Bank Job
The phone rang. Doyle was just arriving back home, walking down his dingy corridor, when he heard it. He rushed inside, wriggled out of his jacket and picked it up. 'Yeah? Doyle.'
'Hey, Doyle - it's Jack.' Jack McNamara - the useless younger brother of Darin McNamara, and a member of the same bank robbing crew Doyle was signed up to.
'Jack, man, somethin' wrong?' He frowned. The bank job was planned for the next day, Doyle had already picked out his car… he was looking forward to the money. He needed it. But it seemed unlikely that he would be contacted by the crew this close to the job unless something was up.
'Yeah,' Jack said to him, 'we got a problem, Lenny got arrested last night.'
Doyle felt his stomach lurch, like he had fallen down an elevator shaft or missed a step in the dark. The air left his body and - breathless- he sank onto the sofa. Lenny had been on the original bank job crew, and he was who Doyle sold all his stolen cars onto. If he'd been arrested … and he started talking… Doyle glanced towards the door, as if half expecting to see the police suddenly appear there and cart him off to prison.
'Doyle? You there?' Jack asked, sounding irritated. Doyle shook his head, trying to clear it before he answered, but he still felt like he was swimming through a dense fog. 'Yeah - um - what - what happened?' He wanted to ask if that meant the police were coming for all of them, but he didn't quite dare voice his fear.
But it seemed he was worrying unduly, the charges Lenny the Rat was facing had nothing to do with his chop shop or bank robbing activities. 'They got him on some big drugs bust,' Jack said - and Doyle felt his insides relax a little. 'He's looking at some pretty serious time, I reckon … so he won't be around to do the job. Speaking of … we're changing the date.'
'Uh … why?' He still wasn't fully comprehending what was going on. It seemed like he was safe enough, that the cops were unlikely to be on their way round - but the fright had not fully receded yet and his mind was still screaming in alarm inside his skull, making it hard to concentrate on what Jack was saying.
'Look, I think Lenny's in enough trouble that the DA won't care to cut a deal, but that don't mean that he won't try and barter his way out, or at least get a reduced sentence. Which means squealing to the cops everything he knows…'
'...which includes the bank job,' Doyle finished up.
'Exactly - he's not called 'The Rat' for nothing. Now, he'd have to be stupider than he looks to sell us out. If he's gonna be spending time in the big house, he don't wanna be there when the rest of the crew he ratted on gets put away. But we're not taking the chance. We're pushing it back a couple of months - give the fuzz time to forget it was ever going down. We'll do it in the new year.'
'Uh - right.' Even after the sudden terror of thinking he might be caught and the regret he had ever gotten himself involved, he felt his heart sink at that news. He needed that money, he didn't know what he was going to do - how he was going to hang on until after Christmas without getting his legs broken by angry creditors. 'Um - listen, Jack - if we're not doin' the job for a while yet … is there any chance you could lend me some cash? Funds are gettin' kinda low. I'll pay you back once we've done the robbery…'
'I don't know, man.'
'I'm good for it,' Doyle pleaded, 'you know I'm good for it.'
'You're already in deep though, right? You got a lot of people you owe - guys who'll be first in line for that money. Even my brother's got you back on his list…'
Doyle gulped. Darin McNamara was bad news and big trouble. He always tried to avoid him, but no matter what he did - his debts always seemed to get sold onto that guy, and it was always the nightclub owner's goons who came calling to claim.
But Jack was still talking. 'OK - what about a deal?'
'Yeah?' Doyle was both wary and hopeful.
'Yeah - with Lenny in jail we're a man down on the crew. Now I know you're only the gateway driver, but we need to make up the numbers inside the bank. We need someone to go down into the vault itself and blow it. You do that - and that pays off the money I lend you now. You game?'
'I...uh?...' That was several steps up, and several levels more terrifying a prospect than just sitting outside and then driving the getaway car. Actually going into the bank. Actually being part of the robbery itself. Seeing the people he was stealing from, taking the money... 'I mean…' Jack wouldn't be offering this unless it benefited himself somehow, which meant it must be seriously dangerous - carry a high risk of being caught, of going to jail. This was seriously stupid, to even be considering this - to even be in a place where he was thinking about this, how had this become his life?
'It's my final offer - take it or leave it.'
'I'll take it,' he said quickly, regretting it already.
'Good - you know how to use a blow torch?'
'No.'
'Then learn.'
...
The months had passed, the year had turned - whether Lenny had lived up to his name and ratted them out, they didn't know, but Jack was confident the cops would have long since stopped expecting a robbery at the 8th street bank a good few weeks ago. The crew would catch them unawares.
