A Couple of Outlaws

The bank teller lifts her head as I step up to the counter. There is plexiglass separating the two of us, and it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a while. Specks of grime and dust coat the clear material like paint splattered across a painter’s canvas. She flashes me a tight smile, showing off her yellowed, lipstick-stained teeth. Her eyes, coated in an awful blue eyeshadow, are bored and irritated.

“What can I do for ya, hon?” The words spill off her tongue in a thick Boston accent, despite the fact that we are nowhere near Boston. I don’t reply, already feeling the prosthetics peel off of my face, my sweat melting away the light glue. My heart pounds in my chest as I slowly reach into my heavy jacket slung over a pair of loose overalls. Her eyes shine with fear for a moment before I pull out a laminated card, words printed very clearly on them.

Please remain calm. Your bank is being monitored, you have 1 minute.

No alarms, no dye packs, no trackers, the cash will be checked before I leave.

All the 50s and 100s from every teller drawer.

Fail to comply with any instruction and my partner will take over.

The teller’s eyes light up with fear again as I give her a moment to read it before I slide the card back into my jacket. She glares in defiance but doesn’t say anything. I tap at the chunky black watch on my wrist that I had bought a day before at a Walmart.

“Don’t try to be a hero,” I whisper, purposely pitching my voice down; low and gravelly. I don’t want her to have any of my identifying features. She nods curtly with a thin-lipped frown and turns to gather the cash with shaking hands.

I pull my duffle up and put it on the counter, canvas material scratching against my leather gloves. It takes her quite a while to gather up all the cash, and I realize she’s stalling. Must’ve pushed the silent alarm. I curse under my breath, and as she turns around to me I tap on my watch again. Panic flares in her face and she begins to move much more swiftly than before. She piles the cash in front of me and I start transferring it to my duffle when my first alarm goes off on my watch. The woman eyes me and I stuff the rest of the cash into the bag. I nod at her and take the bag off the counter. She shoots another glare my way as I leave out the front door.

Once I’m outside I rush to the back of the building, which is a convenient alley where I stored everything I would need yesterday after checking for cameras. There doesn’t seem to be any, but I am still cautious as I dig a backpack out of a pile of garbage. I transfer the money to the backpack and shove the duffel in there as well. I pull out a wig from my jacket and duck my head as I take my old one off. I fit the wig around my head and shrug out of my jacket. I shove that one and the old wig down the front of my overalls and shrug on a bright blue windbreaker that had been in the backpack. I don’t lift my head until I am confident that I don’t look like me.

The second alarm on my watch sounds and I look around. That means the cops will be coming soon if the woman had pushed the silent alarm. I huff and take off down the alley. I’m sweating, and the summer heat, along with the windbreaker I was wrapped in, does not help to lessen that. I can feel the prosthetic glue dripping and melting down my face, and pray that it just looks like sweat. I’m feeling incredibly anxious, but I’m determined to keep my pace slow and inconspicuous. The last thing I want is for someone to see a creepily dressed guy running from the bank that was just robbed.

After what feels like an eternity of walking, which, in actuality, is probably closer to several minutes, I’m a few blocks away from the bank, and almost to the parking garage. As I round the corner, I hear police sirens. The screeching call of the cops cuts through the city air. I can’t help lifting my head as they whizz past, and breathe a sigh of relief. But I’m not out of the woods yet. I continue on and finally reach a parking garage. Ducking inside, I catch a glimpse of the tan 2000 Toyota Corolla pulling into the lot at the other side. My third alarm goes off as the car pulls right up next to me. I quickly shut it off and open the door, sliding inside. I turn my head to look at the driver; my partner in crime, Chuck.

“Dude,” Chuck begins, “The fricken’ cops--”

“I had it under control,” I interrupt.

“Under control, my ass,” He sighs as he pulls out of the parking garage. “We still have one more to hit up. And you ain’t lookin’ too hot.”

