The Bank Job

Mr. Chaney said it with a straight face and the five of us laughed--sort of. He was our boss...

He still didn’t smile, which made us laugh even harder.

Then, one by one, our laughter sputtered and died.

Mr. Chaney-- with his black-rimned glasses from the 1950’s, and his oval hair along the sides of an otherwise bald head-- stared back at us each in turn. When his eyes fell upon me, I began to feel uneasy.

Our straight-arrow boss, at his own retirement party, had just told us a fool-proof way of robbing the bank we worked at.

“We could do it,” Mr. Chaney whispered.

The back room of Mike’s Steakhouse became silent.

“We can do it,” he said.

“You mean, you… mean it?” I asked.

It was a brilliant plan. Replace the video-tape with a tape from last year; same bank, same lobby, no one would be seen upon entry, nor exit. We’d jimmy the back door to make it look forced. Unlock the safe and in the same way as the back door-- make it look like we drilled it, then leave through the back door again, stash the money which was easily $900,000, and come back to Mike’s Steakhouse. We’d be each other’s alibi.

“We would have to leave right now!” Mr. Chaney said.

“You really mean it, really?” I asked again.

“Would I lie?” he asked.

We stared back at him, dumb-struck. We were all a little drunk. The smiling started again, and then the laughter returned, and it all seemed so very do-able. We hooted and high-fived!

Mr. Chaney stood up and we stood up with him.

“You’re all fired!” he said, and for the first time, actually laughed a real laugh.

We laughed along--sort of.

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