Nine Out of Ten

The wailing of sirens pierced through the streets of New View. Squad cars, fire trucks, and ambulances flew down Route 42, leaving a hurricane of trash in their wake. The sidewalk was a clean slate until the downpour of garbage began.
The screaming sirens turned into a distant warble. The call could have been for anything. Some rich, snobby doctor could have wrecked his brand new Ferrari into a minivan full of unsuspecting children. An innocent kid could be hugging a trashcan and pouring out his soul through ten nine-millimeter holes in his chest. A man could be huddled in the back of his store fearing for his life after some thug held up his store.
In New View, the last was the most likely. People try to deny it, but nine times out of ten they will be involved in a criminal act in some shape, way, or form, whether it be looking at the business end of a .45 caliber pistol or looking through the sights.
None of these thoughts reached the mind of a man named Nathan Dellacrow as he drove his car down the street. When Nate met the convoy of emergency vehicles, he didn’t move over to the shoulder or even slow down. He just kept racing down the road toward the outskirts of New View. New View was a ‘one’ kind of town, one gas station, one park, one cemetery, one library, one insurance agency, one church, and even one bank.
Nate’s ears were filled with Hell’s Bells playing on his stereo, the wind coming over the windshield of his convertible played with his long brown hair, and his blue eyes were shaded from the sun by a pair of cheap sunglasses, the kind a person could buy from those highway-side gas stations. His thoughts were concentrated upon something else. In his head, Nate was the one holding the gun. He was the criminal.
He took a left onto a country road. He didn’t drive far before he came upon a ramshackle barn on the left. What might have been a bright, bold red in its heyday, the barn almost looked brown. A starving excuse for a black lab was sitting just outside the barn’s double doors.
“This is the place,” he said to himself with a hint of doubt in his voice. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his white long-sleeved button-down shirt. He reached into the back pocket of his khaki pants and pulled out a piece of paper, with a remotely readable scrawl on it.
“Red barn on the left-hand side of the road. There are several posts around the place. Used to have a barbwire fence. A stray dog has been hanging around. Black lab. Answers to the name of Buck. Usually sits outside the barn in the shade. See ya there at four o’clock. –Mark,” the piece of paper read.
Everything seemed to check out, Nate thought. He looked down at his watch. Five minutes to four. As Nate stopped of his car, Buck stood up from his spot in the shadows and ran to him.
Jesus Christ, he looks like a bag of bones, Nate thought. He reached into the backseat of his car and took out the barbeque sandwich that he had picked up at New View’s Colonial Cabinet, the gas station and convenience store across from the town’s bank. Nate’s appetite had disappeared like all the fat on Buck’s body and only a tiny thread was left. He unwrapped his sandwich from the aluminum foil.
“Here you go, Bucko. Looks like you could use this more than me,” Nate said as he laid the sandwich on the ground. Buck wolfed down the sandwich with two bites. Nate looked at the barn. From the road, it had looked like one stiff breeze might blow it over, but now that he was closer, Nate saw that it was just unkempt and decrepit yet somehow sturdy.
He walked toward the barn. He thought of what his father, who had been a carpenter, had once said, “You can patch holes in walls, floors, and ceilings, and you don’t have to worry about the house falling down, but if the frame is rotten and decomposing, eventually the sucker will cave.”
Nate leaned against one of the support beams and it did not budge a millimeter. The aroma of corn seed and old hay permeated through the air. The sun glinted through the cracks and slits in the walls, making yellow teeth on the dirt floor. Nate heard the crunch of gravel and dry leaves. He glanced at his watch again. Two minutes after four. He didn’t have to look around to know it was Mark, always two minutes late. He heard the creak of a truck door that was in serious need of a thorough oiling. Nate turned around to greet Mark.
Mark Hamlin was a man of thirty years well fed all of his life, an only child who never felt wanting. This carried over into his adult years. He toted two hundred twenty pounds with him wherever he went. A group of wrinkles ran across his forehead. Those lines were not going to vanish anytime soon, Nate thought.
“There’s a sight for sore eyes. How you doing, Nate? It’s been a while.” Mark said shaking Nate’s hand.
“Well, things have been going okay, but I’m getting a little behind on my bills, you know?” Nate responded.
Mark looked around the barn. “I can’t believe this place is still standing. Your dad would be proud to know it. So should we get this shindig rolling?” he said.
Nate said, “Yeah. Same as always?”
“Nah, let’s mix it up,” Mark said, “I’ll be on crowd control this time. You brought the stuff, right?”
They started walking to their vehicles. The sun had fallen a bit while Nate had been in the barn. He checked the time. Six minutes after four.
“It’s in the trunk. Did you check out the bank?” Nate asked as he popped the trunk of his car. A duffel bag, two pistols, two ski masks, two pairs of sunglasses, and two black coats, all exactly identical, were staring up at them.
