Not All Banks Are Equal

Marty eyed the clock on the wall - nearly lunchtime. He had lingered long enough.

“Yes, sir, I guarantee you, this bank is completely discreet. We do not share your information with anyone.”

The man hesitated a little. He didn’t seem quite convinced.

Just sign the damn thing, fool, Marty thought as he smiled through his whitened teeth.

“I think I’ll take my business elsewhere,'' the man said after a while. “Thank you for your time.”

Oh yeah? You’ll take it elsewhere? Where, to the toilet? “I’m sure we can arrange something, sir. Our bank has the best selection of material to get your business started.”

The man stood up. “On second thought, it was a mistake coming here. I’m sorry.” He stood up to leave. 

Marty stood up too. “George... may I call you George? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves-”

The sentence constructed to keep the man invested escaped Marty as the door suddenly slammed open and two men came rushing in.

They wore black stockings on their faces with holes cut out for eyes and mouth and one of them held a shotgun.

“Oh, no…”

“Hands in the air, this is a robbery!”

“Oh dear god!” George, the potential customer, freaked, raising his hands in the air. Marty sighed and did the same. Besides him and the single customer, there wasn’t anyone in the lobby at the moment. Here we go again…

“Alright,” one of the masked men said, placing his shotgun on the shoulder. “Everyone cooperate and we’ll get this thing over with before lunch.”

George trembled.

Marty thought about what he could have for lunch today. Perhaps he could visit that new joint that opened up, the one with Balkan food…

“Hey, you!”

“Huh?”

“I’m talking to you!” one of the masked men walked up to Marty with a bag in his hands. “I said, give us all your money!”

“Realy?” Marty asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the best line you could come up with?”

The masked man glanced at his colleague, the one with the shotgun. George seemed to be pissing himself.

“Have you any idea how many times I’ve heard that line?” Marty said. “It’s like the lamest robbery one-liner. Like, imagine walking up to a hot girl and saying something like, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’ Lame, man. Lame.”

The man blinked, visibly stunned. “You do realize we’re robbing you, right?” His friend pointed a gun at Marty. “Your life's on the line.”

Marty shrugged. “Comes with the job. But, do you realize that this is a sperm bank?”

“A what now?” the shotgun man asked.

“Sperm bank,” Marty said, glancing at the other guy. “You know, it’s where guys come to jerk in a cup and get paid for it. A teenager’s utopia. We store semen for couples who can’t get pregnant and so on.”

“Um,” the bag man turned to his friend. “Phill, did you know about this?”

“Idiot!” the shotgun man, Phil, said. “Don’t say my name!”

“Well, how else will you know I’m talking to you?”

“Just look at me!”

“But how will you know I’m looking at you and not at someone else? You have to keep your eyes on the receptionist here.”

“Whoah,” Marty said, lowering his hands a bit. “Your first time?”

“Shut it!” Phil yelled. “Mike, jump behind the counter and take the money! There’s got to be some!”

“My name’s not Mike, it’s Jonathan…”

“Idiot! We agreed on codenames!”

“Oh…”

“I can just pretend I didn’t hear it,” Marty said, plugging his ears. “Literally, I didn’t hear anything. Who are you guys? Can I help you with something?”

Jonathan jumped over the counter to the cash register.

“Listen wisecrack,” Phil said, pointing his shotgun at Marty. “This isn’t a game. I’m really considering killing you, now that you know our names.”

Marty sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. Can you speak louder? I’ve got my ears covered.”

“Mike, I’m gonna kill this man!”

“Who’s Mike?” Jonathan asked, his head popping from the counter.

“You are Mike, you idiot! Your name is Mike- ah, what's the point.”

“Hey, what’s that smell?” Jonathan-Mike asked.

“Oh, it’s probably our boy George there,” Marty said, pointing. “You guys must have scared him shitless. Literally.”

“I can’t believe this…”

George’s pants were not only wet, they changed color.

“Hey Phil, that smells really bad. I can’t breathe under this mask…”

“No, no you idiot, don’t-”

Jonathan pulled his mask off, revealing a chubby red face with black hair, a tattoo on his cheek and different eye color. “Ah, much better.”

Marty turned around. “I can turn the AC on if you’d like.”

“No, that's okay, but thank you.”

“Fool! He’s seen your face now!”

“Oh, Phil, don’t be such a worry cat! My face is very forgettable.”

“No, it’s not!” Phil yelled. “You have a tattoo on your goddamn cheek!”

