The day for the heist was finally upon the Payday Gang. Houston rolled up to Jacket's apartment in their large escape van, Wolf and Dallas in tow, and Jacket climbed in. There were no seats in the back- only weapons, duffle bags, and a few empty canisters of caustic soda, hydrogen chloride, and muriatic acid. Jacket kicked these aside and shut the back double doors. "Ready?" Dallas asked from beside him on the floor. Jacket nodded. As Houston drove towards the bank, the crew in the back readied their weapons. The job was simple: get in, silence the civilians in the lobby, drill the safe upstairs, then rush back to the getaway van.
The vehicle backed into the alley behind the bank. Dallas and Wolf were set to go, bulletproof padding on their chests, thighs, and biceps. They opened the van's back door and shuffled out. Dallas cocked his assault rifle and turned to Jacket. "We'll meet you near the entrance. Ready up." Dallas started making his way down the alley. Wolf smiled ravingly as he grabbed his mask from the van floor. "Let's do this!" he cheered, followed by a howl as he darted after Dallas.
Jacket slid out of the back of the van and removed his letterman and green tee, under which was a white wife-beater. He slipped on a ballistic vest, then placed back on his shirt and classic jacket, which he zipped halfway. He grabbed his colorful weapon, then he reached for a hammer, which had seen cleaner days, and slipped it into a belt loop.
"Hey, Jacket," Houston called as the silent man was about the shut the doors. Jacket paused and poked his head back into the van, same unconcerned look he always had. Houston turned in his seat to partially face Jacket. "I know the fellas have been giving you a lot of shi* about not talking, but I just wanted to let you know," he paused and looked at the dash, diverting his eyes from Jacket's in a moment of soft-heartedness. "If you ever need anyone to talk to about anything at all, I'm here for you, man. I know it can be hard whe-" Suddenly, the van doors behind Houston shut heavily with a loud slam. He gently threw a hand up and nodded. "Okay, good talk," he called after Jacket. Houston pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and texted his older brother. "That didn't work," he typed.
"I told you it wouldn't, idiot," said an almost instant reply from Dallas. Houston shrugged and turned on the radio, settling in to wait for the getaway.
"Alright, gang, this one's simple," Bain buzzed in each of the crew's earpieces in his usual confident and supportive tone. "You've all been looking over your paperwork- when you're not digging through mine in your free time." The crew could tell Bain was talking through his teeth as he recalled Jacket somehow receiving access to his files. "Anyway, keep the civilians quiet, set up that drill, grab the cash, and get out of there. Masks on, guys."
Just before exiting the alley, the Payday gang slipped on their masks. A clown, a demon, and a chicken rolled out of the brick passage and into the front of the looming bank. Dallas pushed open the bank door with his back and Wolf and Jacket slipped past him into the lobby. Dallas entered after them, and fired a shot to the ceiling. "Everyone get down!" he threatened.
Suddenly, a large piece of plaster broke loose from the ceiling where Dallas had shot it. It fell and landed atop Wolf's and Jacket's head. Wolf stumbled forward, one hand gripping his gun, the other catching himself on the floor then pushing him back to his feet. Jacket flinched when the plaster hit him, but seemed otherwise unscathed. "Are you kidding me?!" Wolf barked.
Dallas shrugged. "Sorry," he whispered, reaching to brush the plaster dust from the back of Wolf's shaved head. Wolf dodged away. "Get off me!"
"We are in a hurry," a woman's voice said sweetly behind Dallas and Wolf. They turned to see Jacket holding his tape recorder, head tilted slightly.
"Sorry, Jacket," Wolf said frowning. "Alright, you heard the man: everybody down!" he screamed as he ran through the bank lobby, firing a few rounds. The bank was incredibly beautiful. All marble with bronze trim, the two-story building hosted 5 teller stalls with velvet ropes leading to them. The first floor also had a few offices with glass walls. On the second floor, up a lovely staircase and down a long hallway with no doors, was the vault.
"Okay, you know your roles. Dallas and Wolf on crowd control. Jacket, get upstairs!"
Jacket rushed up the steps holding his signature gun- a machine pistol, painted blue and purple with stenciled palm trees. He made his way into a conference room, which was filled with businessmen, who were now standing in suspicion of the gunshots fired in the lobby. "Get down." He clicked his microcassette player and motioned with his gun for everyone to drop to the floor. The people in the room seemed confused by this strange man in their doorway.
Suddenly, glass shattered all over the room and the businessmen hit the deck, covering their faces. The large skylight above the room had been smashed in.
A figure zipped down from the roof and into the conference room, with a large duffle bag over one shoulder. "When a crazy-a** motherf***er in a chicken mask tells you to get down, you get the fu** down," the man laughed.
"Chains," Jacket's tape recorder chimed.
"What's up, Jacket?" said the heister in his clown mask. He gave a chin-up nod. Jacket gave him a coy nod in return. "Let's get to that vault," Chains said.