480Chapter Two
Koby dropped the sisters off at the bank entrance and then drove through the bank parking lot and onto a side street. He watched the dashboard clock. He had to be back at the bank in less than four minutes. Couldn't let Gigi and Jasmine down. Couldn't screw this up. Gigi would have his hide if he did.
Sweat formed on his brow and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Two and a half minutes later he turned the van around and headed back to the bank. Time to get in place. He had to be ready for the sisters when they came bursting out the door.
He backed the van into the slot closest to the bank's entrance and kept the engine running. He held tight to the steering wheel. More sweat. He wiped it away with a forearm and glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing. Glanced in the driver's side mirror. Nothing.
Then the passenger's door opened and Koby nearly jumped out of his skin. "Hey," he snarled at the stranger climbing into the van. "What the hell? Who are you?"
Joe settled in the passenger's seat and pointed his gun at Koby. "Hey," Joe said. He'd left the passenger's door ajar.
This ain't good, Koby thought. "What the hell, man! Get outta my van."
Joe jutted his chin at the keys in the ignition. "Turn the engine off. Now." It was an order and Joe kept his gun trained on Koby's chest. Koby might decide to do something stupid, something more stupid than aiding and abetting two armed robbers.
Koby was confused, couldn't think, too much adrenaline surging through his veins. "No. I said get the hell outta my van." Koby couldn't believe he was being so brave, staring down a guy with a gun. If only Jasmine could see him now.
Joe reached over, switched the keys to off, and yanked them out of the ignition. Koby seized the opportunity, shoved his door open, and tumbled out of the van. Fell hard on the pavement and scraped a knee. He took a quick glance at the bank entrance, gave a sad grimace, and bolted.
So much for being brave. Gigi and Jasmine were on their own.
Joe kicked the passenger's door open, jumped out, and hit the pavement running. Koby darted through the parking lot and in between parked cars, zigzagging like a rabbit being chased by a hawk.
"Police," Joe shouted as he ran. "Freeze!"
Like hell, Koby thought and kept right on running. Last thing he needed was to be arrested. He worked his way to a side street and ran down the sidewalk, legs and arms pumping for all they were worth. Damn, he hadn't run in ages. Hadn't ever really ran in his life. He was five-foot-ten and wiry, had never exercised in his life, except in gym class and even then he'd done as little as possible. Now, he wished he'd done a little more. He felt the burn in his lungs and the desperate, all consuming need for oxygen. The excretion was killing him. He hoped the guy behind him was feeling it, too.
No, the guy behind him was not. Seven years in the Army as an MP had honed Joe's body to peak physical condition. He'd gotten out of the Army three years ago and if someone asked him, he would say he missed the job – the chase, the action, the excitement. Running was nothing to him. He'd done a helluva lot of running in the Army. Every day in the Army started with running. Hell, a lot of the days ended with running.
Koby slowed. Couldn't go on much longer. Could barely breathe as it was. He was gasping like an asthmatic. A fenced front yard came into view. It was a low fence, knee high. Maybe he could jump over it, cut around the house, and to the back. Maybe find an alley to duck into. Yeah, that's what he'd do. Leap over the fence.
He leaped, a pathetic effort. He'd get no points for grace and poise. His body was weak and tired from the run. An ankle caught on the fence rail and he pitched forward, rolled on the grass, and scrambled to his feet.
Joe came up behind him, grabbed his right arm, rolled it backward, and applied pressure.
Kobe yelped. "Owww! Let go, man! You're gonna break my arm."
"Not if you do what I say," Joe informed him as he grabbed Koby's left arm. "I'm a deputized police officer."
Joe applied more pressure to the right arm forcing Koby to bend at the waist. Koby would do anything to relief that horrid pressure. His arm was surely going to break.
"On your knees," Joe growled. "You are under arrest for aiding and abetting a bank robbery."
Oh hell, Koby thought and then - deputized police officer or not - Koby was going to fight. A little. Couldn't just give up entirely. What would Jasmine think of him if she heard? Koby tried to jerk away from his attacker. Bad idea. Pain shot up his arm and stole his breath.
Joe kicked Koby's right ankle out from under him and Koby landed face down on the nice grassy lawn with a heavy thud, the air knocked clean out of him. His hands were yanked together behind his back and he felt the cold steel of handcuffs circle his wrists. Aw, hell, this was definitely not good.
