Running for Good

Howling laughter turns into screams as the young robber is met with a brick wall on the other side of the thorn bushes that he was sure would lead to his freedom.

What should’ve been another easy heist has suddenly turned awry. How was he to know that the old shop keeper would be coming back early from vacation? How could he have ever predicted he’d injure his hip walking off of the plane and have to return home the very next day? How could he have not seen him lock the front door just as he snuck in through the back window?

He’d never miscalculated like this before. Having grown up with a father who ran the underworld in his town, he was always well-versed on essential information; he had eyes and ears everywhere. Once his father saw his natural speed and athleticism as a little kid, he had big plans for him within his operation.

He was taught from a young age where to find the numbers on the shops in town- who was bringing in the highest income, when their doors were locked, what security systems they used, where their electric box was hooked up, and the quickest way to shut it down. 

He’d been outrunning the red-and-blue flashing sirens of “donut-holes” ever since he was eleven. He was taught every intersection, every connecting alley way, the intersections where the cops were stationed and what times they made their shift changes. Learning the ins-and-outs of how the shops operated and how the streets ran made it easy for him to carry out quick “hit-and-run” heists on his own.

That is, until his seventeenth birthday when he was assigned a partner to help him start hitting the larger-hauling busts: jewelry stores.

His partner, “Big John” made up for his lack of mobility with a lack of conscience. If trouble ever did catch up to them before they escaped the scene, it would be met with unflinching “justice.” To him, he was doing the right thing whenever he’d fire two shots to put down any obstacle that would come between him feeding his family or living in a cell. That’s what the entire operation encapsulated; taking back money from the businesses that bought out the families that originally lived there to make room for boutique stores and high-end fashion venues. 

The gentrification of their town began back when his father was a young man. He tried to fight back legally. He sued the corporations that began the hostile takeover of their leased properties and rented apartment complexes. But, he couldn’t hold out for long. The million dollar corporations squashed his court-appeals for years. Eventually, he went broke trying to make a statement that would break through their cold, greedy hearts and expose their humanity. So, he figured, if they wouldn’t play fair, neither would he. 

He rallied a small, underground army of the displaced to carry out hits to take money back from the businesses that put them out on the street. He raised his son on the premise of heroic justice and taking back what was rightfully theirs; taking back what they deserved. That was justice to the young man. So long as he got back what was rightfully his and no one got hurt.

Big John’s justice made his skin crawl. Taking a life in the name of justice was not how he was raised. The only reason he could bear the cruelty was that he figured it likely had saved his life, more than once. Even though the details within the philosophy were widely different, they both wanted revenge on those that have forced them into this life of crime and the pawns of the government system that continues to oppress them.

They built up a reputation over the two years they’d worked together, but the “Masked Bandits” were only ever known as such. They may as well had been spirits; the angry ghosts of those who were forced to starve and move away by the crazed, power hungry devils who made the rules. 

Before being stuck with him, any problem he’d run into, if any, he could escape from with his natural speed and intuition, zig-zagging in and out of alleys, running through parks and woods, leaping over any fences and walls that he knew would be there with an opening or hideaway on it’s other side. He’d spend his off time researching, collecting data on the owners, the officer’s beats and schedules for the upcoming weeks, who would be where and what avenues would they be covering, calculating how much time he would have to complete his missions.

He’d be on his own, sneaking up to the scene after he’d cut the power, slipping in, filling a sack to the brim with cash and valuables, and escaping before the power company itself even realized what was going on.

After so many successful jobs, a “hit and run” like this would have been easy. Until slow moving, fast shooting, Big John started coming along.

Big John was a getaway driver. He’d cut out the power, allowing his partner to slip in and out undetected. That is, until trouble would arrive. With only two shots, he’d remove the threats to their successful mission. His lackadaisical and quick method of work led to less research, less preparation, and less worry. The young robber used to fear for his life, which meant no stone could go unturned before a hit. Removing that threat made him lazy. There was no one faster on the draw than him, until today.

After the hundreds of triumphant escapes with Big John and the blood he spilled, today, a newly enlisted, young officer who grew up taking home the medals from “quick draw” contests in his home state of Arizona, stepped out of the squad car. The instant the moonlight illuminated the shiny badge on the navy uniform, Big John didn’t hesitate. He opened his door and brandished the shine of his own metal life taker, aiming for the young officer’s head. Two shots rang out. Big John went down. The young thief saw his body drop and did what he did best; he ran.

