1A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up, but it was a busy & fun Holiday weekend.
You'll notice when reading that I've referred to the "bald" robber and the "black-haired" robber. That's just for the readers' ease of distinguishing who's who, because their names are still unknown. Obviously, once their ski masks are on, the people inside the bank cannot tell one robber from the other by his hair/lack of hair characteristics.
Chapter 2
Plans Gone Awry
Friday
2:55 p.m. - Inside the Chase Manhattan Bank
As the bald man and the black-haired man approached the bank, two customers exited the bank –– the two male customers who Kathy Deakins had seen at the tellers' windows. (They didn't realize how lucky they were. As they say, 'timing is everything').
The bald one nodded to the black-haired one – the "go" signal – as they simultaneously pulled the black ski masks over their faces, hands readied on the weapons concealed by their jackets. They burst through the door, counting on the element of surprise. What they did not count on was a variable: a change in the security guard. On duty today was not the slim, almost elderly white-haired guard who they had spied all week; he had called in sick today. In his place was a much younger, larger and intimidating presence. Any plan for the black-haired robber to quickly overtake and subdue the guard immediately faded. Panic set in.
Before the bald robber even finished his command of "Everybody down on the floor, this is a..." the guard had drawn his weapon and emptied two rounds from his Sig into the chest of the black-haired robber. The robber's body stumbled backwards–almost in slow motion– he fell awkwardly over a planter, dropping his weapon and leaving a smear of crimson blood down the side of the mirrored container, before slumping to the floor.
Chaos reigned.
While the tellers, desk workers and Kathy Deakins watched in horror and frozen by fear at the unfolding events, the bald robber had unloaded three shots of his own, hitting the guard in the right shoulder and upper arm. The third shot had missed its mark. The jolting force and pain of the shots had caused the guard's weapon to fly from his hand, landing only a foot away from Kathy Deakins' feet. The guard was on his back, trying to prop himself up on his left elbow. The bald robber approached, aiming his weapon directly at the guard's forehead. Kathy had a decision to make and she had to make it fast. She needed the robber to be distracted, just for a few seconds; she seized the opportunity when she saw his attention directed at the guard.
"You're very brave," he said with a mocking sneer.
The guard looked up, beads of perspiration all over his face; his breath came in short gulps, from both the adrenaline rush and the pain.
"Look, mister, just go while you can still get outta' here...these people didn't...
The robber interrupted the guard. "Ssshhhhhhh," he almost whispered, his left index finger pressed against his lips. "You wanted to be a hero today?" he asked with a sick smile. "Heroes die quietly."
The black eyes of the robber were cold and emotionless, as he stared at the face of the guard. The onlookers knew what was coming and turned their heads away from the about-to-be horrific sight, just in time, as the robber squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot and the guard's head crashing back against the hard marble floor as the bullet entered his skull echoed through the lobby. It was a sound that none of them would ever forget.
The robber quickly walked over to the body of his accomplice and picked up the weapon which laid by his side, stuffing into the waistband of his pants. Across the room at the desks, two of the bank's employees, sickness brought on by both nerves and their minds' images of what had just occurred, had just finished vomiting into their deskside garbage cans.
Dave Conroy tried his best to look inconspicuously towards Kathy. He couldn't believe what he had just seen her do. He wasn't sure exactly what she was up to, but he decided at that moment that he was sticking with her – at least, it seemed to him, she was on track to formulating a plan that might get them out of this jam. They exchanged a split-second, knowing glance.
The yelling of the remaining robber immediately snapped him out of his thoughts.
"All of you, over there!" he commanded, waving with his gun towards the rear wall of the office area.
They filed by him, one-by-one, trying to avoid eye contact with him while also trying to avoid the sight of the guard and the pool of blood and brain matter that had accumulated around his head on the white marble floor.
As Kathy Deakins and the bank's desk personnel sat against the wall at the rear of the bank, the robber, while keeping an eye on them, approached the tellers' windows.
"Empty everything from those drawers – no dye packets – then get out from behind there and join your friends over there."
The robber's eyes shifted back and forth, from the sitting group to the tellers, watching as they emptied their respective cash drawers, clutching the bills to their bodies as they made their way from behind the windows towards their hostage coworkers.
"Put it in here!" he demanded, as he shoved a canvas tote bag at the blond teller. The red-haired teller was reaching for the bag to deposit her money, when the blaring sound of the bullhorn speaker startled them all.
