The Storm Maker Read Free Page B

nearest bank robber, dropping him to the
ground. He scrambled to reload his shotgun while the second robber opened fire
on him and dropped him dead. His gun hit the floor with a thud while his body
slumped over the counter with blood dripping down.
           A
couple of women screamed. An elderly counter lady started sobbing—she had known
this young man for quite a while. Four more armed men rushed in, pointed their
rifles at the crowd and shouted for them to shut up. The bank manager had heard
the shots and commotion and he came out of the back room with his pistol drawn.
He fired four shots at one of the bank robbers instantly killing him. Two
robbers turned around and unloaded at the manager whose body flipped around
violently at the hailstorm of bullets and fell down dead with a spin.
           “Damn,”
one of the bank robbers said, “this is a bad start; two dead already.”
           “You
two get the crowd against the side wall,” another one said, “then execute our
plan.”
           Two
robbers corralled the twelve customers and the three bank tellers toward the
left wall and had them sit down with their backs against the wall. The
remaining two bank robbers went to the vault where the bookkeepers were sitting
distraught at the table. They had thought better than to come out. The vault
door was closed but not locked. One of the robbers opened the vault door while
the other one escorted the four men out to the front lobby at gunpoint and
herded them with the rest of the hostages.
           “Alright,
you two take your positions as we had planned,” he said to the other two.
“While he gets the money, I will watch the hostages and the front door.”
           The
two of them nodded and headed towards the staircase.
    * * *
           The
Ironbridge police chief was having a breakfast in the police cafeteria. He had
just finished drinking his coffee and was on the last of his three sausages. At
the table with him was an elderly policeman reading the newspaper and a police
clerk working his way through his omelet. Half a dozen other policemen strolled
around with their breakfasts, chatting. Their regular conversational murmur was
broken when the police chief’s secretary rushed into the cafeteria.
           “Sir,
they are calling for you upstairs,” she said to the chief. “There are reports
of gunfire at the Helvyk National Bank.”
           “Reports
or rumors? Did the bank manager call in?” he said calmly as he ate his sausage.
It could have been boys setting off firecrackers nearby and he did not want to
alarm everyone before proper confirmation came in.
           “Shopkeepers
on the central road opposite to the bank called in,” she said, “but nobody is
answering the phone at the bank.”
           “I
will be up in a minute,” he said taking his last bite. “Meanwhile, send a
patrol car to the bank to find out what is going on.””
    * * *
           The
robber took a key from the dead manager’s pocket and went to lock the front
glass door. Just as he turned the key and locked the door from inside, he saw a
man in a suit walking on the sidewalk turn towards the bank. They both looked
at each other through the glass and for a moment both of them froze. The
customer saw the rifle in the robber’s hand as the robber fumbled with the key.
The man turned on his heels and ran screaming as the robber turned the key,
opened the door and let loose a volley of bullets at the fleeing man. Suddenly
he sighted a police car two blocks away. The patrol car turned on its siren and
gunned straight for the bank.
           The
robber sprayed its windshield with bullets. The car braked hard as the two
policemen ducked, then jumped out and took cover behind their car. They pointed
their Lockyett repeating rifles towards the door and one of them reached inside
for his radio. Meanwhile the people on the street had quickly disappeared and
the shops and the