The Getaway (Sam Archer 2) Read Free

were fond of the weapon themselves, called it a lupara . With seven shells locked and loaded inside the weapons, the three thieves robbing this bank called it instant crowd control.
    They ran forward, each racking a shell by pulling the brown slide on the barrel of the weapon back and forth with their left hand, the weapons crunching as a shell was loaded into each chamber. Across the bank floor, customers turne d and saw the sudden commotion.
    It took a split second for what they were seeing to fully reg ister in their brains.
    Then they reacted, some of them covering their mout hs as others started to scream.
    There were two guards in the bank, Walter Pick and George Willi s, both retired NYPD, both sporti ng a paunch that middle age and the promise of an imminent pension brought. Both men also had a Glock 17 on their hip, like the two guys in the truck, but neither had a moment to reach for it as the three thieves ran forward, two of them brandishing the sawn-off shotguns, shoving them in people’s faces.
    ‘Down! Everybody down! Down!’ they shouted.
    Meanwhile , the big guy who had been in the front passenger seat of the taxi had already vaulted the counter. He was the point man, the guy who would control the room, but his first job was to get to the tellers. He knew the button for the silent alarm and the direct line to the 19 th precinct four blocks away was by the third teller’s foot. Before the woman had time to react and push it with her toe, he was already too close, pulling his own shotgun from under his coat, racking a round and pointing th e weapon an inch from her face.
    ‘Up! Get up!’ he shouted. ‘ UP !’
    He grabbed the woman by her hair and hauled her from her seat, dragging her around the counter and throwing her to the floor to join the others. He turned, the shotgun aimed at the other tellers, and they all rose and rushed out to the main bank floor quickly, joining everyone else face down on the polished marble, trembling. The point man grabbed a civilian who was cowering on the floor, pulling him to his feet. The guy was young, in his late twent ies, and dressed for the summer in t-shirt and shorts, sunglasses and a backwards cap on his head. The point man took his shotgun and put it against the man’s jaw, who started shaking with fear in the man’s grip as the barrel of the weapon nestled in under his chin.
    ‘If anyone makes a sound, tries to do something stupid, I blow this guy’s head off!’ the man shouted. ‘I want this place as quiet as a church! Clear?’
    No one replied. Everyone was face down on the marble, no one daring to speak or move.
    ‘ Everybody, get your phones out, ’ the point man shouted, quickly. ‘ Out! Slide them across the floor. If any of you don’t and I find out, this guy’s brains will be sprayed in the air like confetti!’
    The people on the floor all complied, and the sound of scores of cell phones sliding across the floor echoed off the silent bank’s walls. Across the room, the other two thieves finished plasti-cuffing the two guards, pushing them face-down to the marble floor, each guard landing with an oomph as the air was knocked out of them. The bank robbers reached over and pulled each guard’s Glock pistol from their holsters and threw them over the teller counter, out of reach, the guns clattering against the wood and marble as they hit the ground.  That done, the pair ran forward to their next tasks. The man vaulted the counter and slammed open the door to the security room, rushing inside. A series of monitors were in the room, the place humming, each small screen showing a different view inside the bank and on the street. He yanked out a small white bag from the inside pocket of his doctor’s coat and started pulling out all the tapes from the monitors, dumping them in the bag one-by-one, checking the time on his wrist-watch as he did so.
    Fifty seconds down.
    2:10 to go.
    Back inside the main floor, the woman saw the manager cowering