Doyle arrived at the rendezvous, clutching a ski mask, a pair of gloves and a blow torch. At least he wasn't required to carry a gun. His heart was pounding thunderously in his chest, he had felt sick this whole past week - the bitter taste of bile hung in his mouth no matter how much scotch he drank or how many cigarettes he smoked. Day by day, it had gotten worse - living with this fear. This time tomorrow - he could be in jail facing charges of bank robbery and god knows how many years in prison - and the thought left him feeling faint with horror.
But he needed the money too much to back out - and he couldn't back out of his agreement with Jack. Not without sacrificing his kneecaps. So here he was - and maybe, just maybe, this time tomorrow it would all be over. And he would be fiscally solvent … until he inevitably drank and gambled it all away again.
Everything felt strangely unreal, as they left the rendezvous and headed to the bank - pulling their masks on as they went. It felt to Doyle like everything was suddenly very distant and echoey, or like he was underwater - that hollow emptiness that could be heard inside a seashell was ringing in his ears. Every step felt like hard work, like the air had become thick and he was wading through it, whilst his feet were weighed down with lead weights.
They burst inside the bank - and he watched Jack start yelling his instructions - telling everyone to get down, telling the cashiers to empty the till. At least - he assumed that must be what Jack was saying, his lips were moving - but to Doyle - they seemed completely separated from the sound coming out of them. And Doyle just stood there, his face itching beneath his ski mask, staring around.
He felt someone grip him by the elbow. It was Frankie Tripod - another member of the crew, and one of Doyle's contacts - one of the humans. Frankie dragged him away from the main robbery and pointed a gun at one of the cashiers, yelling at them to open up the back room and let them into the vaults. The woman began to scream hysterically, as she fumbled with her keys and Doyle had the sudden and ridiculous urge to apologise to her. He bit his lip instead.
And then they were in the back room, Frankie shoved the woman back outside and shut the door, and then turned to look expectantly at Doyle. 'Come on - seconds ticking away - get started. Cops'll be here any minute - we need to be long gone.'
Doyle nodded, still feeling numb from the disbelief of it all, pulled on his protective gloves and took out his blow torch. Behind him, Frankie Tripod took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. 'You know what you're doing?' he asked - the cigarette waggling up and down as he spoke.
'Um - sorta…' He hadn't had much opportunity to practice with the thing, but he had got to the point where he could light it up - get the flame going - OK. He just had to hope the cutting part would be intuitive. He lit the blow torch. Behind him, Frankie tried - and failed- to light his cigarette, his gloves were making his fingers too clumsy. Tutting in irritation, he ripped them off and shoved them in his pocket. Once the cigarette was lit, he walked over to Doyle to watch what he was doing more closely.
Doyle was holding his breath. He held the flame of the blow torch to the metal of the vault door - and then closed his eyes as sparks immediately began to fly. But it was working - a cut was appearing in the metal. With his face turned away and his eyes still screwed up - to protect himself as much as he could from the heat and the sparks - he cut a large circular shape into the door of the vault. Once it was done, he took out a magnetic clamp and pulled the circle free - creating a big hole in the door, the stacks of money were visible inside.
'Nice work,' Frankie said. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and ground it out beneath his feet, then he leaned his left hand against the wall and peered into the vault, reaching out with his right to take the first bundle of cash.
'Frankie - gloves,' Doyle said, switching off the blowtorch and dropping it to the floor. Frankie looked at his hands in surprise, 'oh - right - good catch.' He pulled his gloves back on and together they began stuffing the wads of notes into sacks.
A hail of gunshot sounded from the main area of the bank. Doyle turned to stare in horror, wondering if that was somebody killed - if he was now an accessory to murder as well as bank robbery, or if it was the cops turning up and they were caught.
But Frankie was grabbing his sack and heading for the door, 'that's our signal to get the hell out,' he told Doyle. 'We don't get out, the getaway car'll leave without us - it won't wait.' Doyle picked up his own sack and followed him out, to where the getaway car was waiting. They all crammed inside and then the driver - the newest member of the crew - revved the engine and they roared off in a cloud of smoke. They could hear sirens in the distance … but we're gone from the block before any came into view.
Jack ripped off his ski mask and cawed in triumph. 'We did it boys!'
More slowly, Doyle removed his own mask. His heart was still pounding, though it was beginning to slow. The surge of adrenaline he had been running on was starting to dampen down, leaving him shaky. But the relief was real. They had done it, it was over and they weren't caught.
...
Once he was back home, with his share of the loot and his door firmly locked, he allowed himself a celebratory drink. The robbery had been a success, they had got away clean, he had funds to last him a good long while … and he need never think about this whole sorry episode ever ever again.
