beneath his work shirt and jeans. He’d be someone she’d look at twice on the street, once coming and once going. He was a bit pasty, and she didn’t usually date white men, finding them too uptight and businesslike in the love department.
She caught herself. Date? The man had a gun pointed at her.
Girl
, she thought.
It’s been too long since you had a man
.
Cursing herself, she listened to the noise from outside the bank, wondering what was causing it.
It sounded as though a second car alarm had joined the first. Now Rick knew the cops would come. Probably a gang of kids out on a smash-and-grab, but they were going to wreck the whole robbery if the police reached them in time. Listening carefully, he thought he could hear a third alarm.
“What’s causing all that racket?” Chesya asked, peering around the corner at the lobby.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Kids or something.”
“Doesn’t sound like kids.”
There was a soft, welcoming hiss from the vault, and it opened. Grinning, he pulled on the stainless-steel door, astonished at how easily it pivoted on the heavy hinges. A light went on inside, andRick chuckled as he recalled his childhood fascination with whether the refrigerator light stayed on when the door was closed. He had often tried to catch it turning on, but had never been quick enough.
The car alarms on the street seemed to grow even more raucous. Rick knew he had to make this a fast job in order to elude the police. He prayed that Jason had the getaway car revved up and ready to motor as soon as they rushed out into the street.
“Here,” he said, tossing a couple of garbage bags at Chesya. “Take these and fill them with all the cash you can. We’re not looking to hit the safety-deposit boxes, just the cash. And don’t think you can drop a paint bomb in there, or you may not make it home tonight.”
“Oh, I’m shaking.” She grabbed the bags and entered the vault. Rick followed her.
It was a modular vault, welded tight at the seams. The walls were so thick they deadened most of the sound from the streets, even with the door open. The car alarms were muffled, although they had accumulated in numbers. Dozens of them must have been honking and whistling outside the bank. If he could still hear them within the walls of the vault, he knew they were deafening on the street.
Jones’s voice echoed from the lobby. “Hey, Rick … boss … I think you’d better get out here quick.”
Chesya thought,
His name’s Rick
. She needed to remember that for the inevitable police report.
“What now?” he shouted back.
“Just … get out here.”
Rick grabbed the teller by the hand and marched her at gunpoint to the lobby of the bank, leaving the plastic bags on the floor of the vault. When he saw his partner, white as a sheet and leaning against the counter, his gun all but forgotten on the desk beside him, Rick knew something bad was going down.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you, Jones? Pick up your gun.”
“Boss … I don’t … I don’t feel so good. My gut … something I … ate …”
Rick scanned the area. The blond teller and one of the male employees writhed on the floor, as though in great pain. They moaned, faces twisted in agony, and the other two tellers scooted away fromthe sick ones, afraid they’d be shot if they stood up. On the other side of the counter, Jack Browning and Saul Wiseman were doubled over at the middle, clutching their stomachs. Browning vomited, a thick brown liquid that splattered on the immaculate marble floor. He dropped his revolver, and it landed—plop—in his sick at his feet.
A male teller shouted, “We need to get away from them! Something’s wrong.”
Chesya and the other female teller, a brunette whose name tag identified her as Mary, hurried over to the blonde’s side. “Gloria?” Chesya asked. “What is it, honey?”
Jones took a step toward the hostages, then fell to his knees so hard that Rick heard the snap of
She caught herself. Date? The man had a gun pointed at her.
Girl
, she thought.
It’s been too long since you had a man
.
Cursing herself, she listened to the noise from outside the bank, wondering what was causing it.
It sounded as though a second car alarm had joined the first. Now Rick knew the cops would come. Probably a gang of kids out on a smash-and-grab, but they were going to wreck the whole robbery if the police reached them in time. Listening carefully, he thought he could hear a third alarm.
“What’s causing all that racket?” Chesya asked, peering around the corner at the lobby.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Kids or something.”
“Doesn’t sound like kids.”
There was a soft, welcoming hiss from the vault, and it opened. Grinning, he pulled on the stainless-steel door, astonished at how easily it pivoted on the heavy hinges. A light went on inside, andRick chuckled as he recalled his childhood fascination with whether the refrigerator light stayed on when the door was closed. He had often tried to catch it turning on, but had never been quick enough.
The car alarms on the street seemed to grow even more raucous. Rick knew he had to make this a fast job in order to elude the police. He prayed that Jason had the getaway car revved up and ready to motor as soon as they rushed out into the street.
“Here,” he said, tossing a couple of garbage bags at Chesya. “Take these and fill them with all the cash you can. We’re not looking to hit the safety-deposit boxes, just the cash. And don’t think you can drop a paint bomb in there, or you may not make it home tonight.”
“Oh, I’m shaking.” She grabbed the bags and entered the vault. Rick followed her.
It was a modular vault, welded tight at the seams. The walls were so thick they deadened most of the sound from the streets, even with the door open. The car alarms were muffled, although they had accumulated in numbers. Dozens of them must have been honking and whistling outside the bank. If he could still hear them within the walls of the vault, he knew they were deafening on the street.
Jones’s voice echoed from the lobby. “Hey, Rick … boss … I think you’d better get out here quick.”
Chesya thought,
His name’s Rick
. She needed to remember that for the inevitable police report.
“What now?” he shouted back.
“Just … get out here.”
Rick grabbed the teller by the hand and marched her at gunpoint to the lobby of the bank, leaving the plastic bags on the floor of the vault. When he saw his partner, white as a sheet and leaning against the counter, his gun all but forgotten on the desk beside him, Rick knew something bad was going down.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you, Jones? Pick up your gun.”
“Boss … I don’t … I don’t feel so good. My gut … something I … ate …”
Rick scanned the area. The blond teller and one of the male employees writhed on the floor, as though in great pain. They moaned, faces twisted in agony, and the other two tellers scooted away fromthe sick ones, afraid they’d be shot if they stood up. On the other side of the counter, Jack Browning and Saul Wiseman were doubled over at the middle, clutching their stomachs. Browning vomited, a thick brown liquid that splattered on the immaculate marble floor. He dropped his revolver, and it landed—plop—in his sick at his feet.
A male teller shouted, “We need to get away from them! Something’s wrong.”
Chesya and the other female teller, a brunette whose name tag identified her as Mary, hurried over to the blonde’s side. “Gloria?” Chesya asked. “What is it, honey?”
Jones took a step toward the hostages, then fell to his knees so hard that Rick heard the snap of