The Heist Read online

  “Go away!” I yelled from under the arm I’d tossed over my face.

  “Okay, girl. You asked for it.”

  “What the son of a bitch hell!” Ice cubes flew everywhere as I jumped up from the sopping wet bed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  My hair clung to my face in wet clumps and my nasty oversized tee shirt was soaked through. Crossing my arms over my braless chest, I glared at my friends. “Why would you do that, Laura? Do you know how freaking cold that water is?”

  “Of course, I do. I filled the bucket. Extra ice, too. I actually sprung for a whole bag of it.” Laura pulled the blanket away from me. “You need to get up. You’ve been hiding out here long enough. We—and Andy—are all very worried about you.”

  “Susie?” Claire stepped forward, her hand extended as if to touch my arm but she thought better of it at the last moment. I wouldn’t have touched me either. “You have been locked up in here long enough, love. It’s high time you entered the land of the living again.”

  Laura emerged from the small en suite bathroom where she had disappeared a moment before with two towels, one she dropped on the bed to soak up the excess water pooling on my flannel sheets and the other she tossed at me.

  “Dry yourself off and get dressed,” she commanded. “We’re going out.”

  “Like hell I am.” I actually stomped my foot to make my point.

  “Look, Susie. Enough is enough already. You have been on this pity trip of yours for way too long.” Laura moved to stand in front of me so that we were eye to eye. “You get in that bathroom and clean yourself up and get some fresh clothes on or I will drag you out of the house just like you are. I don’t care how bad you smell. Now choose your favorite option and haul some ass!”

  “I don’t smell.” I looked from Laura to Becca to Claire. Each one of my friends held a challenge in their eyes.

  “Fine.” I dropped the towel on the floor and stomped my way over to my closet. “But let the record show that I am doing this under extreme duress!” The closet door slammed against the wall leaving a perfect impression of the doorknob in the drywall.

  “Damn it all to hell!” After making a big production of grabbing a pair of jeans and a navy-blue top, I stomped my way to my bureau where I fished out a pair of underwear and a bra. The crash of the bathroom door didn’t disguise the whispers from the other side.

  I made sure that showering and dressing took twice as long as it should have, just to piss them all off. Not bothering to dry my long brown hair, I brushed it slowly and knotted it at the nape of my neck. When there was nothing else I could do to prolong the inevitable, I emerged from the bathroom. It actually felt good to be clean but I had no intention on admitting that to my friends.

  “It’s about time,” Laura, her arms folded across her chest, gave me the once over and a nod of approval.

  “Well, it’s not like you called ahead.” I pushed past my friends and walked out into the hallway. My mother in law passed by carrying a load of clean, folded clothes that flew everywhere as I plowed into her.

  I didn’t even stop to help her pick them up.

  “Susie! You’re actually up! And you don’t stink!” She didn’t bother to hide her surprise.

  “Don’t act so damned shocked. You let them into the house.” I stomped away, only feeling slightly guilty for cussing at Andy’s mother. Slipping on a pair of worn leather flip flops, I stood with my hand on my hip, tapping my foot impatiently. “Come on. Come on! You made me get up. Now let’s get going!”

  “Don’t be such a bitch, Susie.” Laura moved past me to the front door. “And apologize to the old lady. She didn’t deserve that.”

  “You think you’re my mother now?”

  “Would you just shut up already and go get in the car.” Laura stood in the doorway, ushering me out and blocking the way back inside so I had no choice but to move by her.

  The day was gorgeous; crisp, clear and cool with typical bright Virginia sun. It felt really good to be outside but again, I wasn’t about to admit that to the women claiming to be my friends. Up above a Navy jet flew low heading back home to the base, leaving a wake of jet noise behind it.

  “Come on, Susie,” Laura threw an arm across my shoulders and pulled me along with her toward the old Chrysler Sebring convertible parked in the driveway. Her attitude change annoyed the crap out of me. “We are taking you to lunch.”

  Secretly pleased at the idea, I grumbled a response for appearances and let her drag me to the car.

  Conversation during the ride to the restaurant consisted of the normal sort of mom stuff. Kids, errands, coupons, and diets—nothing exciting and all carefully steered away from jobs, bills, and car accidents. My head still hurt some but not nearly as much as it had. My left eyelid had recently developed a twitch and as I rode in the backseat of the Sebring with the convertible top down, it began to twitch uncontrollably until it felt like my entire cheek was twitching. Just as quickly as it had begun, it went away and I started to feel almost like my old self.

  “Here we are!” Becca parked her old Chrysler as carefully as if she were driving a brand-new Lexus. We all waited while she raised the ragtop. The signature smell of our favorite Mexican restaurant had my mouth watering as soon as I stepped from the car. It had been so long since we could afford to go out to eat. Back before Andy and I had kids, we ate at restaurants nearly every day. It had been a hobby, trying a new place and sampling different dishes. Once the boys were born, we went out less and when I lost my job, the novelty of paying someone to cook for all of us flew right out the window.

  Once we were seated, I attacked the basket of hot tortilla chips on the table with a vengeance. Not speaking or making eye contact with any of my friends, I savored each bite of delicious Mexican goodness.

