My Brother, The Bank Robber

Michael was standing in line at one of NYC’s 9,000 bank branches. He was in his only suit, hugging a folder full of documents to his chest.

Four masked men burst into the bank. They pointed their pistols in every direction. One of them smashed the security guard’s face and shoved him to the ground.

“Everybody on the floor. Now.”

Michael recognized the voice. It was his brother, Rory. Typical.

Michael slowly lowered himself to the ground, holding the stanchion for support. A knee injury from high school made it hard for him to bend.

One of the men ran from person to person, a gun in one hand and a trash can in the other.

“Give me your phone. I don’t want to hurt you,” he shouted, getting closer and closer to Michael, “but if I need to, I will.”

Then the gun was in Michael’s face. He dropped his phone into the trashcan. The man moved to the next person in line.

“We’re robbing the bank’s money,” shouted Rory, “not yours.”

Michael didn’t know Rory was even still in the city. They hadn’t spoken in 3 years, maybe 4.

“Alright everybody. Here’s how this is gonna go. You’re gonna crawl over to my voice right now. Don’t look up. Don’t reach for anything. When you get here, I’m gonna drop a zip tie on the floor and you’re going to put it on. If you can’t tighten it with your teeth, have someone else do it for you. Is that understood?”

No one replied, of course, but he counted off anyway.

“3… 2… 1…”

The shuffling commenced.

Michel did his best to crawl but each time he lifted his left leg, a piercing pain shot through his right one and up into his hip. He used his arms to drag himself, hearing zip ties clicking on the other side of the room.

After a moment, without having moved very far, he felt cold metal press against his neck.

“Are you trying to be funny?” Rory asked.

Michael went to look up, but Rory pushed the gun deep into his neck, holding him down.

“I said don’t. look. up.”

Michael spoke into the floor, “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Well go faster.”

When Michael finally made it, a zip tie dropped onto the ground in front of him. He leaned against the wall to put it on, tightening it with his teeth. There were about 20 people kneeling there, including a few tellers and the bank manager. The security guard was kneeling and zip-tied too, blood dripping from his nose onto his white uniform.

Two of the robbers walked up to the bank manager. One stuck a gun in her mouth and said, “it’s your time to shine. Get us into the vault.” They picked her up by her collar and led her to the back of the bank.

Rory paced from one fake plant to another, constantly looking between the hostages and the windows. Every few seconds, he’d check his watch.

“Just stay quiet,” Rory said, pointing his gun around, before checking his watch again, “this will all be over soon.”

Michael stared into Rory’s eyes, trying to get his attention, wondering if Rory would even recognize him.

For both Michael and Rory, the seconds felt like hours.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Michael said.

“Piss on yourself, old man,” Rory replied, looking from the window to his watch.

“We’re only two years apart,” mumbled Michael, “If I’m an old man, you are too.”

Rory stopped. He looked up from his watch. And then he staggered over to Michael, lifting his chin up with the tip of the pistol.

Rory said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He lifted Michael up by the collar and shoved him over to one of the cubicles they use to decide who gets a home and who doesn’t.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rory asked.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Michael replied, “I’m here to get a loan, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“You look good,” Rory’s voice cracked. But only for a millisecond. Then he hardened up again, “this isn’t about you, Mikey. Just shut up and do what you’re told.”

“You haven’t changed one bit,” said Michael, shaking his head, “I always tried to help you and look what that did.”

“Whatever. You don’t get it.”

“I get it completely. We all have problems. Yet I’m here doing it the right way. Why can’t you do it the right way?”

“Fuck the right way. Doing landscaping 7 days a week for years.”

“I’m sorry landscaping isn’t as glamorous as robbing a fucking bank, Rory.”

One of the other robbers called out, “J, where’d you go? you good?”

Rory, grabbed Michael by the collar and pulled him back into the lobby.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just getting some information.”

“Is he giving you problems?”

“No. No problems. I just needed to talk to him.”

“He trying to be a hero?”

Michael groaned as Rory shoved him to the ground.

“Don’t worry,” Rory said, checking his watch again, “we’re doing alright.”

