Chapter ?: Dead Presidents

In the early hours of the morning the citizens of the city flooded the downtown area as yet another business day began. The sun beamed brightly overhead casting a radiance that reflected off of the glass of the mammoth skyscrapers. A gentle wind swept through the streets tossing about loose debris and litter along the streets as people marched by the hundreds like mindless drones toward their destinations. The flow of traffic moving in all directions on both the sidewalk and road. The usual hustle and bustle of downtown made this just another day… until…

FRWHOOM! An explosion of titanic proportion rocked violently with a dark cloud of burning smoke pillaring into the air whilst a structure steel and concrete came crumbling downward, quaking the terrain. Suddenly the streets were filled with terror… denizens screaming, scrambling about under the influence of panic and fear at the carnage that unexpectedly erupted on this once tranquil morning. A massive shroud of thick dust blanketed the area limiting visibility and polluting the air.

An office building along the main street had burst into flames with hefty portion of structural damage; it's glass windows had all blown open with thick tufts of ember-laced smoke billowing outward. A raging inferno claimed the entirety of the building. The northeastern section of the complex collapsed under the tremendous force of the explosion, it's exposed interior burned and smoked.

The atmosphere had completely changed… In the distance the wail of sirens could be heard with flashing dozens of flashing lights signaling the approach of emergency vehicles, but the overly crowded streets would complicate any efforts by the city's finest to get on scene and bring the hell-blazing, half demolished complex under control.

Directly across the street from the scene of a crisis, the city's largest bank was currently under siege… It's alarm was blaring painfully loud.

"Everybody on the floor right fucking now!" A man in rugged, black spray painted janitorial jumpsuit stood on top of a desk, holding an assault rifle above his head and barking orders. "Drop your purses, bags, wallets… I want everything visible or I will shoot you without hesitation!" The armed robber slowly turned in a full circle to get a clear view of the people around him, seemingly satisfied with the cooperation. He gave a subtle nod of his head, strangely conceal… in a cartoon-like mask of former President Abraham Lincoln. He spoke with a gruff voice, obviously masking his own. He fired a single shot into the ceiling to further impose on his captured audience. "We're just making a withdrawal. Stay calm, all of you can go home…"

Three other armed assailants dressed in worn, beat-up jumpsuits moved along the cash counter urging the workers to follow their instructions obediently, aiming their semi-automatic weapons at the employees to ensure absolute authority. They all wore masks in a similar manner as Abraham Lincoln: George W. Bush, Michelle Obama and Bill Clinton!

The person masquerading as Michelle Obama was a woman totting a UMP .45 sub machinegun; she slammed her left hand on the countertop repeatedly, aiming the business end of the gun at the teller. "Bitch, I want the money! All of it… and none of those bull shit marked bills or I'll hunt your ass down and feed you every bullet this damn gun is holding!" She leaned over the counter and snatched the terrified, crying teller by the collar of her white button-up shirt. "Shut the fuck up and put the money on the counter!"

The bank teller trembled, her face twisted with fear… blue eyes glistening with tears. She sobbed and shook her head slowly as a testament to her understanding. She opened the drawer, nervously shuffling her hands through the different bills, gathering them all together. "Okay, please… don't hurt me…" She swallowed deeply, pinching her rose red lips together and trying to avoid eye contact with the First Lady.

Former President George W. Bush gripped a security guard by the neck and held a handgun against the left side of his temple. "Hey! You see this guy? You don't do exactly what I say… and he's completely fucked! I mean his brains in your face! Understand?" George W. Bush shot a heated look at the male bank teller, expecting him to follow through with his demands. "I'm the most gangster fucking President in history… the last thing you want to do is piss me off. So let's get a move on. I don't know how long I can contain myself… Poor…" He paused, glanced the nametag on the security office. "Marvin Spiel is it? Is just begging for me to put him out of his misery."

Lincoln hopped off of the desk and start walking over the bodies laying on the floor, patrolling and observing them. "…I don't want to hear shit 'bout nothing." He strafed the punishing end of his assault rifle over them as a warning. "How's the vault coming along?" The founding father turned toward the three relinquishing the tellers of their funds and got a waving confirmation that they were progressing smoothly. "We got less then five minutes to clean this place out and vacate," he exclaimed.

