The job twisted their stomachs.
The stress shot their adrenal glands.
They were in and out of the bank in less than 5 minutes.
Their car wouldn’t start, and then it did.
the city was barricade.
In 18, they were outside the limits.
“What was our take?”
“We can talk about money when we get to the safe house.”
“Why are we stopping here?”
“I’ve got to bury the car.”
“That’s a shame. I liked this one.”
“You can dig her up in 10 years, if you still want her.”
“Why are you pouring gasoline on the seats?”
There was a new car parked beyond the grove.
“Oh—I like this one, and the color. What is it?”
“A BMW M4 in Isle of Man Green.”
“You have good taste.”
“Thank you. Now, get in the car.”
The public enemies drove through the desert on back roads, kicking up dust like prairie jack-rabbits.
When they got to the farmhouse, the big guy sat in a leather armchair, popping a cold one.
He drank one, and then he drank the other.
“I can’t relieve my stress,” he complained. His hair had fallen out years ago.
The short man went to the bedroom and tried to take a nap, but he kept dreaming about their door getting kicked in.
The rest sat around the poker table playing cards with the exception of the man wearing the sunglasses.
He had long blond hair, so that you couldn’t see his face.
He sensed the tension in the room.
He was different. Most guys commit a crime, but it’s the getting away with it that’s the hard part. They can’t handle the stress—
The man in the sunglasses popped open Sun Tzu. “Every battle is lost or won before it is ever fought.”
“I want to hear what’s on the news,” the big man cried.
He turned on the TV and watched the beautiful busty newscaster in a V-neck dress, trying to sound intelligent.
“The bank robbers were organized, efficient, and stole 2.8 million dollars.”
“That’s all we got!” The big man complained.
“How much is your freedom worth?” Asked the man with the sunglasses.
His question didn’t make sense to the big man.
The TV kept talking…
“The money was in unmarked bills. Police suspect an insider.”
The short man looked worried. His face was delicate and polite, frozen that way after years of being courteous.
He was a teller.
The man with sunglasses suspected that he was a teller in more ways than one—a rat.
“The police are going to be right on top of us!” The Big man shouted.
The poker game stopped.
“Listen… if we just stay put and follow the plan, we’ll all have new lives in three days,” the man with the sunglasses said.
“We want girls.”
“Consider being celibate for at least five years.”
“Hell no! I earned that money!”
“You can’t spend it.”
“Then why did I rob a bank?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you do it?”
“To see if I could get away with it.”
“I’m turning myself in,” the big man said.
“You can’t do that,” the man with the sunglasses suggested.
“We should all go our separate ways,” the men at the poker table said.
“That’s not a good idea…”
“Are you telling us what we can and can’t do?”
The man with the sunglasses was outnumbered.
“Good. Then, we’re out of here.”
They filed-out of the safehouse with their backpacks full of cash.
The man with the sunglasses spent time in thought. He got up and looked into the living room mirror.
“Well… I’ve always wanted to be more handsome,” he said. Then, he made a call.
“Yes, Dr. Frankenstein… I need a new face. Can you make it handsome?… You can? Great. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”