Exhibits

Friday, August 5, 2021, 12:22 pm. 

Evidence. Exhibit A. Eyewitness #1.

Format: Audio Recording.

My name is Tommy “The Hammer” McGee. You might have heard of me. I won the Golden Gloves in 2001 and 2002. I still box a little, but nowadays, I’m an interpreter. I can speak like nine languages. Ma said that getting hit in the head over and over would turn me into a moron, but maybe it whacked something into place—Tafahma?

So, the reason I was at the bank this morning was to deposit my paycheck. I had a med-interp gig down at Baptist. Contract pay. The matriarch of a French family fell and broke her hip. They were on vacation. Baptist called in the Hammer to translate—Apportez-moi de la morphine? 

So, I’m in line at the bank and this short, round dude, dressed in a black unitard that covered even his face, walks in, holds up a gun, and says “This is a robbery!” Man, and he sounded just like Ringo from Pulp Fiction, I mean down to the inflection, tone, and sound. He had that line dialed in. Non potevo crederci!

Then, a thin, tall dude, dressed in the same kind of unitard, ran straight up to the teller and handed her what looked like a bowling ball bag. I couldn’t hear what they were saying because, see, I was at the back of the line. Then, Shorty said, “Everybody down on the ground!” Everyone in the bank scurried, realized they had nowhere to go, and then dropped like all of the apples on an apple tree falling to the ground at the same time. Я не хочу, чтобы меня подстрелили.

Except this one gal. When everyone dropped to the ground, she ran straight at the Thin Man, like she was going to rip him to pieces. The Thin Man shot her, right in the chest. Then, the teller left her station, ran straight over to the woman who got shot, and cradled her dying body in her hands. The Thin Man jumped over the counter and started filling up the bag with money. 当你可以的时候，你必须得到你能得到的.

I keep a Rossi in my right boot. While Shorty was bobbing back and forth on the balls of his feet, I pulled out my Rossiand cocked it. I said, “Psst” to the man with the mustache on the ground next to me and showed him my piece. He shook his head and whispered, “No.” I guess I can’t keep a secret to save my life. Esa es la forma en que soy.

I took aim at Shorty’s head. I pulled the trigger, but I forgot to unlock the safety. I realized my mistake and unlocked my Rossi. By the time I could take aim again, Shorty and the Thin Man bolted toward the door. Qual é a pressa, cara?

I got a shot off. I think I hit Shorty’s left calf, but I don’t know. They were just just trying to escape. Aren’t we all? What I do know though, I next time I’m in a situation like this, I really need to make sure the safety is off, rather than being all schau mich an!

Friday, August 5, 2021, 1:24 pm. 

Evidence. Exhibit B. Eyewitness #2.

Format: Audio Recording.

Good afternoon. My name is Gerald Winslow. You may call me Gerry, if you’d like. I was a First Bank and Trust this morning to withdraw cash from my checking account. I have an ATM card, but I am skeptical of computers. I’d rather interact with a real person than a machine. 

Everything happened so fast. That’s how life is—fast. I used to race cars for a living. I did Formula-1 though, not that NASCAR bullshit. My sponsor dropped me so I had to quit. I couldn’t afford the pit fees or the maintenance costs by myself. They did me wrong, if you ask me. 

And that’s the thing—somebody had to have done those two guys wrong to make them want to rob a bank. I mean, there are easier ways to steal money. Faster ways. You can intercept a wire transfer and send the take halfway around the world before anyone knows what happened. If you ask me, what happened here, this was personal. 

The Short Guy ran into the bank and announced, “This is a stick up,” or something like that. The Thin Guy had a trash bag and ran to the teller on duty, telling her to fill it up. The Short Guy was pointing up at the clock right above the entry way. That clock was their true north, how they were pacing the steal. The police would arrive in 7 minutes. That’s how fast the cops move once they receive the teller alarm. 

When the Short Guy told everyone to get down on the ground, there was a brief moment of commotion. I saw that the clock was plugged into the socket right by my feet. In all that brouhaha, I unplugged the clock. I didn’t realize until after the robbery that they didn’t have any time pieces on them—no wristwatches, no stop watches, no smartwatches, nothing. They were wearing these weird, black onesies. I guess they weren’t just referencing the clock, they relied on it. 

Seconds later, I heard a gun shot. The Tall Guy shot someone, jumped the counter, and then started filling up a trash bag with cash. The teller ran to the woman on the ground. See, I think there was something going on between the Tall Guy, the teller, and the woman who got shot. Maybe he slept with the teller and the the woman who got shot was jealous. Now that I think about it, that’s really stupid. Sorry, I’m thinking out loud here. 

