Heistmen: Dead Men

by E.J.C.Graves

Four ex-special forces find themselves coming home broke and jobless. They decide to get the money they are owed, one way or another. With an unusual accomplice, they hold up two banks and escape over the border. Months later a man from an anonymous organization come to them with a job... Just a few more banks, what could go wrong? Experimental story, please read and review.

The air conditioning blows my hair lightly as I step underneath the vent high above in the ceiling. I pivot on my heel and glance quickly at the man who just stepped in through the sliding doors at the lobby entrance, head down and hands in the armpits of his jacket. The blast of cold wind and snow blustering in through the doorway is cut off by the two doors sliding closed. The man across from me reaches into his jacket with frozen, pale hands and pulls out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He manages to pull a single smoke out from the pack, but drops the lighter on the floor. Cigarette in mouth, he bends down to pick up the dropped object. He begins to strike the lighter; sparks flying up and almost catching his scraggly, brown beard afire. He keeps flicking the lighter as the security guard begins to stride up to him. I can hear the man mutter discontentedly to himself, "Damn thing won't work. Shoulda' bought a Zippo."

By the time his sentence is uttered and his cigarette half lit, the security guard is upon him. "Sir, I am going to have to ask you to put that out." The African American man in black slacks and white, long-sleeve shirt begins as he puts his hand on the bearded man's shoulder. I glance further to the right of the entrance and see two others give the man at the front little more than a moment's regard before turning back and facing the tellers at the front counters. One of them, tall and wiry, reaches into his pocket and fumbles around inside it. I look back at the man with the beard and pull a touchscreen device out of my pocket. "This is a no smoking branch, Sir," The security guard continues as the man stares back at him, lighter still burning and cigarette hanging awkwardly from his mouth. I turn on the phone in my hand and put it back into my pocket while I fix my gaze on the interesting scene developing near the front doors. Beard-man looks up at the guard and says, "You've gotta' be freakin' kiddin' me! It is?" The guard points to the large gold sign on the front door that denotes the smoking rules of the bank. I notice the man give me just the most minute glance, which catches my eye. "Well, shit," the man said as he outstretched his free hand, "Listen, I'm really sorry about all this, Man."

I bend down to re-tie my shoe and can feel a weight tap the back of my head as my hood slides up because of gravity. While I check the phone in my pocket, the guard takes the man's hand and begins to respond as he shook his hand. His reply is cut short as Beard-man pulls the guard close and thrusts the red-hot lighter, which had been burning the entire conversation, into the guard's neck. I can hear the sizzling sound and the guard's near-silent scream as the metal tip seared into his neck. I reach back into my hood and separate the metal plate from the hood and pull it up over my face. As I stand up, Beard-man grabs the guard's taser, kicks the guard back and shoots the non-lethal weapon into the guard's chest. When the two barbs connect with the man's skin, a high frequency clicking pulsates through the air as fifty thousand volts pumps through the wires now embedded in his chest. The guard is left twitching to the rhythm of the pulses on the floor, a thin line of drool oozing from his mouth.

Another security guard is rushing up to Beard-man from around the tellers, but is intercepted by one of the two men in line, who clotheslines the man with a forearm to the neck as the man next to him reaches up into his hood and pulls down his metal face-mask. I turn around and jump the counter in unison with the third man, pulling a pistol from inside my jacket mid-stride. I land on the other side of the teller counter, startling the clerks behind it. "Everybody get back from the desk! This weapon is loaded." I reach my right thumb up the side of the suppressed .45 and flick the safety down. "And now the safety is off. All of you stand up and move out into the main lobby. Now!" I glance up at the other masked man at the opposite end. His steel face-mask is the same shape as mine, except instead of a bright, yellow, fanged smiley face, his mask is adorned with a red Chinese dragon dancing its way around the mask. "Dragon, go check the back of the lobby, bring anyone else out to the front." Dragon nods and heads off to the back, pistol drawn. One of the men who was behind the desk, the bank manager, makes a move toward one of the desks. I fire one round from my pistol, which whizzes toward his outstretched hand and takes off the top of the large diamond ring he is wearing on his finger. The ring's top explodes off and the bullet smacks into the keyboard, sending it flying off the desk. He pulls his hand back immediately, gasping at the back of his hand, which was fragged by the ring. "Mr. Manager, I wouldn't suggest that course of action. Now let's move out into the lobby." He nods and moves with the others to the lobby. Once the staff is out in the main lobby, I order them to get on the southern wall and obediently they do. I look over at my tall, companion who was tying up the second security guard. "Yo, Slenderman, go see if Dragon needs any help in the back." The man stands up and flips down his pale, featureless, white mask from his jet black jacket and nods. I turn to look at Beard-man, who flips down his dark green mask, which has a white scorpion on the right side. He has the first security guard tied down with zip ties. He nods to me and I nod back. I then clip a holster to my belt as I turn to the crowd backed up against the front of the tellers and the southern wall. I put my colt in the holster and lock it down. To my left, Dragon and Slenderman return with three disarmed security guards and two other employees. As Slenderman sat them down, Dragon tosses me a billy club and says, "One of the guards took a swing at me, I think he may have a broken rib or two." I nod and toss the club over to Marauder to my right, who ripped the beard off from under his mask. He stuffed it into a pocket and motioned for me to go.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. As you have probably guessed by now, this is a robbery. You are now the unfortunate hostages of our little operation. You may call me Smiley, Smile-face, or Mr. Smiles. I will answer to any of those. This gentleman to my right, on the other side of the pillar for those who cannot see, is the great diversionary master Marauder. Our two associates to my left are Dragon and Slenderman. I apologize for inconveniencing you with getting held up here, and I can assure you that we do not want any more injuries to befall anyone else. So to ensure that, I will need to take all of your phones, tablets, purses, and belongings. I will not keep your things for we are not petty thieves. I will place them in the corner behind me, where you can retrieve them when the police come for you. After I take your things you will be tied up and sit down where we want you. I urge you to cooperate with us. We are armed, though we do not want to harm you. If you work with us, you may get home before traffic gets bad." I smile beneath my mask.