Old Man John

WEE-WOO, WEE-WOO, WEE-WOO.

Police sirens blared outside of the bank. An old man, along with his many cronies, stood outside the baroque building. The doors were locked, disallowing anybody from entering. These men were responding to a few civilian calls about a bank robbery.

"Come out now with your hands up!", stuttered the old man through the megaphone. He wore a faded blue uniform that day, and little did he know this would be his last day on the job. One of his young subordinates, Officer Bryan Ryan, strolled up behind him.

"Let me handle this John, you go rest your voice," said Bryan to the old man.

The old man responded with a stutter, "Bryan, I appreciate it, I'm getting too old for this job." The old man, Sergeant John, hands over the old megaphone, with chipping blue and white paint. He slowly trods away and coughs.

Three crusty men, maybe in their 40s, frantically ran around the bank. Terrified civilians cowered on the ground, as the bank employees spoke from behind the plexiglass barrier.

"Let us in lady, don't try to be a hero! The bank literally tells you to give your money when you're robbed! Just do it!", stammers a bank robber. On that day he wore all black clothing, including a ski mask over his face. Through the black wool mask, one could see his eyes, red and irritated as if he had been rubbing his eyes vigorously. He held a short, snub-nose revolver, pointed through an opening in the plexiglass.

The nervous employee was speechless at the sight of the armed robber. She did not speak, or even move a muscle.

"We'll start taking hostages, lady, then things won't be so fun, will they?" croaked another bank robber. The employee began to tear up.

"FINE!" so blurted out, with defiance. She grew light-headed as she stumbled to the door. It was a large iron door, well maintained. Her sweaty fingers delicately mash the keypad. She puts in the code, and the door gently unlocks. She uses her clammy palms to push open the door and invites the burglars inside. The red-eyed robber walks in and heads to the back door.

"Bring out your manager," squeaks the armed man. The lady stumbles over to the back room. Soon, she comes back with an old Japanese man.

"You won't get away with this," muttered the manager, "follow me, I'll show you the money." Red-eyes follows the manager through the bank. They trod on the grey corporate carpet. Red-eyes stand tall over the manager, with a slender stature. They disappear into the back room, which contains all the money. The stumbling employee sneakily walks to the back door, and nonchalantly unlocks the back door.

Red-eyes begins to shove wads of cash into his large burlap sack. Green simmered in his wet eyes, and his mouth watered from behind the mask. Little strands of wool got into his mouth, but he easily ignored it. Red-eyes shouted something along the lines of, "Ay, Pig, why don't you get over here! There's too much money for my sack!"

At Red-eye's request, another masked robber walked past the iron barricade. He was more overweight than his slim buddy, and he wore a plastic pig mask to conceal his face. Pig walked past the employee. He gave her a disgusting glance. She stared back at his gluttonous body. He walked past the unlocked back door.

BAM! Suddenly the back door swung open and a police officer barged through. The swinging door forcefully bashed the back of Pig's head. Pig collapsed to the ground with an enormous thud.

"Yo, Pig? What's happening over there?", shouted Red-eyes from the safe room. The police officers careened over Pig's comatose body. There were three officers, armed with tasers and pistols. Two of them split off to handle hostage negotiations, while Bryan Ryan headed towards the safe room.

Bryan had his gun drawn, using both hands to properly handle it. Anxiously, he creaks open the door of the safe room.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Red-eyes fired three shots at Bryan; however, like the fool he was, all three rounds landed in the reinforced, steel, safe door.

"Put your hands up and walk out of the room, or I'll be forced to shoot!" pleaded Bryan. Red-eyes refused to comply, as he trained his revolver at the doorway, waiting for any movement. The old manager sneaked over and lifted the burlap sack off the ground. It was heavy, filled with copious amounts of money. He bravely swung it at Red-eyes. Red-eyes heard and turned around when he saw the large bag flying at his face.

WAM! Red-eyes his hit square in the face with the money bag. His nose is broken and he falls over. Bryan charges in and quickly apprehends the robber. Although Red-eyes is mostly unconscious, Bryan reads him the Miranda rights, as he places silver cuffs over Red-eyes' boney wrists.

In the bank's lobby, another bank robber held an innocent man to his chest. He forced a revolver to his head. The innocent man attempted not to cry out in fear, and quietly prayed for a savior. Large marble pillars supported the bank's structure.

"Surrender or I'll shoot the hosta-", is all the bank robber managed to say before ZAP! Four wires latched onto the robber's back, as electricity was channeled into him. A beam of sunlight shone from an open bank window. It had been forcefully jammed open, but it was quiet nonetheless. From the window, the sunlight is blocked by a shadowy figure. Old man John reveals himself, holding a taser gun in each hand. He stands triumphantly. The bank robber is passed out on the floor, as he could not handle that much electromagnetic energy in his body.

"The day was saved," says a young man driving a car, "sadly, on the way back to the precinct, John had a heart attack. They managed to get him to a hospital, but he still passed." Next to the young man is a beautiful lady, his wife. His hands are placed on a black, matte steering wheel.

"That was a nice story, honey, but what happened to Officer Bryan?" says the young lady with a soft voice.

"He's retired now, we might even pay him a visit," says the young man, "I'm sure he has so many more stories to tell, that he never told me."

The wife speaks up, "that would be nice, police training's rough, it would be nice to get some proper advice from a fellow cop, especially one as qualified as Bryan. I didn't know he lived in Chicago though."

"No, he lived in Detroit, only moved once he retired," says the young man.

"Ohhhh," replies his wife. The car drives for more seconds on the speeding interstate. "Pull up here, I'm hungry," says the wife.

"Sure, I could go for a burger," replies the man.

"I was thinking for some soup and a coffee," responds the wife, "but they have a ton of restaurants, we can just pick up from different places."

The metallic, black SUV pulls out at an exit. There is a large sign sporting the logos of popular fast-food chains.