan yelled. “She's telling you the truth.”
“You stay out of it, tough guy. I warned you all what was gonna happen if you tried playing us.”
Finished with binding Lucas, he stood over Sharon.
“We honestly didn't know, Sherm,” Kim pleaded. “We didn't try to play you or anything like that. Why would we? It's like you said, you're the man in charge. Please, you've got to believe us.”
“Yo, Sherm?”
“What, Tommy?” His eyes didn't leave Sharon and Kim.
“I found this on him,” I held up the cell phone. “He'd dialed 911 on it. Guess he talked to the cops. I don't know what he told them but it probably wasn't good.”
Sherm bent down and grabbed Lucas's face in his hands, pulling him close.
“What the fuck did you tell them?”
“N-nothing. I didn't say—”
Sherm moved like a piranha. He flashed forward and bit down on Lucas's nose with his teeth. Lucas screamed and blood began to well from the corners of Sherm's mouth.
“Stop it,” Kim yelled. “Leave him alone.”
Sherm shook his head back and forth like a dog and then let go. Sharon and Kim were screaming. Lucas's mangled nose dripped blood onto his blue uniform. He was crying.
“That's for lying to me,” Sherm wiped his crimson mouth on his sleeve. “Do it again and I'll bite one of your fucking fingers off. Or maybe I'll munch on one of these pretty ladies instead. Bite their titties off and shit. How would you like that? Maybe go down on them and get that clit between my teeth and then—CHOMP! Hell, I might even chew off one of fat boy's nipples over there. If you think I'm playing, you just try me.”
“No sir,” Lucas wheezed, “I don't think you're playing. I believe you'd do just that.”
“Good. Now, tell me everything, from the beginning. And remember, Lucas, I'll know if you're lying.”
Lucas took a deep breath through his mouth. Bright red blood welled up from his nose and tears still ran from his eyes.
“I . . . I'd just finished delivering the bank's weekly water supply, and picking up the empty bottles. My truck has been having trouble with the oil—got a leak in it. Been asking the maintenance department to fix it, but they couldn't find their ass with both hands and a flashlight. So I checked the oil level before I went to the next stop. I got my hands dirty so I came back into the bank to wash them. Normally the bathroom is for employees only, but Keith said it was okay. I was in the bathroom washing my hands when I heard the shooting. I was scared and didn't know what was going on, so I hid inside the janitor's closet. I . . . I called the police on my cell phone, and then I called my dispatcher at work, and told them to call the police too. I tried calling my wife too, but she wasn't at home. I'd just hung up with the police a second time when your partner caught me.”
“So you talked to five-oh twice? What did you tell them?”
“Not much, really. Just—”
“Careful,” Sherm warned. “Don't you fucking lie to me, Lucas. I'm still hungry.”
The deliveryman glanced at Sharon and Kim, and swallowed nervously. Blood ran down his face. He licked his lips and continued.
“I-I t-told them that the bank was being robbed, that there was shooting and that there might be some people dead or hurt. I didn't know how many of you there were or how many people were inside. That's all. They asked me a bunch of questions but I couldn't answer any of them because I was in that dark closet and couldn't see anything. So they told me to sit tight. Said they'd get me out of here. The second time I talked to them, they told me that the Quick Response Team was on the way from York and that everything would be okay. Look, let's be reasonable. What was I supposed to do, given the situation? I was scared.”
I needed another cigarette. Not sure what to do with the cell phone, I slipped it into my pocket.
“What do you think, Sherm?” I asked.
He exhaled and shook his head.
“No problem. We're not going to sweat this. If they were going to rush us and try to take the bank based on what this asshole told them, they'd have tried it by now. We stick to the plan. We're okay for now.”
“John's not okay, Sherm.”
“I know that, dog. I meant other than him, we're okay. That cool with you?”
I nodded.
Lucas looked at Sharon.
“Where's Keith? A little while ago, when I was still in the utility closet, I thought I heard�
�”
“You're not asking the fucking questions,” Sherm spat, “so sit back and shut the hell up. Don't worry about Keith. He's taken care of and he ain't going nowhere.”
He lit up another cigarette, took a deep drag, and when he spoke again, it was with a much calmer tone.
