I Am Not A Criminal

Moral authority is only recognized by those who share those same morals. By that same reasoning, moral authority can only be taken away by those who feel it right. Standing there, my toes tapping inside my leather shoe, I realized that my own moral authority was gone. Acting as general manager of the Great lakes First Security Bank, I know that I had so many people looking at me to always do the right thing. And here I was, ready to throw it back in their faces. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat.

Over the course of the 20 years I had worked there, I had probably given close to 35 bank security seminars. My moral authority came from the fact that people knew that I was worthy of their trust. Dennis, the man who would never steal so much as a paper-clip. I wonder if it was that complete trust and understanding that ended up giving me the balls to rob the place. The parking lot was empty now. Just having said goodbye to all of the other employees, I was now the only other car in the dark, wet parking lot. Pushing my car door open, I stepped out into the cool air. Dense foliage lined the bank property, obscuring the view from passing cars.

Despite all the security seminars I gave over the years, the minute that I began to plan this out in my mind, I began to realize all of the security problems that we had in actuality! Somebody is going to need to take a look at those soon; maybe I will leave a note on my desk...

For one, I know that there is an hour window between when the last employee goes home and when the night security guard shows up. Emilio de la Fuente, honestly a good guy, but not someone that could be reliable to save his life. He is late every night because he has to stop in and see his "Abuela". I think he mentioned that she suffers from some kind of severe arthritis. Like I said, he's a good guy.

I shuffled across the pavement till I stood in front of the main door. Smoothly retrieving my keys from my pocket, I inserted, twisted, and turned them in one fluid motion. It was like I had done it before or something. I immediately knew that I was past the point of no return. I could make a good argument if someone found me in the bank parking lot after dark. Once I was actually inside, I knew there was no turning back. If someone were to walk in on me now, I would never be able to justify the amount of bank protocol rules I was breaking.

I walked straight to the vault, disabled any security alarms, and pushed the heavy door open. On my right were safety deposit boxes, on my left was all the stacks of unmarked random bills. Unlike those freshly printed bills with matching serial numbers, these were cash deposits from all over town; untraceable and ready to disappear.

Every Friday, we take and process all of the cash for the local restaurants that do business with us. It always kind of shocked me at how much money went through those businesses. I had convinced the accounting intern who was normally in charge of putting the money into the books, that it would be better for us to wait a few weeks. I didn't have any reason for it, but there was that moral authority in action again, believing me, she resigned to find some other duty those weeks.

Between the $300,000 from the local steakhouse, the $250,000 from Sushi Time, and the whopping $690,000 from a chain of local casino pubs, I was in the process of making myself a millionaire. I stacked cash into the bags as efficiently as possible. After spending half your life in the banking industry, you know how to handle cash.

My tennis bag, carry-on, and large suitcase felt like they weighed 1,000 lbs. Pulling them across the slick floor, I left them near the front door. Not wanting to drag them across the parking lot, I realized that I would need to pull the car up closer to the front.

I ran out the front door and glanced at my watch; 20 minutes left. Jogging across the parking lot, I could feel my heart finally beating faster. I couldn't tell if it was from the jogging or if it was from the fact that I was robbing a fucking bank.

Pulling my car up to the front, I popped the trunk. Moving around the car and to the glass door, I pulled on the handle. No movement at all. My heart began to race. I could see the bags three feet from me on the other side of the glass. Why won't the door open?! My heart plummeted when I saw the bank key along with my wallet sitting on the teller counter 20 feet away.

My mind racing, I thought of all the solutions to the dismal and unique situation I found myself in. With the bags and wallets on the inside, I would surely be identified as the thief within the next few minutes. I was counting on the fact that I would have all weekend before someone else stepped foot in the vault. Now my timeframe was reduced to a meager 15 minutes. Thinking fast, I dove back into my car and threw it in drive. I braced my ears because I knew that it was going to be loud. I smashed through the front door, closing my eyes and clenching every muscle in my body.

Between the screeching alarm and the sound of broken glass crunching underfoot, I was suddenly aware that I was no doubt the single loudest thing for 100 miles. Grabbing the bags and my wallet, I tore off back outside, hucking everything into the trunk. Surely the police were already on their way.

As fast as a 2001 Toyota Corolla can speed out of a small parking lot, I merged into the rest of the traffic. There it was, the interstate ramp. If I could just put as much distance between that damn bank and myself, I might be fine.

I was no criminal. I was no criminal. I was no criminal. This was the mantra that circled around in my head over and over. True crimes have victims. This was a victimless crime! The bank had insurance and the restaurants would surely get their money back?

I made it no further than 100 feet onto the interstate when suddenly I felt 2 of my tires blow out almost in unison. I knew that it was most likely the glass that I ran over, probably causing 1000 small micro-cuts in the tires. I slammed on the steering wheel and screamed as loud as I could. I stopped and forced myself to regain composure and think.

What was the name of that law? Whatever can happen will happen? Eddie Murphy's Law? Why would it be named after him? I knew I was done, I was sloppy and now I was paying the price. I pulled to the side of the highway and got out. Looking at my two front tires, I could see steam rising from the wet asphalt caused by the friction from riding on the bare metal rim.

Do I run? Take some of the money and go? Maybe hide? As these thoughts flew around in my brain, a pair of headlights started to slow down as it approached me. I waited for the blue and red lights to flash out into the night. Nothing. Instead, someone stepped out of the vehicle and started towards me.

"Dennis?", The voice questioned. Moving into the light, I saw the face of Emilio de la Fuente. "Hi Emilio, how is your Abuela tonight?"

He smiled at me and chuckled a bit. "Apparently better than you are." Emilio gestured at the car and I laughed nervously. "I saw you pulled over from the other side of the interstate; I just wanted to see if you were alright." He had no idea what was going on. Despite the sirens and the cop lights on the overpass to our left, to him, it looks like I just got a double flat tire!

Smiling at me, he said that he didn't mind if I take his car home for the night. "The walk to work is close enough and I really don't mind." He said. Now gazing toward the direction of the bank, he noticed the flashing blue and red lights. "Hmm, looks like there might be a wreck up ahead, I hope they are ok."

I thanked him and he helped me load the bags of money into his car. He told me to just have the car ready at the bank in the morning when he got off his shift. I grimaced and couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as I was about to leave Emilio stranded here. Giving him a firm handshake, I said goodbye to my respect, moral authority, and trust forever. I slunk back to the car, feeling bad about myself.

Turning over the ignition, I turned the heaters on full blast. As I drove away, I could see Emilio stoop to examine some random unmarked bills that were scattered around the scene I just left.

Gaining speed, I thought about how my crime now had a victim. I had taken advantage of poor Emilio. Unreliable, always late to work, kind beyond measure, I owed him my life. He did not know it, but I owed it to him. I had a sense of guilt like I had never had before. I could feel Emilio riding right beside me, shaking his head and frowning in disdain.

I knew that I was alone; regardless, the victim of my crime was here beside me. He was in the car, in my mind, in the bags. My mantra held no comfort. I was a criminal, a cold-hearted criminal who took advantage of those that trusted him.

I reached into the back seat and pulled $10,000 out of the tennis bag. Shoving it deep under the front seat, I hoped that the police wouldn't find it. Pathetic; paying off my own conscience with money. Not something that Emilio de la Fuente would do. What a good guy.