# # # #
The bank was a mess. Blood, bone, and torn fabric from the ski masks lay around the two dead woman. The previous hostage had stopped screaming and was still standing, shaking though. Stunned. Looking for all the world like she was standing in the middle of the apocalypse. In a way, she was.
Frank saw the woman's eyes roll back in her head and reached out and grabbed her in his arms before she crashed to the ground. Gently, he lowered her to the marble floor and scanned the bank. Three tellers were poking their heads above the counters and five customers were huddled along the far wall. Everyone appeared stunned, shocked, and amazed. Probably thanking their lucky stars they were still alive. They'd made it through hell and lived to tell about it. A great story for the grandkids one day.
No police had arrived yet, so Frank took charge. His adrenaline was pumping, still on overdrive. "You and you," he said, pointing to two middle aged women kneeling at the wall. "Come and watch over this woman." He indicated the unconscious woman at his feet. "Elevate her legs with a jacket. Make her as comfortable as possible. She may be in shock."
The two women gathered their handbags and pushed off the floor. Frank pulled the unconscious woman closer to the wall and away from the blood and carnage. The two women settled over the unconscious one. One woman took off her jacket and tucked it under the unconscious woman's calves. Both women appeared happy to help, to do something now that the terrible event was over.
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank noted that the sniper, Underhill, had quietly packed up his rifle and was covertly exiting the bank via a side door. No one in the bank had noticed him. No one had known he was here, hiding behind the potted plants. The police chief and mayor had wanted it that way. The sniper and his name were to remain secret. There would be no public acknowledgement of his participation in the takedown of the robbers. This was for the safety and future use of the sniper. Of all snipers. They worked anonymously. It was part of the job description.
Frank turned in a circle and saw the old woman sprawled on the floor on her back near the bank entrance, her walker tipped on its side. He hurried to her and took a knee. "Are you hurt?" he asked kindly.
She nodded, eyes tearing up. In between gasps and little sobs, she said, "My hip hurts. I can't get up. I need help."
Frank laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Help is on the way. I want you to lay perfectly still until the ambulance gets here." Frank lifted his head and peered at the wall. Three customers remained there. Two older men and a woman in a red jacket. "I need someone to help this woman," he called out.
The red jacketed woman raised her hand. "My husband and I can help her." The woman took the arm of one of the men and started walking toward Frank and the downed woman.
Frank stepped away as the red jacketed woman and man kneeled beside the elderly woman. The man removed his lightweight jacket and gave it to his wife. She folded it and tucked it under the older woman's head.
"There now, dear," the red jacketed woman said in a soothing tone. "Help will be here soon."
The lone man, left at the wall, walked up to Frank. "How can I help?" He was around sixty-five, white haired, tall, and athletic. Probably a retiree, Frank thought. Probably never expected to witness an attempted bank robbery and the killing of the robbers. Still, the man, like the others, was holding it together extremely well.
"Water," Frank said, "see if you can get everyone some water."
A young female teller waved a hand and said, "We have paper cups and a water dispenser back here, behind the counter. I'll let him through."
Frank nodded at the young woman as the older gentleman walked toward her. To everyone in the bank, Frank said, "The police are on their way. They'll be here soon."
Frank walked to the entrance and keyed his mic. He spoke with the dispatcher and verified that the police were, indeed, on their way. Only a minute or two out, the dispatcher said, and an ambulance was en route, too.
Frank breathed a sigh of relief. Situation under control. He peered out the glass doors of the bank, searching for those elusive police cars.
# # # #
Two patrol cars wheeled into the bank parking lot - sirens wailing - as Joe guided a handcuffed, sulking Koby toward his van. Joe forced Koby up against the van, kicked Koby's feet shoulder-width apart, and pushed his forehead so that it touched one of the van's windows.
"I advise you not to move from that position." Joe's tone of voice told Koby he meant what he said.
For his part, Koby was subdued. What had started as a promising morning, working for the Nettles sisters and possibly getting in Jasmine's good graces, had turned into a disaster. An unmitigated disaster.
Sweat ran down Koby's forehead and trickled along his brows. He twisted his head, wiping some of the sweat on the window, and peeked at the bank's entrance. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of Jasmine when the cops brought her out. Although, he hated the idea of Jasmine being dragged out of the bank like a common criminal. And then he realized, the sisters would see him. See him handcuffed and leaning against his van. Damn. Would the sisters blame him for this mess? He turned his face back to the van's window. He didn't want to see the sisters, especially not Gigi.