Michael felt the eyes of the other customers and the bank workers digging into his side.

The last time Michael and Rory saw each other ended in a fist fight. Were Michael’s hands not zip-tied together, this time would’ve ended in a fist fight too.

Michael was there for hoping for a small business loan. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say a hundred times. He tried to do visualizations of the best case scenarios— where everything went perfectly and he got the loan— and the worst case scenarios — where he spilled coffee on his suit jacket right before walking in and then flubbed all his words. His brother rushing in with a team of robbers never came up in the possible list of scenarios.

BANG.

There was a gunshot in the back of the bank.

The other robber pointed at Rory, “You stay here with them. I’m going to go see what the fuck is going on.”

Rory’s hands were shaking. He wasn’t looking at his watch anymore— just the hostages and the window. People on the street were looking inside, realizing what was happening. It was only a matter of time before the cops showed up.

Michael noticed the customer next to him with grab the bottom of one of the stanchions. He slowly unscrewed it from the base and then detached the clips.

BANG.

Another gunshot came from the back of the bank.

Rory was pacing ferociously. The customer sitting beside Michael slid the stanchion onto the ground next to him.

Michael tried to make eye contact with him, widening his eyes as much as he could, begging him to not try anything.

Police sirens stabbed Rory in the neck.

“No. No. No,” he muttered, still pacing. His cheek was pressed up against the glass, trying to see down the street for the blue and red lights. Any moment.

The customer next to Michael gripped the stanchion and lunged for Rory.

In a moment of panic, Michael yelped.

Michael’s yell gave Rory just enough time to turn around and get his hands up. The man swung the stanchion but before he could make contact with Rory’s skull, BANG.

The man crumbled to the ground. A pool of blood formed around him.

Michael’s lungs collapsed and he felt his hands get cold. The other customers started to panic— some got quiet, some burst into tears, all scrunched their shoulders in and looked at the floor.

Rory kept blinking, in shock maybe.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Rory said, “Where the hell is everyone?”

Two cop cars screeched to a halt in front of the bank.

One of the masked men who had been in the back limped into the lobby. He was struggling with a full duffel bag. Rory went to grab his arm to assist him.

Two more cop cars arrived.

“There’s no way we get out of this,” said Rory, “we’re dead.”

The robber dropped the duffel bag to the ground. “You hold the money. I’ll get us out of this.”

Rory picked up the duffel bag and pulled the shoulder strap over his head.

“How?” he said.

The robber pointed at Michael, “Stand up, ‘information’ boy.”

“Wait what?” Rory said.

“Get the fuck up,” he shouted at Michael, grabbing Michael’s arm and hefting him to his feet.

He pressed his pistol into Michael’s temple and pulled him close to his body, trying to cover as much of himself as he could.

A SWAT van arrived and 6 cops in body armor shuffled out of it, moving closer to the bank door.

The police megaphone filled the bank’s lobby, “Put the guns down. We have the building surrounded.”

“Let us go. Or I kill him,” shouted the robber, squeezing Michael’s neck and pressing the gun even harder against the side of his head.

Michael’s eyes were squeezed shut as if that would protect him.

“Put the guns down,” the police megaphone screeched again.

The man inched forward, pushing his hip into Michael’s back to direct them.

When he tried to twist Michael towards the door, Michael’s knee clicked. He instinctively hunched over, trying to grab it but the robber lifted him back up by his neck, holding him in a headlock. Michael was crying out— in pain and in terror.

BANG.

Michael fell to the floor. He gripped his knee, writhing in pain.

The robber that had been holding him gasped. Then he reached for his chest. His breathing was heavy and labored.

and then gone.

Michael looked up and saw Rory pointing his gun at the robber. Michael could tell, even through the mask, that Rory was pale and his eyes were defocused.

The police rushed in and shoved Rory to the ground. They flipped Rory onto his stomach and cuffed him. A few cops pushed further into the bank, checking whether there were any others.

Rory started to cry, spitting onto the floor.

“I’m sorry Mikey. I’m so sorry.”