The Plunderers

Bank robbery and waltzing have a lot in common. Both have defined rhythms, and they’re better with a partner.

After waiting my turn, like an everyday customer, I handed my note and a paper sack to the blonde girl behind the counter while pulling back my sport coat to show her the butt of my pistol.

The note read:

This is a robbery

Remain Calm, so no one gets hurt.

Fill the sack from your drawer.

Have a nice day.

When she scanned my note, her eyes bulged and flicked from side to side. Her frightened blue peepers filled with disbelief as she stared at me to see if this was a prank.

 I smiled like a friend. “Please fill it up.”

With trembling fingers, she stuffed bills into the sack as if she’d win a prize for the fullest bag.

The gorilla behind me noticed something wrong. Maybe the sweat gouging channels through the quivering blonde’s rouge tipped him off. He grunted and grabbed me in a bear hug, pinning my arms.

My Marine training kicked in and. I stomped the arch of his foot with the sharp leather heel of my polished oxfords.

He winced and loosened his grip.

This gave me enough slack to reach behind and twist his balls.

He yipped like an injured puppy and let go, slowly sinking to the floor. The bank patrons turned to stare at the commotion, unsure what was happening.

I reached through the teller’s wicket and yanked the half-filled sack of money from the blonde’s jittery hands.

As my assailant rolled on the floor, grabbing his crotch, one of the suits in the back reached for a phone.

Time to go

I strolled out of the bank before anyone attempted to jump me.

 Outside the bank, I wanted to run, but nothing attracts attention more than a man running from a bank with a bag in his hand.

The alarm clanged, and I turned towards the bank like the other pedestrians, plastering a puzzled look on my face.

 A siren wailed in the distance.

 Sweat beaded my forehead, and I lengthened my strides short of a power walk.

When I reached the corner, white exhaust flowed from the Red Edsel coupe, and its big V8 growled, ready to whisk me to safety.   

I jumped in the passenger seat, and Marge drove away at thirty miles per hour. Two police cruisers screamed past us in the other lane.

Now we’d have to ditch this flashy car in case anyone noticed it fleeing the scene.

                                                   ***

Marge and I have been robbing banks since I got out of the Marines in ‘53. My posting to Korea separated us for three agonizing years, and when I got back to the states,  we promised each other we’d never be apart again.

 Although we talked about it, we never got married. We both felt that a piece of government parchment would not make us love each other any more than we did.

When our cash ran low, we’d find a suitable bank in a small town, make an unauthorized withdrawal, and live comfortably on the proceeds for a few months. As long as we didn’t take too much or go to the well too often, the local cops forgot us, and the FBI had enough problems with organized crime to worry about a small-town bank robbery. We never hit the same town twice.

Our life between jobs was quiet and measured, spending the winter in Florida,  soaking up the sun like other tourists. We danced every Saturday night and fished the local lakes. Marge loved the fall colors, so we spent September in New England before turning south for the winter.

                                                                ****

I don’t remember the name of the town in Minnesota when we ran low on cash. While Marge gassed up the car, I got us a table in the Moosehead Diner.

Over the blue plate special of corned beef and hash, I decided I wanted to go fishing.

“Margie, I’ve been thinking. It would be a shame to be in Northern Minnesota and not go walleye fishing. How about we rent a cabin after this job and go fishing for the weekend?”

Marge placed her napkin on the table and pursed her lips. “Okay, Harry, but all the cabins are probably rented.”

I reached for her hand. “This is the end of the season, and we’ll find a cabin somewhere. Just for the weekend, then we’ll head for Vermont.”

She squeezed my hand and ran her thumb over my knuckles. “We’ll need some bait?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “We’ll stop at a bait shop and pick up some minnows. Or if you’d rather you can watch me fish?”

She removed her cat’s -eye glasses with the fake rhinestones and leaned over the table. “Not on your life, buster. You fish. I fish, and I’ll catch bigger fish. Just you watch me.”.

I finished my coffee, left a ten-dollar bill on the table, and wiped the crumbs off my tie. “I’m going to the little boy’s room and then to work.”

As I walked across the street to the Imperial Bank, Marge parked the car around the corner.

                                                       ***

We took the north road out of town towards Canada and doubled back south on a series of gravel concession roads. Navigation was Marge’s job. When we hit the interstate, we turned east towards New England.

The cops must have figured it out or got lucky. They’d had ten years to learn out our pattern. When we turned onto the interstate, two police cruisers, nose to nose, blocked our path to freedom. Blue and red lights flashed, and cops leaned across the hoods, pointing shotguns at us. Two more cruisers pulled out of a side road and blocked our retreat.

Marge slowed as we approached the roadblock and parked on the shoulder.

A cop with a bull horn yelled. “Get out of the car and lay on the ground.”

Marge turned off the ignition and gripped the wheel with hands at ten and two while staring out the windshield. “Goodbye, Harry.”

I wiped a tear from my eye. “Goodbye, Marge.”

I drew my pistol and shot her through the ear. Blood spattered the windshield and side window.

 As she slumped on the driver’s door. I put the pistol in my mouth and pulled the trigger.

End