A voice emerged from deeper in the bank, where another robber escorted the manager and assistant manager to the gigantic, securely locked, heavily reinforced door of the vault. It's time-release lock had just snapped.

"Progressing," the robber called back. He wore the mask of former President Richard Nixon. He spoke with a mocking voice, attempting to sound like the person he was portraying. "Open it." He nudged the male manager with the barrel of his assault rifle and moved him to the digital input locking mechanism, glancing over it for himself, emitting a thoughtful hum. "I'll know if you fuck this up and I want you to know I'll kill all the people in here EXCEPT for you…" His voice had an aggressive, threatening tone. Nixon watched the manager press the proper sequence of buttons and the large vault door opened with an electronic hiss, revealing to Nixon a gorgeous payday. "Beautiful," he uttered quietly and turned his attention to the leading figures of the banking establishment. "All the bagged bills."

The deceased ex-President George Washington approached, tossing large, black duffel bags at the feet of the two managers. He escorted them in the safe. "Get to it!" He along with them began grabbing at all the clear, plastic bags of crisp, fresh bills and stacking them in the opening of the duffel bags. Washington caught one of the employees hesitating as he kneeled over a bag in the corner. "…there a problem?" He took a couple of steps over, stood in the immediate of the assistant manager, breathing intensely through his mask and staring into the beading eyes of the Caucasian man. "Hurry it up, faggot!" He backed up and let the man drop the pack of money into the bag, then locked eyes with Nixon whom nodded in acknowledgement.

"Time!" A voice called from the front area of the bank. "Minus two minutes, let's wrap this up people." There was a lot of communication between the group of robbers as they moved about with expertise coordination, performing the practiced duties of checking for rigged bags and marked bills, controlling the crowd of people they'd taken as hostages.

The First Lady walked briskly toward the front door with a zipped duffel bag hoisted over her left shoulder. She leaned to the door, peaked at the outside world through the glass. "It won't be too long before somebody thinks to investigate," she hollered. She breathed heavily. The woman thought to herself that this operation was rushed, that it backfire, but here she was holding a couple of hundred thousand dollars and moments away from making a great escape.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I, personally would like to thank you all for your cooperation. I'll be honest… this is our first robbery and we're hoping for some honest feedback… so please, submit all opinions in e-mail at 'Ohohyoumad gmail, please and thank you!" The crook donning the Washington mask had come up front carrying one of the two oversized duffel bags. He humored himself and his companions as they began gathering at the door getting ready to make their exit. "Yo, Dick! Bring yo ass!" He shouted back toward the vault area.

A university news van was parked around the corner a block and a half from where the explosion took place. Inside of it, a young, light-skinned male sat at a computer terminal, typing away fiercely, eyes sole concentrated on the screen and the streams of data it was presenting him with. He sucked in a deep breath, blinked his dark-colored eyes a couple of times and kept at it. "The silent alarm just went off… - scrambling it, but it won't last long." He spoke more so to himself, seeing the person up front behind the steering wheel was currently taking a phone call. The guy in the passenger seat was serving as the look out… primarily checking out the nice pieces of ass that wandered about.

"Don't worry, folk! They should be on they way out now," the driver responded in a nonchalant manner, not in the least concerned with the heist, but arguing with his girlfriend about why he hadn't come home last night. "Low key though… if them niggas ain't here in the next minute in the half, they gone be taking the damn bus with all that money!" He reached for the ignition, twisted it, started the news van and resumed his conversation.

The long-nosed President Nixon came forth with his duffel bag of cash, eyes traveling about the interior of the establishment. He thoughtfully drank in every visual detail to ensure things were as he'd planned. "One of these bastards tripped the silent alarm," he announced while walking to the middle of the floor and dropping his bag of money to equip himself with his M4A1 assault rifle. "…you think I wouldn't fucking know, bitches!?" He shouted at the top of his lungs and spun around, aiming at random people, wondering which of them was it. "Doesn't matter, your line's been blocked. We run this town now! Fuck you all… the police, that so-called 'Kingpin' everybody whispers about… This is ours!"

