By
Tru False
Chapter 2"Stay down! Do not move…no one moves, and no one gets hurt. This will all be over soon…nobody do anything stupid!"
This was an amateur act through and through; the idea probably hatched over a night of booze, drugs, and cheesy gangster movies. Two guys with ski masks, shotguns, and trash bags for the money…and they had chosen to hold up—of course—the local bank. The operation was definitely lowbrow, but that could also make it dangerous. Five people—customers—were huddled in various spots on the ground. There was a security guard seated in the corner who was holding the back of his head, clearly dazed. A suit next to him…probably the manager. Two tellers worked feverishly, looking pale and sweaty. Experience and sharpened senses allowed Don to evaluate all of this almost instantly, and he was already reaching under his jacket to draw his sidearm as the door swooshed shut behind them. He knew instinctively that Terry was scanning their perimeter, making sure there were no threats to the sides, and that she would also be ready to reach for her weapon. Instead he heard her suck in a sharp breath and he knew she had seen something.
To their right, about eight feet away, a much smaller guy wearing a navy zip-up sweatshirt and blue jeans had spun around suddenly. He had a ski mask and shotgun, just like the other two robbers. He yelled in surprise when he saw Don and Terry, firing his weapon simultaneously.
There was a massive blast from the shotgun and the kick almost made the kid drop it. Don suddenly felt the wind knocked out of him and was pushed back hard against the wall behind him, then his chest exploded in pain. He felt like he needed to cough but he struggled to draw breath. Terry watched as he grimaced in pain, slid down the wall, and lolled onto his side on the ground. She was beside him in a second.
"Don?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. His eyes were wide with either shock or pain, and he still had not been able to draw a breath. His hands moved reflexively over his chest and she stilled them with her own.
"Everybody stay down! Do not move!" one of the robbers was yelling to the group around the counter.
The larger of the two robbers left his partner and advanced on the one who had fired his gun. "Jesus Christ! I told you to watch the door, not shoot anyone!"
"I'm sorry Danny! I was watching you guys and then they came in…he was going for a gun." His voice was strained and Terry guessed from his size, dress and demeanor that he was younger than the other two…probably little more than a teenager.
"He's lying, my husband doesn't carry a gun!" Terry cried, hoping to deflect the claim. The one advantage they still had was that these guys didn't know who they were up against…they would underestimate them, especially Terry. She needed them to believe they were just a couple heading into the bank.
"Shut up!" The larger guy fired back at her, and then, softening his voice, turned back towards the kid. "Look, it's okay. But I told you to watch the door, not us…remember?"
The kid nodded, looking down as if ashamed. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay…and hey," he waited for the kid to look up at him and then told him in a voice so low that Terry barely heard it "don't use my name again, right?"
"Sorry." The kid looked down again. "You know you shouldn't 've said that," he ventured after a pause, and chanced a peek up at the larger guy.
"What?"
"Earlier—you took His name in vain."
The guy was quiet for a moment. "I know. You're right—I shouldn't 've. You just…surprised me real bad."
"I'm sorry." The kid looked down again.
Terry could see through the ski mask that the larger guy was smiling ever so slightly. "It's okay. Now watch these two really close, and if either of them move, shoot again, just like you did before. You did real good." He looked pointedly at Terry who was stationed protectively in front of Don, then patted the kid on the back and walked back over to his partner by the main counter.
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Don had actually been shot several times in his life, but not with a shotgun and never at such a close range. The pain in his chest was so intense that he wondered if the pattern had pierced his armor. He was vaguely aware of Terry talking to him…telling him to breathe. No joke. He tried to concentrate on her voice above the pain. He felt her place her hand under the right side of his face, supporting him as he lay on his side. He leaned into her palm, grimaced, and coughed once. It was agony, but afterwards he was finally able to draw in a shaking, shallow breath. Slowly the pain began to ease to a more tolerable level, and his breathing, though raspy, became a little more regular.
"Shhh…" Terry was whispering to him, "I know you've got to have some cracked ribs, but try to breathe quiet." He looked up at her incredulously. I'll get right on that.
"They'll think you're dead or dying from a shot like that…no threat to them" she whispered again. He closed his eyes and nodded slightly against her hand. Breathe quiet…. good plan. But at this point, "dead or dying" felt like it might not be that far off. He thought suddenly of Charlie, safe in the car, and for once felt nothing but glad that he had been a jerk to his little brother.
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Charlie was bored. And quite honestly, he was pissed. He knew that Don leaving him in the car had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with putting him back in his place. After all, he had gone along before when they talked to witnesses and it wasn't a problem. This was intentional, and it had made him feel like a little kid again, and that was what had really angered him. He couldn't for the life of him understand why Don wouldn't treat him like an equal. Sure, looking back he could see why Don didn't want his younger brother hanging around him in High School. Age differences meant a lot more back then. But now…
He had spent his whole life trying to impress Don—to help him and to earn his respect. But it seemed like the more he did that, the more Don bristled around him. He didn't know what he could do to change that. He knew, of course, that Don loved him…he loved him because he was his brother and he had to love him. But he wished that Don liked him. He wished that he didn't feel like most of the time when Don called it was because he – like everyone else, for that matter – wanted Charlie's genius for something. Not that Charlie was one to want to "hang out" a lot…he spent most of his time inside his own head, and he was happy that way. At least he thought he was…he hadn't ever really known any other way. These were difficult feelings to explain. And feelings weren't Charlie's strong suit anyway.
Frustrated, he leaned forward and dug around the Suburban's console until he found a pen. Terry had left a folder on her seat, and along with the documents inside it he found a few blank pieces of paper. He recalled the problem he and Larry had been working last week. In a few minutes, he had rebuilt it and was trying to break new ground. He easily became absorbed in the numbers as he worked. This was his ever-present safe-haven from the troubling thoughts and doubts that nagged at him…the one thing he could always count on to make him forget whatever was bothering him. When he heard a loud bang a few minutes later, it barely registered in his mind that a car must have backfired somewhere down the block.