# # # #
The peanut-headed officer – Officer Petrillo – got out of his patrol car and ambled over to Joe, his beer belly leading the way. "I see you got the getaway driver. Good work, Hardy."
"He tried to do a runner," Joe said, "but I caught up with him. Says his name is Koby Brandt."
Petrillo wrinkled his bulbous nose and squinted at Koby. "Brandt. Don't believe I've heard that name before. Not in the arrest records anyway." Petrillo cast a smile at Joe – an insider joke – in a town of 3,800, Petrillo likely knew all the current and recent offenders. He tapped Koby on the shoulder. "Let's have a look at you, son. Show me your face."
Koby turned to Petrillo. Defeat and remorse oozed from every sweaty pore.
Petrillo shook his head. "Nope, haven't seen you before. What you doing driving the getaway car for the Nettles sisters?"
Koby remained silent. Joe had told him his rights as they'd walked back to the bank and Koby intended to stick to the silent part. That seemed the wisest choice at the moment. If he didn't say anything then they had nothing to use against him later. Nobody was getting a thing outta him. Nope. Not a thing.
# # # #
Almost two hours later, Frank got to his hotel room and headed for the bathroom. Had to get the blood, sweat, and stink off. He'd left Joe and Nancy at the police station to deal with the after-action stuff. Frank had no interest in it today. He'd bailed out early by saying he needed a shower, which was true. Everyone seemed to understand.
Frank turned on the hot water, stripped off the guard's uniform and stepped into the shower. He adjusted the shower head and stood there a long while soaking up the heat. He let the spray pound him senseless and beat away the images of the day. He washed his hair twice and his body three times and it still didn't feel like enough.
Thirty minutes later he toweled off, tugged on boxers and a pair of sweatpants, and collapsed on the queen-sized bed. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the world. He lay there, motionless and unthinking, for how long, he didn't know. He was just drifting off when he heard the door to the room open.
"Frank?" It was Nancy. He heard the concern in her voice. She sat on the edge of the bed and he felt her hips rub against his chest. She laid a hand on his bare arm and asked, "Are you okay?"
He pried his eyes open and looked up at her. Worry lines creased her forehead. He pulled her down into an embrace. The fabric of her shirt rubbed against his bare chest and her hair tickled his shoulders. God, it felt good to have her in his arms. For a moment he forgot about the day, the bank, and the two dead women.
She whispered in his ear, "If you want to talk about what happened .."
"No." He swallowed. "Not yet." Now, he just wanted to hold her, to feel her in his arms. Maybe later they would talk. Maybe. He hugged Nancy tighter and breathed in her scent. Smelled her shampoo. Felt the contours of her body against his.
"I love you," she said softly.
He kissed her lips and whispered, "I love you, too."
# # # #
Later that evening, Police Chief Brennan knocked on the door of Gena 'Mama' Nettles' home. He had the unenviable job of telling Mama her daughters were dead. He delivered the news and expressed his condolences, putting as much heartfelt empathy into his voice as possible. The fact the deaths had occurred during the commission of a crime did little to lessen their impact. Brennan gave Mama the news and left quickly. It was clear Mama wanted nothing else from him. She certainly had not wanted this news. His sympathy meant absolutely nothing to her and he knew it.
Mama shut the door and staggered to the dining room table. She was a large woman and collapsed in a chair like a heavy weight. She bowed her head and sobbed. The sobs grew in intensity. Mama was inconsolable. Beyond despair and grief. They'd killed her babies, her beautiful, precious babies. She wailed loud enough to shake the walls. She pounded the table and lashed out at anything within reach. Her anger knew no bounds. It all came pouring out, the hate, the rage, the fire and the spite.
She sobbed her heart out. Sobbed until she had no more tears and then, and only then, did she think of revenge.
She would take out her hate and anger on all of them – the police officers, the police chief, the mayor, the city, the whole damn county. Everyone would pay for what had happened to her babies. Every single person. No one was safe. Better lock your doors and bolt your windows because vengeance was coming in the form of Gena Nettles.
A/N: First, a huge 'thank you' for such an enthusiastic response to the first chapter. As you know, not every chapter will be action packed. Sorry. But there will be more action. Don't worry about that. ;)
Second, this story has been sitting on my computer for 12 or 13 years. Bits and pieces of it are written. I don't know why I never got around to finishing it. However, I do know that by posting it, I'll have the motivation to pull all the pieces together and finish it.
Thank you all again for the reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Take care and stay safe.