Mark picked up his equipment. “No, it’s probably like all the dozen small town joints we’ve done. The outside security camera will just be a façade. The one inside won’t be turned on. There will be no security guard. If so, he’s probably a baby boomer. The vault will be open. The tellers will have no idea to how to react. The manager is probably taking his day off. That’s why we pull small town jobs. They’re easy. So easy that it shouldn’t be considered a crime. Ever hear of the saying ‘The Fool is quickly parted with his money?’ We are teaching these guys a lesson.” He opened the door of his truck, and he sat down in the cab.
“After all these times, that spiel never gets old. Alright. Let’s go, Butch Cassidy.” Nate got in the passenger seat of the old Ranger. “You think after all these jobs, you’d buy yourself a new truck. I get tired of riding in this junk pile. You ever clean this thing?”
“Screw you, Sundance.” Mark retorted with a hearty chuckle. “Hope you can shoot as well as you can talk trash.”
The drive into town was short and fast. They looked like twins sitting in the truck’s cab outside the bank, both with ski masks on top of their heads and long black coats on with two Berettas in the pockets.
“Ready?” Mark asked as he stopped the truck in the bank’s parking lot. He pulled the ski mask over his face and put the sunglasses on as Nate mimicked him.
“Yeah. You?” Nate replied.
Mark asked, “How’s my hair look?”
“Horrible, and dangerous, like a bank robber,” Nate quipped.
“Let’s do it.” Mark said as he opened his door and got out. Nate followed him and walked right behind him, carrying a duffel bag. Mark grabbed the door and yanked it open. Nate went through first and pulled out his gun.
“Nobody move. This is a stick up. Do as we say and no one gets hurt,” Mark said as he followed inside on Nate’s heels. Two tellers were working behind the counter. The place looked empty. An office to the left had its door shut and the lights off.
“Couldn’t think of something original, could you?” Nate said.
“You got something better, wise guy?” Mark replied.
“No. Alright. You two fill up this up duffel bag with all the cash you got. No sudden movements, alright? I would hate to shoot either of you ladies.” He tossed the women the bag. They made no sound whatsoever while they took the cash out of the teller cashiers. When they were done with that, they looked up at the two men.
“Alright, now one of you go back to the vault and get the rest of the cash and put as much as you can in that bag,” said Mark.
“Mister, this is all the cash-,” one of the women began.
“If you could spare me the bullshit, miss, and get me the cash like I asked, your friend here won’t come to any harm. You don’t want the death of another person on your conscience, do you? I have pulled enough of these jobs to know that you do in fact more cash back in that vault. So if you would, please.” Mark aimed his pistol at the other woman.
She hurried into the vault and she grabbed the bag and stuffed cash into it. A minute later, she came back with the bag swollen with cash. She placed on the teller counter and slid it to the other side.
“Why, thank you-,” Mark began and looked at her nametag, “Amy. That was very kind of you.”
The office door on the left crashed open and a young man in a security uniform burst out, standard issue pistol already drawn. The pistol was a small thing, but it sounded like a howitzer going off in the bank. He pulled the trigger once and that was all the time he had.
The only sounds that matched it were the high-pitched screams of the two women, Mark yelling at the top of his lungs in pain, and the three gunshots fired from Nate’s gun.
Mark dropped to the ground, clutching the duffel bag, as the security guard flew back into the office, dropping his gun in the process.
“My goddamn knee! My knee!” Mark shrieked.
Nate picked Mark up and supported him on his shoulders. Mark still clutched to the duffel bag. They rushed out the door and the Ford Ranger. Nate threw Mark into the truck bed and jumped into the driver’s seat. He started the truck and sped off down that main drag of New View.
The drive back to the barn was even shorter than the one into town. Nate pulled the truck into the barn and put it in park. He pulled out the keys out of the ignition. He took off the sunglasses and the ski mask, and placed them into the pocket of his long black coat, along with his pistol. He opened the truck door and stepped out.
Mark stared dumbly up at the barn loft. The duffel bag had escaped his grasp, but not by far.
“Guess it wouldn’t help if I said, ‘I told you so?’” Nate said to the unconscious Mark. He grabbed the bag. He started to walk away, but as he reached the barn door, he turned and went back to the side of the truck. He had parked the truck underneath an old auger. He looked for the switch to open the hatch. When he found it, he wasn’t expecting anything at all. He was surprised when the spout started to rain corn seed into the truck. He walked outside to his car and threw the duffel bag into the passenger seat. He saw Buck running toward him.
“Come on, Buck. Let’s get out of here.” Nate said as he held open the car door. When Buck had jumped in and settled down in the backseat, Nate sat in the driver’s seat, took one last look at the barn, his old pal, and his old life. He waved and looked at Mark’s truck keys, and then chucked them into the barnyard. Nate closed the door, started up his car, and drove off down that country road.