A mouthy, defiant man dressed in a business suit lifted his head from the floor, glanced toward the blathering President. "…you people want to live your life illegally and then look back at all the innocents you've wrong, crimes you've committed and think somebody owes you something! You're the kind of people that are choking the life out of this country!" He was a proud white American. He struggled with his restraints, climbing up to his knees and facing the mock President Nixon. "Just because you've had some hardships in life, that makes it okay to do what you want… even if it's illegal?" He challenged Nixon.

And the former President stepped forward, cranium tilted to one side, dark eyes staring through the slits of the mask. He snorted at the man, held the barrel of his rifle toward him. "Let me tell you something…" His voice was subtle and calm, he breathed quietly, pausing momentarily in his speech. "WHEN THE PRESIDENT DOES IT, IT ISN'T ILLEGAL!" He screamed in the man's face still utilizing the disgraced President's voice. Nixon growled, smashed his right knee into the man's chest to knock him over then backed away, retrieving his bag of cash.

Bush, Nixon, Michelle, Washington, Clinton and Lincoln unlocked the front door of the bank and quickly rushed into the thick gathering of bodies, losing themselves quite quickly. They'd everybody inside restrained, but it was only a matter of time before their decoy expired and the true nature of the incident was discovered. The group walked as fast as they could, using the chaos from the explosion as well as the congesting shroud as cover. Their masks, their weapons and their bags weren't heeded as the population was too caught up in what was suspected as an act of terror.

"Heads up," Nixon stated, eyes rolling up to catch a street lamp with a camera mounted at the top. It was facing the appropriate direction to get a detailed shot of them. He flipped it the middle finger, laughing to himself and jogged toward the university news van that was serving as their getaway vehicle; it was positioned perfectly in the blind spot of multiple cameras.

The bandits climbed in the back of the van, pulled the doors shut and all shouted commands at the driver to get the hunk of junk in motion. Its tires squealed as it jumped forward with its engine rumbling. It made a speedy exit from the scene of the crime!

The thieves and their accomplices shuffled about inside of the back of the van, setting the bags of money in the middle of the floor. Their atmosphere was thick with tension. None of them spoke a word; too shocked by their own success. Two weeks of planning had been executed beautifully… It was a major power play they all should have been proud of but each of them knew this was only the first step in making their move against the Kingpin and snatching the city from his clutches in order to gain a position of power themselves.

A little past five minutes into the drive, Nixon broke the silence as he leaned forward and unzipped his bag of money, reaching it, sorting through the plastic bundles until he came across one in particular… He eyed, thoughtful of that one bag. "This is the dummy bag," he identified, thinking back to the manager's brief hesitation when it came to loading that item into the duffel bag. "Perfect! This'll help us frame J's friends for the bank robbery," he sat back against the wall, looking at the Haitian accomplice who'd been overseeing their operation via his computer terminal.

"Cool," J responded, nodding his head a couple of times. The light-skinned male let his eyes drop to the laptop in his lap, currently displaying multiple viewpoints inside of the bank… the footage was minutes old though, the live feed lost when the van pulled off. He was their eagle eye while monitoring all lines of communication within the bank and eavesdropping on the law's communications. He breathed easier. J typed light, closing out the useless windows and severing his dummy and hacked connection to five different servers in the area… He was confident it'd be impossible to trace his infiltration. "It went without a hitch."

Michelle Obama laughed out loud, rubbed her hands together, looking at their money. "We set it off in that motherfucker," she exclaimed. "Whoooo!"

"C'mon, son!" George Washington's face was peeled from over the man's head, revealing the robber's true identity to be Tim. "Who fuckin' with us? Really? I'll wait…" He stroked his thumb across the thin line of his mustache and cocked his head up arrogantly. He lightly chuckled to himself. "We did this shit better than the fucking professionals with only two weeks of planning," he stated in a matter of fact tone of voice.