“Shut up,” I retort as I flip down the mirror. He’s right, of course. The prosthetics are peeling away from my face. I try to stick it back down and it ends up falling off into my hands. Chuck laughs and shakes his head.

“Laugh it up,” I growl, “It’s your turn, ass-hat.”

“Yeah, yeah. On it,” Chuck mumbles as he puts the pedal to the metal. We take off down the street. It takes a while due to the five o’clock traffic, but once we are across town, we come up to another bank. Our last bank.

Chuck checks his prosthetics in the mirror and reaches into the backseat to sift through the garbage bag that we keep our disguises in. He is already wearing thick work overalls over a tight black long sleeve, boots that were several sizes too big, and latex gloves. He stuffs his chest with two t-shirts and fixes his long wig. He insisted on going as a woman, and although he looks nothing like one, it does well to conceal his identity all the same. He turns to me and smiles through brightly overlined red lips.

“Wish me luck Richie!” He pats my shoulder as he pulls himself out of the car and picks up a fake designer bag we picked up at the Goodwill. He flips his fake hair over his shoulder and winks at me. I scoff, shaking my head, and throw him my oversized leather gloves.

“Yeah, break a leg,” I joke. He gasps.

“You aren’t supposed to say that! It’s bad luck if you aren’t in theater.”

“Whatever. Just move. We’re running out of time.” I toss him the plastic watch that I had just finished setting back up with the three timers and start setting the same ones on my phone. Chuck huffs a laugh and strides into the bank. I wait until I can see through the glass doors that Chuck has stepped up to the counter and taps his watch. I drive away from the parking lot and go to our rendezvous.

There is no parking garage nearby, so we decided to meet up near the back of a local restaurant. I park in a spot where the security cameras aren’t directly facing, but it doesn’t matter. The car is decked out with fake plates and tinted windows. The light outside is also rapidly fading, making it easier to hide out in the shadows. So I force myself to relax back against the pleather seat. My mind is still racing and my heart is hammering in my chest, but after a few deep breaths I can calm down a little. It’s not until I hear the sirens that my stomach twists in fear again.

I see the bank’s floodlights snap on several blocks away and my stomach churns again. My palms are sweaty, and I start shaking. Shit shit shit, I think as the sirens draw closer. I watch the blue and red flashes light up the street as they race past the restaurant. My grip on the steering wheel becomes tighter and tighter until my hands start going numb. I’m suddenly grateful for the leftover prosthetics and heavy jacket still concealing my frame.

The alarm on my phone goes off and I still don’t see Chuck. Damn it. I put the car into gear and start pulling out of the parking lot, scanning for Chuck. We have an agreement that the other is not obligated to stay after the alarm goes off, but I can’t help waiting another minute. I can almost see the bank from here, and there are probably several police cars there judging by the number of flashing lights. I pull onto the street and drive by the bank despite my better judgment, seeing if I can spot a glimpse of Chuck.

There! Of course, the idiot is creeping along the alley next to the bank. I pull over into the alley and drive past him. I tap my brakes a few times and his eyes jump up to me. I motion for him to hurry up and his face breaks into a hysteric grin. He picks up his pace as well as he can in his stiff disguise and heads to where I am. I watch him in the rearview mirror and my stomach drops. A cop strides down the alley and his eyes catch on Chuck. He barks out something that I can’t make out, and Chuck stops dead, face falling and turning pale. He slowly turns around to face the cop and says something in a high-pitched voice. I can’t hear what they are saying from the safety of the car, but the cop’s voice becomes more gruff and irritated. The cop reaches for the faux designer bag, and Chuck snatches it back, barking something out in his real voice.

I wring my hands together and slowly let up off the brake. The car starts rolling forward and I curse under my breath. I take one last look in the rearview, just in time to see Chuck double over. I gasp and I’m worried for a second before I realize that Chuck is, well, chucking all over the policeman. His vomit sprays all over the cop’s uniform and I laugh a little, despite the anxiety coursing through my body. The cop reels back in disgust and Chuck rises to his feet just in time to get one good right hook in. He catches the cop's jaw, snapping the man’s head back. The cop staggers and Chuck takes off after me. He wrenches the backdoor open and hops in.

