Monday, 11:14 PM.
“It will be easy money!” Collie says in a stage whisper-like tone, trying to get the point across. Emphasized, yet subtle.
“I know— I know, give me a goddamn second to think.” Trip asserts, in an effort to subside the insistence.
“Listen man, it’s worth the risk. I mean, it’s already all set up.”
“Then why won’t you lay off me!” Trip demands. The conversations and mumbling voices clear from the slowing subway car. As the train lurched at arrival, it was now void of enough sound that even a drop of sweat from Collie’s cheek could be heard as it tapped the cold rubber floor.
“We still need more men. People who are actually capable.” Collie replies, now reserved, attempting to mask his clear discomfort. The stranger’s eyes now extinguish his feverish presence. “Text me when you can grasp this opportunity.”
“Doesn’t sound all set up now does it? Text ME when it’s not a death sentence,” Trip remarks, stepping out the sliding doors and into the flickering lights of the poorly maintained station.
Wednesday, 4:37 AM.
A short ding emits from Trip’s phone, barely staying on the nightstand as the phone vibrates and the charger tries to pull it down to the hardwood floor. A second ding now peaks his attention. Trip shifts over from his side and picks up the glowing screen. He squints and tries to make an attempt to focus on the blinding words. He looks through the small notifications, just scanning for anything of importance. A few headlines from his new’s app, “Abducted child has been found,” “Another attack in central park leaves law enforcement in shock,” and a text message reading, “We have everything, just waiting on you.” Trip releases an abrupt breath of hot air. A second message from Collie comes through just as he finishes reading the first. “Like I said before, it’s easy money.”
Wednesday, 6:12 AM.
Trip sits on his reclining chair, staring at his phone as the local station plays tragic stories one after another. The toast on his coffee table now cold and soggy. The cup of coffee releases no steam, and Trip’s eyes unwavering from the screen. His face still, appearing numb — stoic. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Trip tells himself, leaning forward and grabbing the device. His fingers typing as fast as he can in an attempt to keep him from having any second thoughts, “Where do I meet you?”
Wednesday, 1:57 PM.
“Thought you’d never show, Pup,” says Trip, greeting Collie as he sits beside him on a bench looking out at the Jacqueline Reservoir.
“I’m called Collie because I follow commands, not because I piss on a training pad.” defends Collie.
“So you’re admitting you do piss on a training pad?” Trip snaps back with a smile on his face.
“Screw you man,” Collie says, now with a smirk growing up his face. As quickly as it crept, it recedes back to a serious demeanor. “You got the brief right?”
“Yeah I got it,” Trip mumbles, the smile slipping away and his lips begin to purse. “Yep… I got it.”
“Well, what do you say?”
Sunday, 10:04 PM.
“You’ve all been selected for your skills, your grit, and most importantly, your greed. Your lust for riches is what’s going to get this job done.” Collie announces, speaking in the center of the warehouse towards the others. “Each of you plays an important role in this job, and each of you could mess the whole thing up, so don’t be stupid and let your greed get this done with all of us in one piece.” He then looks over to the person farthest to his right and begins going around the semicircle, introducing each of them, “Lock, our driver. Morocco, our eyes in the sky. Martial and Trip, our gunmen. And me, the one who’s gonna keep this damn motley group still functioning.”
2 Weeks Later. Monday, 12:06 PM.
“Shoot him dammit!” Collie yells out, looking at Trip, “NOW!” Trip fires a single round. A bullet leaves the chamber of his Glock 43X, slipping past the molecules of nitrogen, oxygen, and argon. It cuts through the air as it collides with the officer. A permanent moment of fear now dawns the tall dark-skinned guard’s face.
Martial stands back up from the bank’s counter, “good shot Trip! But let’s keep moving!”
“Got it!” Trip replies, with Martial and Collie close behind him, continuing their way to the vault. Martial keeps a steady hand as he holds his handgun to the back of the teller’s skull, making him well aware that he needs to cooperate. The crew frantically make their way through the bank, recalling the schematic they had studied in preparation. Long hallways, left turns, and swift feet get the lot to the vault’s door.
“Put the code in!” Martial threatens, yelling in the teller’s left ear as his hands tremble to type on the keypad. He pushes down each button with a second between each press, small stars show in place of the typed characters and a red light flicks to green. A latch unlocks and the door ever so slightly swings open when Trip pushes it open. The door moves slowly as Trip’s gun scans the dark interior.
“Looks clear,” Trip mumbles, “Wait— where’s the cash?”
“What?” Martial says, pushing past Trip and slamming the vault’s door against the empty shelves. Collie now slips his head around, pearing in. In a split second Collie shoves the gunman Trip and Martial into the dark and barren Vault. Collie swings his body around and grabs the vault door, closing it behind the men, where the two of them now stand in darkness, completely still.
Monday, 12:12 PM.
Over the radio, Collie reaches out to Lock, “Go down east Ave, we have it all.”
“On my way boss,” replies Lock, the slight sound of him shifting gears is heard over the device before he turns it off. Collie then shoots the Teller in the chest and he drops cold.
Martial and Trip frantically begin trying their radios, but no signals go through. The vault remains completely separated from the outside world. Collie then pulls his phone from his pocket, then clicks on Morocco’s contact, calling him. The ringing stops as Morocco picks up the phone and waits for Collie’s voice to be heard.
“Lock’s driving toward the blockade and I have the Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum taken care of. How is team 2 doing?” Collie informs, with confidence and a remorseless tone.
“Team 2 is right on schedule, they already have the truck out of the square, slip out the planned route and Blink is there waiting on you.” Morocco responds, before hanging up the phone.
Monday, 12:17 PM.
Collie pushes the vent cover clear, and looks around the alleyway. A small beige sedan sits parked directly in front of the vent. Collie climbs quickly out and slips into the back seat. Blink then turns the key and the two speed out from the alley, Collie sat low in his seat loading his gun.
Lock turns the corner and the blockade of armored trucks and other police cars greet him. Spike strips are thrown from behind a HVAC unit and pops all but one of the tires on Lock’s car.
Martial begins to kick the inside of the vault, not in an attempt to escape, but in outrage and frustration.
Morocco’s fingers type away as he sends an autonomous tip to the police on where Martial and Trip were located.
Monday, 12:19 PM.
Lock’s hands are pressed behind his back and cuffs are clicked into place around his wrists. The officers press his face to the pavement and pin down his legs.
Monday, 12:36 PM.
The vault door is slowly pushed open and flashlights and lasers pry their way in. “Don’t move!” yells one of the officers, as he points the gun around the room. Martial and Trip both sit with their legs criss crossed and their hands behind their head. Both of them accepted they had been cornered.
Monday, 12:49 PM.
Collies lips press against the round lip on an opened beer, smiling inside of the passenger seat of an armored transport truck. With bags of cash and gold filling the back. The rest of his crew tucked away behind boxes and lumpy duffle bags. Faces filled with relief and the precious feeling of having their plan work.