Excerpt: Withdrawal

Time is growing short, I fear. For the moment, I am seemingly alone, though I know this to be a lie. Buried beneath the sound of the nearby ocean slamming into her rocky shore I have caught several times the unmistakable presence of my pursuer. A faint footstep atop a pile of wet leaves, a twig snapping, and even a sense, nay scent, announces the presence of another and brings to mind my rapidly approaching fate.
I am well beyond fear, as my heart races and my face is flush with wetness that has nothing to do with the steady rain that falls. For an eternity I have fled from the presence, rendering my muscles a quivering, useless companion, and while I have rested in this spot for several minutes, my breathing continues to grow shallower and I should not be surprised if my body suddenly gave out. However, this pleasant prospect is not to be. I shall be forced to face my pursuer, certain of the outcome.
He comes for me. Who he is, or where he comes from, I do not know. I know only that from sundown to sunrise, he is never far. Even when I cannot see him, locked inside some new encampment with weapons ready and weakened by sensory overload, I know he waits for me. Yet he never approaches or reveals his face. On the rare occasion I am driven mad by his presence and seek a confrontation, he simply turns and walks away, seemingly vanishing into thin air. Is he an apparition, demon, angel, or merely a figment of my imagination? The questions must be answered, but not here. Not in this remote crypt. I must continue to live, if only to seek the answers that elude and torment me.

It began with a conversation. A conversation I desperately wanted to avoid. Cornered by my friend’s drunk wife after a barbeque, I resigned myself to her harangue in the name of friendship. My true desires at the time would have resulted in incarceration.
“You know what the problem with you is?” she asked, as her thin, colorless lips casually blew cigarette smoke in my face.
“Too good looking?”
“No,” she replied, no hint of humor on her face. “You hate yourself, and all of us can see it. You are so obviously unhappy, and as a result, you hide behind this air of sarcasm and passiveness. Have you even had a date in the last year?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“Exactly. I tell all my single friends how great you are, and yet when I introduce them, you completely ignore them. You are an ass, which makes me an ass for believing in you. But you know what? No more. I’m done with trying to make you happy. If you want to wallow in your own festering pile of sorrow, then help yourself. I’m tired of pumping you up in hopes you start to believe it.”
“I never asked for anything from you. In fact, I never asked for anything from your husband. We are friends, and friends don’t ask, we simply are.”
“I hate the way you talk down to me as well. Education does not make you smarter than the rest of us. Neither does your crappy job. I mean, Jesus, you are a teller at a bank and make less money than all of us. Yet you hold yourself out as this pillar of success, when the truth is you waste what intelligence you have. Trained monkeys could do your job.”
“You know why I work that job.”
“Right, the band. How come everyone else can see that is never going to happen but you? You are twenty-seven years old. Hell, the great ones were all famous and dead by your age.”
“Such as?”
“Hendrix. Morrison. Cobain. All were massively famous and dead at the age of twenty-seven. What makes you likely to succeed if you haven’t now. You’re not good. You know that, right? I love my husband dearly, but he is terrible as well. If you love it, great, but make it something you guys do on the side, not your ticket out of here.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
“Fine. Consider this as well. Despite the fact I’m upset with you right now, you know I care. It’s just my way. I don’t have the social skills like you to just keep inside what you are feeling. We all want the best for you.”
“Funny way of showing it.”
“You know it’s true. I want you to be happy. I see those pictures of you two in college and you truly seemed happy. I just want that back for you. Because now, when I look at you, you know what I see? A sad, lonely, little man. And it makes me sad.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I wish I could believe that. I’ve probably said too much. Please don’t hold this against me, and for God’s sake don’t tell my husband. He’ll kill me.”
She disappeared back into the house, leaving me alone in the dark. I pondered her words for a few minutes, convinced she was wrong. Though I do not choose to hide behind a false smile, praying the world leaves me alone, I am not unhappy. I simply find enjoyment in solitude. Reading, music, gambling, and observing others lift my spirits. Listening to fat, middle-aged, drunks has never been my idea of happiness.