“Go go go! Jesus christ, Rich, go!” He yells. I stomp on the gas, causing the car to lurch forwards and Chuck slams the door behind him. I take off down the road and barely make the turn onto the next street. I hear the sirens again and start to panic. I look behind me at Chuck and see that we are both shaking with adrenaline.

“Oh my god, oh my god…” Chuck chants under his breath. We careen down the road, leaving police sirens in our wake.

“Where to?” I say under my breath, teeth gritted against the urge to scream and cuss Chuck out.

“Uh, right, um… Stick to the plan. Get to the barn,” Chuck pants. We had previously set up our base at a little barn outside of town. We had matches, gasoline, and everything we needed to dispose of the evidence. We decided to burn down the barn as well. Not for any particular reason, Chuck is just a bit of a pyromaniac.

“Right. The barn.” I nod and take the next street and get a little lost, hoping to lose the police that will inevitably be coming after us now. After a while, I regain my bearings and head out to the barn. It’s quite the drive, but we get there in about thirty minutes. The whole time we are both silent, straining our ears for the sound of sirens, listening to each other’s strained breathing. I look down at my hands as we near the barn and see that my knuckles are white with how hard I was gripping the steering wheel. I sigh and put the car in park across the field, not wanting it to be too close and give us away.

Chuck and I quickly gather everything that needs burning, even the fake license plates. After stuffing all the money into one duffle bag and placing it under our seats, we take everything and make the trip towards the barn. Having a task to do helps calm our shaking hands as we get to work. Chuck piles everything in the middle of the ramshackle barn, and I start stripping off my disguise. We pile all our stuff together and douse it with gasoline. We both take a can of fuel and dump it all over the floor and walls. I put the now-empty can down and hear Chuck huff a laugh.

“What?” I ask, my voice still a little shaky.

“Nothing just… Arson and robbery on the same day. Kind of an accomplishment if you ask me,” Chuck muses. I stare at him in disbelief and shake my head.

“Dude, only you would think that’s an accomplishment,” I scoff. I know he’s right though, and I smirk. It is kind of an impressive feat to pull off.

“We should get outta here,” Chuck says, cuffing me on the shoulder.

“Mhm, hit the interstate. It’ll be hard to catch us if we are in a different state by tomorrow.”

“Yep. Here,” He hands his lighter to me, “Wanna do the honors?”

“No, go ahead,” I say quickly. He clearly wants to light the fire.

With a manic grin, he flicks the lighter and throws it onto the floor of the barn. We both back away quickly as the fire spreads at an alarming rate. It’s strangely satisfying in a way, but after standing around watching the flames lick the sky for a few minutes, my anxiety takes over again and I start making a beeline for the car. I hear Chuck following closely behind, keeping up with my pace. He’s probably nervous too.

Once we’re both in the car I say my silent thanks and farewell to the poor barn whose life we had to take. Not that it had much of a life anyways. I start the car and pull out of the property. About halfway down the road, we start to hear the sirens again. Chuck and I exchange a nervous glance but try to ignore the blaring sound. We start to un-tense as we get further and further away, noise lessening with every yard. When we get to the interstate, although not completely off-guard, we feel like we can finally speak again. The sun is going down, illuminating the road ahead of us in an orange-pink glow.

I can’t believe what we did actually worked. Chuck flips on the radio, only to hear reports of an elaborate bank heist of which they have no suspects other than a tall, odd-looking woman who was booking it away from the bank right after the robbery. We share a laugh at that. Chuck pulls the duffle bag sitting behind us into his lap and starts counting bills and chuckling to himself, whooping after every thousand he accounts for. So far I think we’re at 20k, but really, who’s counting? A smile creeps up on my face and I floor it, the engine roaring, protesting against the demands I give it, and off we ride into the sunset. Like a couple of outlaws.

That is… Until we hear the sirens.