“Tell me something, Lucas. Did your truck have oil in it?”
“W-what?”
“The engine? You know, that big thing under the hood that makes the truck run? You said that it had been burning up oil and that you'd been having trouble with it. So when you checked it this morning, was it okay? Does it work?”
“Yeah, it runs. Maintenance worked on it some. Burned about a half quart, but there's still plenty of oil in it.”
“See? Now we're getting somewhere. And it's the one that's parked out back, next to the Chinese restaurant's garbage Dumpster?”
“Yes.”
I remembered seeing the truck when we'd rolled up in John's car. It seemed like years ago now, rather than hours.
“Are the keys still in the truck, or do you have them on you?”
“I have them with me. They're in my left pocket.”
“Good.” Sherm smiled. “Shit, this is perfect. Let's go take a look and see what we got. You're going to stick your head up to the back window and tell me how many cops are swarming around your truck and our car?”
“There is no window,” Sharon interrupted. “The only way to see out back is to open the fire door. But if you do that, you'll set off the fire alarm.”
“Where do you guys go to smoke, then? I didn't see an ashtray out on the front sidewalk.”
“No, there isn't one. The girls go . . . out back.”
“So I'll bet the alarm is disengaged during the day, isn't it?”
“Yes,” she reluctantly admitted. “Keith turns it off so Kim and some of the other girls can smoke outside. He doesn't want them doing it in front of the bank. The company that owns the mall doesn't allow it, and Keith worries that it might offend some of the customers.”
“Well, no problem then, as long as the alarm is off.” He grabbed Lucas by the arm and dragged him to his feet. “Come on, man. Let's go check out the situation with your truck.”
I was confused, so I spoke up before he could leave.
“Sherm, what the hell are we gonna do with his truck?”
He shoved Lucas toward the vault door and turned to answer me.
“I told you that I'd find us a way out of here, right? Well this is it, dog. This is our ticket home. We use a few hostages as human shields, slip out the back door, and make our getaway. If we can't make it to our car, we use his truck. Then the cops come in and get Carpet Dick some help. Sound like a plan to you?”
I shrugged.
“You're running the show right now, so whatever you say goes, I guess.”
“Well, it's what I say. Any more questions?”
“No.”
“Okay. Watch them till we get back.”
As they walked down the hall, I heard Sherm ask Lucas how much a bottled water delivery driver made in a week. His laughter echoed off the walls.
In my arms, John was still dying.
Martha paused in her prayers.
“Oh my.”
“Couldn't agree with you more, Martha.” I sighed. “I couldn't agree with you more.”
And John was still dying when my pocket began to vibrate.
I gasped, in spite of myself, and the hostages jumped with me, unsure of what I was up to. Oscar's man breasts jiggled in fright. They eyed me warily while I slapped at my pocket. Then I calmed down, remembering that I'd stuffed Lucas's cell phone inside my pants.
“It's okay,” I assured them, “the delivery driver's cell phone is buzzing. He must have it on silent ring or something. Everything is cool. Just scared me for a second, that's all.”
I let out a nervous laugh and they relaxed—as much as they could given the circumstances.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the phone. The display screen was lit up, glowing green under the fluorescents. It identified the incoming call as VERA . I wondered who Vera was. Probably his wife. Lucas said that he'd tried calling her but that she hadn't been home. Maybe now she was returning the call, or maybe news of the bank robbery was on the air, and she was calling to make sure he wasn't still at the bank.
His worried wife was calling him to make sure he was okay. Somehow, I knew that was it. The bank was on his route, and Vera wanted to make sure that he wasn't still there. Michelle would have done the same thing. For a brief second, I thought about answering it and letting Vera know that Lucas was okay, that his truck was still working fine and that he couldn't come to the phone right now, but pretty soon, we'd all be home safe because Sherm had promised it.
But I didn't. Instead, I wondered what my own wife was doing. If I had been in Lucas's shoes, Michelle would have been worried sick about me. Of course, she had no reason to think I was here at this bank, one at which we didn't even have an account. I was supposed to be at work. Still, I wondered if she'd heard about the hostage situation yet. I wondered how much the cops really knew about us and how much had made it out onto the airwaves. If she didn't know yet, she would soon. A customer would tell her or they'd have the radio on or she'd find out when she got home. I searched my brain but for some reason I couldn't remember what time Michelle got off work.
