The Heist

I took my first step toward the bank, scarcely believing that I was really going to do this. A second disjointed step. How had it come to this? I glanced over my shoulder to the spot where we would often park to watch the bank together: just Dad and I. Feeling wholly disconnected to my feet, I still noted that they were moving forward. Almost as if they were on autopilot. All those days spent sitting next to Dad, watching the bank, and chatting about all of our plans for the money that we would soon be rolling in —faithfully noting all goings-on in the little black notebook. In this fashion, we sought to ignore that the dialysis treatments had less and less effect on him.

Now it was time. I felt as though the entire town came to a halt to watch me walk into that bank. Gulping in a deep breath of air, I pushed open the door and sealed my fate. Walking up to the counter, I saw Betty was on her own. She looked up and greeted me with a smile. "Well, hiya, sweetie. Did you weather last night's storm okay?"

I smiled back- or at least hoped that my numb face was pulling back into something similar to a smile. "Well, I lost daddy's truck. But I'm still here."

"Oh, Sweetie! I'm so sorry to hear about Judd's truck. I know you loved that old hunk of metal. Was it the old elm tree?"

I had to clear the lump out of my throat before I could speak, "Yeah, I guess my habit of parking under that tree wasn't the smartest thing in the world. I was just wondering, Betty, I ah, know that I shouldn't even ask? But if I could just peek into Daddy's security box?"

Betty's kind eyes softened even more. "Bless you, sweetheart; that is your box now, and we won't stand on the ceremony with appointments during times like these. Of course, I'll let you in to see your box."

"You're very kind, Miss Betty. Thank you."

"Not a problem, Love," Betty assured me as she unlocked the metal bars that blocked our way to the row of safety deposit boxes that lined one side of the large walk-in safe. "I am going to have to just unlock it with you and then leave you so that I can keep an eye on our counter, okay?"

"Sure, Miss Betty," I agreed with what I hoped wasn't too much eagerness, "I understand completely."

"You're such a good girl!" Betty chirped at me brightly as she used her key to unlock her side of the security box. I inserted my key into the other side, and the cover swung open, allowing Betty to slide the box out. Leaving the box on the little tabletop in the center of the room, Betty flashed another smile at me and then went back to the lobby. As soon as she was gone, I moved over to the box and stared down at it. It looked so innocuous, somehow. My cheeks flushed at what Miss Betty's reaction would be a moment later when she realized that I had retrieved Daddy's old service revolver from this box to use it against her. Reaching out a hand that trembled slightly, I lifted the lid and braced myself for what I was about to do. But nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered in that box. My vision darkened, and the dizziness almost threatened to undo me. Cash. Cold, hard, cash.

I'd never seen so much before. Leaning against the table for support, I looked over my shoulder at the row of boxes as though to verify that my key could not have somehow unlocked the wrong box. Then I swiveled back to the box. It was still jam-packed with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Hesitatingly, I started to pull the cash out. The revolver was gone. I stood there and tried to get my spinning head to engage and solve this enigma. I had nothing. I shook my head as though the mere action would assist me in clearing the cobwebs. Then glancing up at the barred doorway to the empty lobby beyond, I tried to understand what I should do. I could hide the money in my rain slicker and my boots, but what then? Sorting the stacks out, I was able to see that there was $20,000.00 sitting on the table. Now I frowned; while that seemed like a large chunk of cash to me in my current circumstances, it just wasn't enough of a haul to set me up in a new life. Did I want to risk imprisonment for that amount? On the other hand, did I even have a choice? Without the revolver, how could I proceed with the plan to take the entire payroll?

I started to stuff the cash into my pockets, almost before I had realized that I had made a decision. I got to the last few bundles that I'd have to stuff into my boots when I heard another voice from beyond the vault.

"Did you hear that her truck is totaled?" The voice asked.

I heard the sound of Betty's voice replying in a gentle murmur, and then the strange voice spoke again, "Well, it's just too bad. We need to do something. I'm going to speak with some of the townspeople and see if we can't donate enough money to get that gal into a decent vehicle. She's just had too many blows lately. If we can help cushion her from even one of them, shouldn't we do it?!"

Tears filled my eyes even as anger swelled. How dare they be standing out there talking about me as though I were some charity case? I didn't need their help! Then I looked down at my bulging pockets, even as my vision blurred with moisture. I didn't need help? I was here to rob a bank, for crying out loud. How had it ever come to this? Feeling as though the very presence of the cash contaminated me, I frantically began to unload my pockets. Shoving the money back into the box, I took a fortifying breath and stepped out of the vault. Miss Betty was alone at the counter once again and turned to greet me when she heard my step.

"Hey, Sweetie-" she broke off when she saw my face and bustled toward me. "What in the world is wrong, honey? You are white as a sheet!" She began to chafe my hands, even as she tried to lead me to a lobby chair.

"No," I protested weakly, "You don't understand. I have to show you."

"Show me what, dear?" Betty asked with understandable confusion.

"The box. You need to see the box because I just don't know..." I trailed off, and realizing that I wasn't making sense, I grabbed her hands and pulled her toward the vault.

She made a few protesting noises that died in her throat when she saw the cash in the box.

"Oh, my." was all she seemed able to manage. "Honey, did your daddy leave all of this to you?"

I mutely shook my head.

"No?" Betty asked, "Then where did it come from?"

Getting my voice to work somewhat shakily, I said, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Betty parrotted back, obviously finding this one hard to swallow.

"You have to believe me, Miss Betty," I begged in sudden desperation. "I have never seen this money before. I came in for the revol- something of daddy's- and found this instead." Looking at her face searchingly, I saw that she was less than convinced. "I don't know where it came from or how it got in daddy's box." I finished weakly. "But daddy's things are gone. It's all just money."

Betty made a distressed noise in her throat, then clearing it, tried again. "Well, I suppose I had better call the police?" I nodded in defeat. The police came, and that was when they uncovered that the payroll was missing. Then they obtained warrants and searched the safety deposit boxes to find nearly all of the missing money.

The new bank manager was apprehended, and it was assumed that he had made plans to squirrel the funds out of the bank bit by bit. He had already taken the first load out when I had gone in, without an appointment, to view the contents of my box. The bank expressed their appreciation for my 'brave and honest' assistance in recovering most of the payroll, in the form of $20,000.00 gifted into my savings account. Oddly enough, the missing payroll was never fully recovered. However, about a month later, Miss Betty had a distant relation pass away and not only gifted me with a beautifully restored Chevy truck in a baby powder blue - part of the estate she claimed. But she also inherited a very gently used Lincoln Town car in Mulberry red. I stared out of the diner's window during a rare lull between customers and absent-mindedly fingered the little black notebook that I kept in my apron pocket. It was filled with so much more than just a hair-brained scheme to rob a bank. It was a record of just how rich I was and indeed had been all along.