  The girls sat and talked about everyday stuff while I focused on stuffing myself like I hadn’t seen food in weeks. As I swallowed my last bite and looked down at my empty plate, anger suddenly overcame me.

  “Damn it!” I slammed my fist down on the table top. Ice clinked in the glasses. Laura, Claire and Becca stopped talking and turned to stare at me.

  “So, she can still speak!” Becca gave me her famous one eyebrow lift.

  “Whom or what are we damning today?” Claire asked.

  I looked around the table. My friends, my three best friends in the world, sat waiting to hear what epiphany I wanted to share with them.

  “Claire, today we are damning the federal government, auto maker bailouts, corrupt lending practices and stimulus plans. We are damning all the federal bureaucrats that have misspent taxpayer money, stolen from the people and driven our economy so far underground, we may never dig ourselves out. I am so tired of being overqualified for work, under qualified for assistance, and being angry over both. I really want to be able to feed and clothe my boys. I don’t know about you all but I am sick and tired of clipping coupons to make a few dollars go further than they ever should and borrowing from Peter to pay Paul when the mortgage is due. My family shouldn’t have to worry about losing everything because of one car accident. We have to do something to better our situation and the situation of all the other wives and mothers out there. The government has controlled our lives and our finances long enough.” I slammed my fist down on the table for emphasis, once again rattling all four glasses of ice water. A sharp twinge of pain slammed into the side of my brain but I ignored it. Susie Timmons had finally reached her breaking point.

  My friends stared at me. I’d never seen those women speechless. So many things in my world didn’t make sense anymore.

  Finally, Claire spoke. “What do you want to do about it, Susie? Rob a bloody bank?”

  Her tone sounded joking but her eyes were deadly serious. We all looked at each other, one at a time, the words hanging thick and heavy in the air among us.

  “Why the hell not? People do it all the time. They have money. We don’t. Why shouldn't we?”

  A light suddenly flickered in Clai
re’s eyes that I hadn’t seen before. She picked up a spoon off the table and turned it around in her hands, studying her reflection in the tarnished, stainless metal. “It’s not wholly a horrible idea. I read a book once about an American criminal named Willie Sutton. He was one of your country’s more famous bank robbers, I do believe.”

  “I think I’ve heard of him,” Becca said. “I’m pretty sure I saw something on TV once. Isn’t he the guy who would dress up in simple disguises like janitors and such? They said he was a master of deception. And an excellent bank robber back in his day.”

  “His day?” Laura asked.

  “I’m thinking he did his thing in the 1920’s or ‘30’s. The show also said after he was arrested, the FBI used him as a consultant on security for banks.”

  Claire set the spoon down, sat back and looked at all of us. “In the book I read, it said that someone once asked him why he robbed banks.”

  “What did he say?” She had me now. Curiosity was just about to kill this cat.

  “Because that’s where the money is.”

  3

  If Willie Could Do It, Why Couldn't We?

  “Let me get this right, Claire. Are you suggesting that the four of us should actually rob a bank? I mean, I was sort of joking when I said that. I’m not so sure that you are.”

  Claire shrugged her shoulders. “You said we need to fight back. Why shouldn’t we? It's our money—the taxpayers’ money—that the government used to boost the banking system. It would be like our own private stimulus plan.”

  “The four of us? Rob a bank?” Laura lowered her voice as she looked around the empty dining room to make sure even the servers and the bus boys were out of sight.

  “Yes. Why not? People do it all the time and never get caught.” Claire folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat. “It’s just like Mr. Sutton said—the banks have the money. We need the money. It's simple, really."

  “This is crazy! How in the hell are we going to get away with robbing a bank?”

  “Well, Laura, if some guy could do it almost a century ago by all by himself, why can’t the four of us pull it off now?” Becca asked.

  “And if we get caught? What do we do then?” Laura asked, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

  “We just won’t get caught,” Claire said. “How often do you hear about bank robbers actually getting caught? They just write off the losses anyway.”

  “She’s right.” They all turned to look at me. “Andy told me that most of the time they don’t even respond to alarm calls at banks right away. It’s the best way to avoid a hostage situation—show up after the perpetrators are gone. Of course, nobody actually knows that but it’s probably why so many robberies go unsolved.”

  “We can do this.” Becca actually looked excited. “We need to do this.”

  “I think Becca is right. We can do it. We are smart, resourceful women.” The more I considered the idea, the more confident I felt that we could pull it off.

  Laura leaned back against the booth and looked at each of us silently. I could tell her brain worked overtime processing all that had been said. A former insurance risk assessor, Laura never made a decision without considering all the angles. “All right. Let’s do it.”

  Claire gave a tiny nod. “Let’s meet at my house tomorrow to start planning. Can you all be there tomorrow morning at ten?”

  Each of us confirmed our availability then Claire paid the bill and we left the restaurant.

  As a group, we were unusually silent on the ride back to my house, each of us considering what we had just agreed to do. Andy and I were only weeks away from being foreclosed on. I didn’t see how I had any other option. Something had to be done or we would soon be homeless. I could lose my boys. I couldn't imagine raising them in a shelter, or worse, on the streets. There really wasn't any other choice.