The phone quit vibrating and the screen went black again.
Without thinking, I pressed the TALK button and dialed home. There was a static whir, then the phone began to ring.
“Who are you calling?” Sheila asked.
Ring . . .
I ignored the question.
“He's calling the police,” Roy said. “I just knew that you'd do the right thing, Tommy. And we'll make sure we tell them too. We'll tell them that it was Sherm that killed those people. Right, everyone?”
Ring . . .
“Sure we will,” Sharon agreed.
Ring . . .
“Tommy?” Sheila tapped her foot, trying to get my attention.
Ring . . .
And then our answering machine picked up and my own voice said, “Hi. You've reached the O'Briens: Tommy, Michelle, and T. J. Please leave your digits after the tone. Peace out.”
My mouth was parched.
“Michelle, it's me. Are you there, babe? If so, pick up.”
They were all watching me now, silent. There was no sign of Sherm or Lucas. Outside the bank, there was a muffled electronic shriek, as if somebody was testing a microphone or a radio.
“Michelle? You there?”
No answer. I hung up and stared at the phone. Then I dialed again, calling her at the convenience store. It rang twice, then she picked up.
“Thank you for calling Minit-Mart. This is Michelle. How can I help you?”
I opened my mouth but the words didn't want to come out. Her voice was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, but at that moment, it filled me with dread. I had to force myself to speak.
“Hello?” she said again. “Is there somebody there?”
“I—”
“If this is another crank call, we don't appreciate it. I'm hanging up now.”
“Hey, babe,” I croaked, “It's me.”
“Tommy? God, you don't sound good at all. I didn't recognize your voice at first. How are you feeling?”
“To be honest, I've had better days.”
“Are you still at work?”
“No,” I lied, “I went home sick.”
“Well then, I hope you're resting.”
“Yeah,” I said, omitting the details, “you could say that. I guess I am. Just sitting here.”
“How about this? I get off at twelve-thirty. I'll come home, fix you some chicken soup, and then we can watch Days of Our Lives together before I go pick T. J. up at day care.”
I coughed a small amount of blood and swallowed it back down so the hostages wouldn't see it.
“Sounds good, except for wat
ching Days. You know I hate that soap opera crap.”
“But it's getting good again. Stefano is back from the dead.”
“Stefano is always back from the dead,” I rasped. “Anytime they need the ratings, they figure out a way to bring him back.”
“Hang on a second, babe.”
“Okay.”
I heard her in the background, ringing up a customer. While she was gone, I wished I had the powers of a soap opera character. They cheated death every fall when it was time for the ratings sweeps. Then Michelle came back on the line.
“Sorry about that, babe. Some jackass wanted to pay for lottery tickets with his food stamps. Anyway, I'll be home soon, if the traffic isn't snarled too bad.”
“Traffic? What are you talking about? Was there an accident or something?”
“You mean that you haven't heard? A bunch of guys tried robbing the bank in that little strip mall on the edge of town. It's all over the news. Apparently, they botched the job and now the cops have it surrounded. There's hostages and everything. A couple of people are dead already. I guess you didn't have the TV or radio on, huh?”
“No. No, I hadn't heard. I must have missed that.”
“Hang on again, okay, sweetie?”
She rang up another customer and came back.
“Anyway, they held up the bank and traffic is screwed up all over town because of the police roadblocks.”
“Wow. How about that . . .”
“Tommy, what's wrong? Tell me. I know you're not just sick. I can hear it in your voice. Look—I am your wife and I want you to be honest with me. That's what our entire marriage is based on. Trust. You've never lied to me before, and I don't want you to start now.”
And there it was.
I paused, unsure of how to proceed. Then I plunged ahead.
“Michelle”—I took a deep breath—“I'm in the bank.”
There was a moment of shocked silence, then she gasped.
“What?”
“I'm in the bank, Michelle. The one that's getting robbed.”
“Oh my God! Tommy! Oh, baby, are you okay? Are you hurt? How did you get to a phone? What were you doing in the bank? That's not our bank. What's going on?”
“I-I'm sorry,” I broke down. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”