As he heard the flustered shouting of police code behind him, he was once again only one step ahead of the police. One more shot rang out. He narrowly avoided death as he made a sharp turn down the alley behind the store he’d hit. He stretched the gap by cutting down the next street and turning into another alley. Adrenaline rushed through his body as he ran faster than he ever had before. He lept over backyard fences, ran down streets, and made his way through the woods.

 As he rushed into the trees, he heard another shot fire off from behind him, Bang! 

A chunk of bark from the tree next to him flies off and smacks him in the face. His heart sinks into his stomach and pounds even harder. A startled scream sneaks out of his lungs, but he doesn’t have any time to catch his breath. He swallows his fear and keeps running. The swaying light of flashlights discombobulating him as they shined on his face, and in front of his path. In the distance, he hears the snarles and barks of hounds.

Blinded by the swinging light every other second, he stumbles over roots and is smacked by branches. He begins to lose his bearings as his heartbeat pumps louder and faster. He kept sprinting forwards and his heartbeat pounded louder in his ears. His clothes began to rip from snagging on thorn bushes and branches, rendering him more and more unsure of the path he was on. He could hear the stomping rhythm of the yong officer’s run get louder and louder from behind him. 

He looks around through the brush, searching for any identifiable rocks or trees that he was familiar with to reset him on the right path. He spots the tattered, peeling bark of a rotting tree’s limping branch as he runs by. His eyes light up as a smile peels the corners of his lips up. His wheezing and labored breathing begins to turn into a cackle that erupted into uncontrollable laughter. He howled and cursed at the policeman who was hot on his trail. He took a sharp cut to the right and knew that he was in the clear.

He shoved through thick bushes and vines, bending the wilderness to his whim, leaving a trail of destruction behind him like he’s never done before. He could hardly breathe through his erratic, booming laughter.

With a sudden, sharp turn, a shining light appeaars in the distance. He realizes that he’s finally made it to the other side of the woods!

As he gets closer to the wall of bushes that block his path to the light, he puts all of his might into one final lunge. As he pushes through, he hears another shot ring out with a “Bang!” He shouts and bounds through the wall of green into a clearing on the other side.

He emerges from the bushes, flying through the air. He extends his leg to catch himself, but as his foot hits the ground, his leg gives way from underneath him. The breath of laughter that left his lungs was sucked back in as he gasped in horror as he looks up to face a towering brick wall that blocks his path to freedom.

He had miscalculated and took a wrong turn.

“Come on… Keep moving!” He grunts to himself through grit teeth.

Suddenly, a warm, tingling feeling begins to grow in the bottom of his stomach. It expands, seeping into his back and his hips. The back of his leg begins to throb. He figures that his muscles are cramping from the long, full-sprint he’s just endured. He grits his teeth, unsure why he was unable to get back up and push through the pain. 

He grabs hold of his leg and yelps in pain. He looks down to find blood dripping off of his hands wrapped around his leg. He raises his hand into the light and finally realizes the situation he was in: he’d been shot.

Panic douses him in a cold sweat. Every part of his body stops working. He winces and growls as he pleads with his body and with G-d, begging for the strength to get back up. Get back up so he could throw himself over this wall with ease, as he’s done one thousand times before. 

As he hears the running footsteps of the young officer alongside the raging snarls of the police dogs approach closer and closer, he uses both of his hands to lift up his ripped through leg in a final attempt to force himself up. He grabs his leg tightly and begins to move it. The pain is unbearable.

Tears swell in his eyes as he realizes that he’s cornered. He’s unsure of himself for the first time in his entire life. He doesn’t know what to do.

Within this moment of his first experience of defeat, he feels cheated. Hot anger resides in the warmth of the tears that are streaming down his face.

He spits and snarls like a rabid fox trying to bite off his own leg to escape a snare as he pushes down on his leg in a desperate attempt to stand up. The Earth tilts and the ground rises up quickly towards his face. 

Hearing the rustle of the bushes behind him, he throws his shoulders to the sides, jerking his body around to see the face of the man who he thought would be the one to finally bring him in. 

As his limp body flails, his tear filled eyes widen when hit with the gleam off of the rising pistol.

“This isn’t what I deserve.” He chokes and cries out as he falls.

Bang!