“Yeah, but who’ll remember it? It’s a baby panda with a katana, slicing a falling atom bomb. Nobody ever even notices it.”

“Whoah, that sounds kinda cool,” Marty said, turning to take another look.

“If you turn again, I shoot your face!” Phill yelled, taking a step closer. Marty stopped half-turn. “From now on, you look at me only, understand?”

“Alright,” Marty said. 

“Mike, how’s it going back there? We haven’t got all day!”

There was no answer. George was now lying on the floor, quietly sobbing. I could just have a burrito and be done with it, Marty thought. These guys are eating away at my lunchtime.

“Mike! Hello?”

“His name is Jonathan,” Marty said.

“Huh? Did someone call me?”

Phil roared in anger, his eyes bulging white under the mask. He took another step forward, forcing the shotgun barrel straight under Marty’s chin. “If I hear one more word from you, I’m pulling this trigger!”

“Hey, Phil?” Jonathan asked.

Phil sighed. “What?”

“There’s a lock combination on the counter. I can’t get it opened.”

“Just smack it with a crowbar.”

“I don’t have a crowbar.”

“What? Why? I specifically told you to take the crowbar!”

“I… left it in the car.”

“You left the crowbar in the car, knowing full well we were going to rob a bank?”

“It’s conspicuous to walk with a crowbar on the street…”

“I have a shotgun, Jonathan! For Christ’s sake!”

“I’m sorry, Phil. I suck at this…”

“Just… just find the code.”

“Okay… you, receptionist. Can you tell me the code?”

Marty shrugged.

“Guy,” Phil said, thrusting his shotgun forward. “I’ve lost my patience.”

Marty pointed to his mouth, then to Phil and made some complex gestures with his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, that’s sign language,” said Jonathan. “I know it because my cousin Maurice is deaf. You remember Maurice? You’ve met him at the Alligator Bowling Alley last week-”

“You blubbering idiot, don’t say stuff like that!”

“Oh, sorry. Man, I suck!”

“Tell us the code, guy, NOW!”

Marty waved his hands again.

“Um, Phil? He’s saying he can’t tell you the code because you said you would shoot him if he spoke another word.”

Phil blinked. 

Then, the backdoor opened and Misty walked into the lobby, wearing a long coat over her sexy underwear.

“What’s going on-” When she saw the guns she raised her hands and covered her mouth.

“Who’s this now?” Phil asked. “You, guy, how many people are here? Is there anyone else in the back?”

“Mmm,” Marty managed.

“For Christ’s sake, you can speak!”

“Ugh, thanks,” Marty said. “This is Misty, our deposit assistant. Some customers have trouble placing their deposits sometimes, and she helps them, guides them through the process.” Misty tightened her coat, concealing her sexy leggings and underwear. “She’s usually at the back. See, George, if you wouldn’t be so quick to say no, I could have offered you an assisted plan.”

George barely raised his head, face pale from fear.

“So there’s no one else back there?”

“Nope. That’s all of us here.”

“And the code?”

“452680400.”

“Did you get that, Jonathan?”

Silence. Phil watched Marty with killer eyes, Marty thought of ordering a pizza later, George lay in his own excrement and Misty glanced from one man to the other, mouth and nose covered, eyes wide. Then, a ping from the cash register.

“I’ve got it, Phil!”

“Good job. Take everything!”

“Um, Phil?”

Shotgun man sighed. “What?”

“There’s nothing in here. No money. Just some change.”

Marty noticed teeth showing from under Phil’s mask. “Where do you keep the money?”

“Right there in the cash register.”

“Why is it empty, then?”

“Oh, you’re not the first to come to rob this place today,” Marty said. “There were two others before you. What a day, huh?”

Phil snapped. He launched the shotgun at the wall and tore off his mask. 

“No, Phil, what are you doing?” Jonathan gasped. “They’ll see your face!”

“I DON’T CARE!”

“But, your face is very memorable…” 

Marty noticed nothing special on Phil’s face, except for a bubbling red ocean of lava and incarnated anger in the form of the man’s eyes. Phil stormed out.

“Phil?” Jonathan called after him. He then jumped over the counter, taking the shotgun. “Wait just a moment, I’ll get him back here. I apologize for his outburst. Wait there, don’t move.”

“Okay,” Marty said and watched Jonathan run after Phil.

Everyone remained still and as the door closed, Misty ran to the counter.

“They didn’t notice the hidden compartment, didn’t they?” asked Marty.