  Bidding the ladies goodbye, I stepped from the car and slowly climbed the worn out wooden steps to the front porch of my rundown little ranch style home. Andy’s mom met me at the door as I stood on the porch and watched my girls drive off into the afternoon sun.

  “Well, don’t you just look like the cat that ate the canary?” Mother Timmons never held back when she had something to say.

  “What do you mean?” I tried to act relaxed, even offer her a smile.

  “You’ve got that Cheshire cat grin and you haven't smiled in weeks. You're up to no good. I can tell.” My mother in law looked at me, distrust in her eyes.

  Andy’s mother had always looked at me like that so I just smiled and walked away.

  4

  I Love Lucy

  I stood on the front porch of Claire’s expansive colonial style home with its impeccably manicured lawn and wondered why we were there in the first place. Claire didn’t seem to be short on funds the way the rest of us were. Which made no sense since she'd been the one pushing the whole let's rob a bank thing. I rang the doorbell and the three of us stood listening as the deep chimes echoed through the large two-story home. Becca was unusually quiet. Laura just kept looking around and nodding as we waited for Claire to let us in.

  The heavy wood door opened and our friend greeted us with a small smile. Always poised and elegant, Claire had dressed accordingly in gray slacks, a crisp white blouse and black patent loafers. Her shoulder length brown hair, hung smooth and parted perfectly to the left, settling around her shoulders. I glanced down at my own faded jeans and purple long sleeved top with the sudden urge to run home and change. At least I had bothered to comb my hair this time. Claire ushered us into a foyer that rivaled the size of my living room.

  “Welcome, ladies. I am so glad you all could make it.” Claire greeted us with a smile.

  Everywhere I looked I saw beautiful antiques and foreign treasures, nothing like my own living room. Things I never really noticed before. I wanted to ask her why the hell she felt she needed to rob a bank, but I kept my mouth shut when I caught Laura’s gaze. She had the same thoughts and questions that I did but a warning not to say anything lit her eyes.

  “If you all will follow me, I put out tea and shortcake in the parlor.” Claire was all business as she strode off down the hall, her loafers making little whooshing noises against the walnut-stained wood floors.

  As we stepped into the parlor, a formal room lined with windows dressed in floor length white gauze curtains on two walls, that old phrase step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly, kept running through my head.

  Off to the side sat an old-fashioned tea cart holding an even older looking china tea service. Four dainty cups already steeped with hot tea were waiting alongside a plate piled high with shortcake. Several small dishes contained a variety of toppings for the shortcake such as warm strawberries and confectionary sugar. My stomach growled loudly. Aside from the Mexican meal the day before, my body had been deprived of good food for weeks. We settled down on the neat, plastic covered sofas and Claire passed around cups and saucers to each of us. Placing mine on the end table next to me, I accepted one of the small plates of shortcake Claire handed out next.

  As we ate in silence, I considered each of my friends and tried to picture the four of us actually pulling off a successful heist. Laura’s analytical mind, Claire’s penchant for planning things, and Becca’s near photographic memory would be key assets in making this work. My contribution would be a little bit shadier via my police officer husband. A hint of guilt nagged at me briefly. My friends and I were here to plan a felony, something my husband spent his days investigating. I’d definitely be crossing many lines in my marriage, not to mention all the laws we would be breaking.

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Claire finally said, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I have given the logistics a great deal of thought. We need to choose an older bank, one with minimal security features. There is a Bank of Virginia not far from here. I think they built it in the 1950’s. We will need to examine it further but I am willing to bet that they don’t ha
ve as many high-tech security systems in place.”

  “Gee, Claire, it’s almost like you’ve done this before.”

  Becca and Laura looked at me.

  “What would make you think such a thing?” Claire asked.

  “It does sort of seem like you know what you’re doing,” Becca said without looking at Claire.

  Claire cleared her throat. “If we’re going to be successful, we need to be well planned, don’t you agree? I don’t have children to keep me busy and my husband is deployed so I had some time last night to do a little research on line. I looked up Willie Sutton and downloaded the book about him.”

  “Claire’s right.” Laura cut in. “Do you think Willie Sutton ever pulled off a heist without a plan?”

  “Thank you, Laura dear. In my opinion, it wouldn’t make much sense for the four of us to storm a brand-new credit union and demand all their money. The building would be locked down in seconds! We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Okay. That makes sense.”

  “I did a little research online of my own last night,” Laura said. “The man was a master of disguise. His success came from the genius of his costumes. He made sure no one ever suspected him of being anything other than a patron of the bank he robbed.”

  “So, we need costumes?” I asked.

  “I guess,” Laura replied. “I don’t know if that will work for us the same way it did for Willie though. He robbed banks before security cameras were ever thought of. His disguises blended with his environment—a police officer and a window cleaner for example—but did nothing to protect his identity. It would only take one photo on the six o’clock news to get us all arrested. People know us around here. The cops all know you, Susie.”

  One cop in particular. This was so not a good idea. Andy would be—there were no words for the anger my husband would experience if his wife were arrested for robbing a bank.