Or, maybe it wasn’t personal, but the Short Guy and Tall Guy just wanted to stick it to First Bank & Trust. Maybe the bank denied them a loan or something and they were getting revenge. 

Whatever the reason was for the robbery, they took way too long. They shouldn’t have shot the lady. That really slowed things down. They probably didn’t notice that I had unplugged the clock. They were way late in getting out of the bank. The cops shot the Short Guy in the knee just as they ran out the door. The Tall Guy dropped his bag of cash and just gave up, fell to the ground, too. I think they would have left sooner if I hadn’t unplugged the clock. That’s why I don’t trust computers. I mean, what if the power goes out? 

Friday, August 5, 2021, 3:05 pm. 

Evidence. Exhibit C. Suspected accomplice. Plea bargain.

Format: Audio Recording.

My next painting will feature two black streaks zooming through a bank lobby. Jesus, Twiggy and Enos moved so fast. Not fast enough, though. They deserved to get caught. A few nights before the job, they asked me if I wanted in. I told them no. Ain’t no one getting away with a bank robbery nowadays. It’s suicide if you ask me. If they don’t shoot you at the scene, you’ll die in prison later.

For the record, my name is Cabot Smith, I used to be a cop. I turned in my badge a decade ago, but I kept the mustache. I wanted to be a painter. I’m better at painting pictures than walking the same beat everyday. No offense, Sarge. I hate walking. I just want to sit all day. I never paint standing up. 

We met at Laruso’s pub last Wednesday. Enos had a beef with Alice. Alice was the teller. She dumped him for Lorraine. Bi-sexual thing, I guess. Lorraine suspected Enos of being a crook. He was doing all kinds of gangster, loan shark shit behind her back. He probably couldn’t explain to Lorraine how he got all his money. Lorraine told Alice. Lorraine and Alice started spending time together while Enos was out at night breaking legs. And then, the next thing you know, Alice is with Lorraine. It was Twiggy’s idea to rob the bank. Banks are insured, but the teller who gets the stick up usually quits if they ain’t fired. There’s too much baggage when you get a gun stuck in your face like that. Shell shock. Or, what do they call it now? Post traumatic stress disorder. Twiggy and Enos were planning on earning a nice payday while sticking it to Alice at the same time—a good comeuppance, if you ask me. They needed a driver, so they asked me to do it. I said no. 

The reason I was at the bank this morning wasn’t to “aid and abet” as you say, but to watch this whole thing go down. If you ask me, a live robbery is the best show in town. Shit, I don’t even have an account at First Bank. I was just there for the fireworks.

So, Twiggy and Enos walk in to the bank dressed in black unitards. They didn’t say anything about unitards so I’m glad I didn’t sign up for this gig. They looked like real doofuses. Anyway, if you knew Twiggy and Enos, you’d know that they always hangout together. They almost didn’t even need disguises because it was obvious from Twiggy’s roundness and Enos’s tallness that the masked, unitard bandits could be no one other than Twiggy and Enos. 

Twiggy pulled a gun and Enos got to work. That’s how come Lorraine freaked out. She knew it was Enos right from the moment they walked in the door. Lorraine ran at Enos. Enos shot her. You could argue it was self defense, but then again he was robbing a bank. He’s facing felony murder, regardless.

They told us all to hit the ground. And so, when I was on the ground, this huge beefy dude next to me flashes his gun at me. I whisper, “Are you kiddin’? Don’t use that. They’ll shoot you.” Dumb ass forgot to take the safety off so he was just frittering away there on the ground trying to figure out how to use a pistol. Moron. 

One thing I can’t figure out though is why the clock stopped working. I mean, one minute it was rolling along and then it wasn’t. Someone could have unplugged it, but why would they do that? If you’re looking for a real accomplice here, you should find out who unplugged the wall clock. Take prints. I’m telling you, that’s who you need to be askin’ for a plea deal. Not me. 

Twiggy and Enos grabbed as much cash as they could and ran for the door. Dumb ass with the pistol got a shot off but it just lodged in the wall. Didn’t hit jack. When I peaked out the window, Twiggy and Enos were on the ground. Twiggy’s leg was bleeding, but not too bad. Twiggy and Enos had this pact that if they even got caught by the police they would shoot each other in the leg. That way, they’d have to ride in an ambulance rather than a squad car. I think Twiggy must have missed.