“No,” said Misty. “It’s all still here.”

“Good. Take it and go wait for me in the car. I’ll deal with the rest.”

“They’re gone. We can run now.”

Marty turned to her, nodding at George. “There’s a witness. I have to deal with this, to make it look like it was them. Baby, it’s an ideal opportunity. We can blame it on those fools.”

Misty nodded. She wrapped her hands around him. “Be careful, okay?”

“Hey, I worked for ten years in a semen bank. I never touched a single cup without gloves.”

They kissed passionately.

“They’re coming back,” Misty said.

“Go. I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

The woman nodded, took the money and went in the back, just as the front door opened again. Phil held the bag this time and Jonathan the shotgun.

“Welcome back, gentlemen,” Marty greeted them. “How may we help you?”

“Phil has something to say,” said Jonathan. “Isn’t that right, Phil?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the man mumbled.

“Oh?” Marty asked. “And what is that?”

“Mfs sm fm…”

“What?”

“Phil,” Jonathan said. “Louder. Like we practiced. You can do it, I’m right here for support.”

Phil sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For losing my temper.”

“And?”

“And for throwing the shotgun at the wall. I know that was dangerous and reckless and could’ve gotten somebody killed.”

“Good job, my friend. I’m very proud of you!”

“No, can we please, please, get this robbery done with?”

“Yes!”

“Um,” Marty said, “but we don’t have any money.”

“We’ll take your semen!” Jonathan pronounced. “Go get it Phil!”

Marty backed up. “My semen? Or the bank’s semen?”

Jonathan mused. “Is your semen good? Do you have any children?”

“Well, I have never suffered from impotence and I am planning to start a family soon…”

“Phil? What do you think?”

Phil groaned, emptying the fridge of plastic cups. “I think I have to rethink my whole life, is what I think.”

“George here has excellent semen,” Marty said. “In fact, he came here today to give us a sample. Isn’t that right, George?”

The man on the floor looked up. “Yes… yes I did.”

“I suggest you take him,” Marty said. “You can start your own semen bank or sell it on the black market, claiming it’s some famous celebrity’s semen. People will go crazy over that shit, they’d crave for their kids to be famous. You could be a millionaire!”

“Whoa, did you hear that, Phil?” Jonathan exclaimed. “We’re gonna be millionaires! Thank you, sir. You have been very helpful today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Maty said, smiling. 

“I’ve got a bag full of man sperm. Can we go now?”

“Yes,” said Jonathan. “Thanks for everything, bank man.”

“Please, call me Marty.”

“Thanks, Marty.”

“Will you take George with you?”

“Yes, he will be our semen generator, once we run out of the semen we stole from you.” The man winked, tapping his temples with the shotgun.

“Ah, a forward thinker,” said Marty. “Very clever.”

“Goodbye, Marty. Phil, say goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

“Good luck, fellas,” said Marty. 

“Wait, what…” George mumbled. Marty watched the two men drag poor George out with a smile and as soon as the door closed, he raced at the back. Behind the building waited Misty, already in the car, a corvette convertible.

“All good?” she asked, sunglasses on, coat buttoned up.

“All good,” Marty said, jumping in. “Punch it, baby.”

The tires screeched and the car drove out.

“Mind telling me what happened back there?” Misty asked.

“Ah, yes,” Marty said, running a hand through his hair, waving in the rushing air. “It seems I picked the best day to quit my job.”

Police sirens could be heard nearby.

“I told you we shouldn’t have had sex in there! We should’ve just taken the money and run!”

“Hey, I worked 10 years in that joint and not once did I get it off! Surrounded by all that semen fucked me up, okay? Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining back there.”

Misty blushed. “You’re still a fool. Why didn’t you just get rid of that guy… George or what’s-his-name?”

Marty scratched his neck. “I got greedy, baby. I wanted one last score…”

The woman looked at him. “Marty. It’s fifty bucks a wank.”

“...transferred to my account. Hey, money is money!”

She sighed. “Unbelievable.”

“Well, now we have all the money we could ever wish for - from a real bank!”

“Yeah, and a dead banker in the back. Do you think the police will buy it? That those two killed him and took his suitcase full of cash?”

“Hey, did you hear them speak? They’re bozos, baby. Who knows what messed up shit they’re capable of. By the time the cops figure it out, we’ll be long gone!”

The couple laughed, driving on the interstate, as a police patrol with sirens on drove past them in the opposite direction.