It'd been a month since the decision was made to relinquish Frank Benecio of his throne… and seeing the plan through its many stages would be a costly endeavor. Tim and Kenny assembled their crew and took them through the steps and roles of the bank robbery as it'd been drawn out by Kenny, while the other lieutenant chose the parts all of the team members would play.

The youngest of the bunch was the getaway driver, Pierre. He followed in the footsteps of his cousin. He was the go-to guy when it came to knowing what was happening on the streets anywhere in the city. He considered himself an expert in the field of petty theft and grand theft auto. "Aye, folks… real talk, I thought yall niggas was gone end up dead! Shit would be like the end of Set It Off when that one bitch was shot to death and that one song was playing… yo, that was hard as fuck, ya know!?"

The woman portraying Michelle Obama was actually Tim's home girl, Kamilah, she was a local drug handler that ran a small operation. She was most notoriously known for getting banned from nearly every club in the urban area. She had a reputation for violent behavior despite her joyful, seemingly innocent demeanor. She played the part well when in the company of strangers. But these guys knew who she really was. "Hell naw, failing wasn't an option!" She giggled, dropped her mask on the floor and breathed out a relaxing sigh.

The stolen university news van pooled into a spiraling parking structure, going as high as the fifth level before coming to a halt. The crooks all bailed out, grabbing bags of money and going two separate ways with it:

The first was a tailored, black-on-black four, 2010 BMW with a shining metal grill, side and rear spoilers, a retractable roof, two twin exhaust pipes just slightly sticking out the rear of the vehicle. It emitted an electronic beep, the drunk slowly lifted up and bags were being thrown in. This was Kenny's pampered car, fully customized by the best mechanic money could buy. It was built to sate his passion for amateur street racing. Through the front window writing could be seen on the dashboard, the car was branded: 'Leone Sentinel', by Jacob Leone, owner of one of the best car mod shop.

The other was a low-riding burgundy Range Rover belonging to Tim. It's sound system boomed to life upon remote activation. The truck started with a gentle rumble. It was loaded with the greater half of the looted money. Tim wasted no time climbing inside. "Aight, crew. That was good shit… we'll meet up tonight as the usual spot to count the money and prepare for our next move. Until then you all stay light." He pulled the door shut, backed out of the parking place and sped away from the gathering point.

Nixon confronted Pierre, placing a hand on his left shoulder. "That wasn't bad, kid." He complimented. "I want you to dump the van and torch it a couple of miles outside the city. Do it now, no stops, no bull shit." He urged, giving him a scolding look that made it known insolence wouldn't be tolerated. He saw Pierre off after Kamilah and Jason hopped out, heading their separate ways with waves and see you later.

The rest of the team divided, leaving just him… Richard Nixon… in disguise. The man walked to the driver's side door of the customized Sentinel, sliding inside and manning the steering wheel. He breathed out a deep sigh, leaning his head forward. He had to concentrate to let the tension flow out of his body now that the deed was done. After a few moments of silence he lifted his head and pulled the mask off…

His phone vibrated in one of the side pockets of the jumpsuit it, he pulled the EVO 4G out into the light, touching the interactive screen to bring up the text message he'd just received.

Rebecca: You catch the news? Bank just got done in at the same time as that building went up in flames. Frank thinks there might be a new player in town… It might be a good idea to lead him down that path. Good work. I always did love that brilliant mind of yours, you know.

Kenny: This is only the first stage of the plan. Tim is going to setup stage two in a couple of weeks. You better be doing your part… I'm not taking another damn bullet for you. Nobody can know what's truly happening until it's too late and everyone is taken off guard.

He set the smartphone down and started up the car, driving out of the parking structure and merging into southbound traffic to make his way home. He heard his phone vibrate again and chose to ignore it, expecting some witty comment from his ex. He kept his eyes on the road, his thoughts focused entirely on the hit the crew had successfully pulled off. Despite his best answers to dismiss the existence of his phone, his eyes slowly drifted to the passenger's seat, the lit up LED screen displayed a message…

April: Hey, how are you? Are you busy?