"This is the Police. The building is surrounded. Come to the door with your hands up."
They could not see the robber's face, but the look in his eyes was dismay, fear and anger.
He screamed his demand; "You tell me now! Which one of you bitches hit the silent alarm!"
Neither woman replied. The fact was that each of them had pressed the small button at their feet at almost the instant the robbers had first entered the bank. It had been six and one-half minutes earlier, but felt like an eternity before the Police arrived.
"You BITCHES think you're heroes, too," he asked with a half-smile, head cocked to one side.
He didn't wait for an answer.
Friday
3:02 p.m. Outside the Chase Manhattan Bank
The block had been sealed off. The street was swarming with Police vehicles and personnel, the armored S.W.A.T. vehicle being closest to the bank's front door. Officers, donned in their Kevlar helmets and bullet-proof vests, with weapons at the ready, were getting positioned. They immediately found cover and aimed their guns at the bank when the two shots sounded. Then silence.
Artie Schultz, the head of the S.W.A.T. unit yelled to his men, "Everyone, hold your fire." He then spoke through the bullhorn, once again.
"This is the Police. The building is surrounded. I want you to tell us what's going on in there – what just happened. The phone in there is gonna' ring in a few seconds. I want you to answer it and talk to us, okay."
Sgt. Darius Sanchez was the S.W.A.T. team's No. 1 sniper. He stood next to Schultz and shot him a doubtful glance, "I don't think this one's gonna' be easy," he flatly stated.
Friday
3:07 p.m. - Major Case Squad
Alex placed a fresh cup of coffee on Bobby's desk, along with a fresh stack of paperwork.
"Thanks and no thanks," he joked, taking a sip of the brew.
She chuckled and tossed her head towards him, "So, what time ya' plan on getting to my place tonight?"
Bobby shrugged his shoulders, "I dunno' – maybe I'll just follow you, straight from work. I don't really have to go home first for anything...just gotta' stop for the beer. Why?"
"I was just wondering...I figured you'd go home first to change...get comfortable. You don't wanna' hang out eating pizza in your suit, do you?" she smiled.
"I think you were just hoping see me in my new Tommy jeans," he teasingly flattered himself with a chuckle.
"Oh brother," she moaned, while rolling her eyes. She opened the next file on the stack, while vowing never to admit to him that he was right.
A minute or so later, another of the MCS's detectives, Glenn Sommers, burst into the squad room, "Hey, you guys hear?" he excitedly asked.
All heads turned to listen.
"A bank heist in progress at Chase Manhattan Plaza...S.W.A.T.'s on the scene...shots fired."
The announcement started a wave of chatter amidst the squad rood. Bobby, eyebrows raised, looked across the desk at his partner, "That's like...2 minutes away...let's keep an eye on it."
Alex thought he sounded too eager; especially now, without Deakins here to rein him in;
"Bob-eeee" she said, with a warning tone. "We don't have to show up until after the robbery's over."
He stood up from his desk, "I didn't mean go there...let's go to the break room and see if they've got anything on TV yet."
Alex stood to join him, convincing herself that if Deakins were there, he wouldn't have minded the two of them taking a little mid-afternoon break.
Friday
3:15 p.m. Inside the Chase Manhattan Bank
The three remaining living bank employees and Kathy Deakins sat – frozen. The reality of what had just happened before their eyes hadn't yet set in. Kathy looked straight ahead – her legs dotted with blood spatter from the two tellers who were murdered just minutes before, who laid just feet away.
The incessant ringing of the telephone was nerve racking. The robber was refusing to answer it and talk to the Police.
Kathy tried to keep herself calm. She began making mental notes of the events; how everything had played out, so far. She began memorizing details of the robber, reciting to herself, " – he's right handed; he's about 180 pounds, around 5'10", really dark eyes...brown/black...he's got a slight Spanish accent..."
So far, she had been lucky. The robber hadn't yet thought about the guard's missing weapon – he must have been too distracted when the shooting started and things became chaotic. Her thoughts turned to her husband and her daughters, but she only felt herself getting upset at the possibility of never seeing them again, so she forced the thoughts of family from her head.
She couldn't afford to be weak or distracted. She had to stay composed and alert, if she, or Dave and that hidden gun were going to be of any use, at all.
END Chap. 2