However, it would be disingenuous of me to ignore her criticisms. I knew full well the band would never make so much as a dime and that the job of teller (or Customer Service Representative as our business cards clearly state) was a dead end. The problem is that I led a comfortable life and was happy in my own way. I had no grand ambitions to climb the corporate ladder or make a name for myself socially. Kids seemed like the end of all that is good in this world, and despite the pain of sleeping alone every night, I did not feel I was missing much by remaining single. In short, I was lazy and unfocused, everything my father claimed I would become.
Yet her words stung more than I cared to admit. I had become bored with my life and considered myself a failure. When I looked at my own face in the mirror each morning, I did not see a man leading a life much of the world would have gladly traded places with. Instead, I saw a man rapidly approaching thirty who had not accomplished a solitary thing in life. To make matters worse, my friends and family only made the situation worse. I had grown to hate their success and secretly rooted for everyone I encountered to become bitter and isolated. I was gradually slipping away from my friends the way I had already distanced myself from my own family. It would not take long until I grew to hate them as well.
And so I decided drastic action must be taken. Unlike nearly everyone else I knew, I had nothing to keep me in Portland. I had no responsibilities, no loved ones, no attachments at all to consider. What I longed for during those dark days was a chance to start over. To become someone that I was not. Outgoing, happy, one who actually socialized with women and went to bed with a smile on my face. I understood this was not something that could be accomplished in my present location. If a bold new life were to be pursued, then I would have to pick up and move.
Looking back, the foundation of my decision was faulty. I thought that simply removing myself from Portland, where all my family, friends, and history lay, would eliminate my discontent. I now see this was simply an excuse to do what I desired in the deepest, darkest, most evil part of my soul. I wanted a new life, but one that did not require anything of me. To simply exist and do as I pleased whenever I chose was all that I could consider during this period. And to do this required one thing.
Money.
I was surrounded by other people’s money, and it slowly drove me insane. My fingers sorted drawers full of money every day. My eyes beheld piles of money sitting quietly in the safe every day. My ears listened to people discuss their balances in excruciating detail every day. And none of it was mine. If I so much as pocketed a dime, I would have been summarily fired and blackballed in the Portland banking industry for years. The green evil with which I had surrounded myself daily soon became an obsession.
Two thousand and five hundred dollars at most could be in my top drawer. Two thousand five hundred dollars at most could be in my bottom drawer. Five hundred dollar minimum Certificate of Deposit balances for new accounts. Five thousand dollar minimum balance for money market accounts. Three hundred dollar daily cash ATM withdrawal limit. Ten thousand minimum of all denominations must be kept in the vault at all times. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollar FDIC insurance for all depositors.
But there were two numbers that kept me up at night. The first was $57.55, the ending balance of my latest monthly statement. This included only my checking account, as I had no funds for savings accounts, money markets, or CDs. The other number was $557,324. This was the average amount of cash I had signed out to the armored truck service every Wednesday for the last four months. I know because I double-checked all the receipts, unable to fathom that number. That was not the kind of money that was stolen from banks in movies and books, but it was a number I simply could not get out of my head.
Oh, I tried futilely to ignore these two numbers as the weeks passed, but I soon became obsessed. I came to look forward to Wednesday so that I could add another line to my average balance calculation. I soon discovered another number. $474,207. This was the lowest amount I had signed out to the armored car service in the past four months. I had found the one thing that put a smile on my face at night, and from there, my planning grew.
With my senses now heightened, I began to pay attention to how I might go about absconding with the money. I tried little tricks like “forgetting” to schedule the pickup, or cancelling one that had been scheduled. Sadly, the dual custody regulations were followed exactly, leaving no opportunity for me to build the amount of cash to take. From there, I began to look for ways to simply walk out of the branch with the money, but was again blocked. To get in and out of the inner vault, there was simply no way to do so without having someone else present. I had the vault combination, but to gain access to the cash, I would need someone with a key to assist me.
I tested the likelihood of my co-workers coming in on the plan with me, but found little acceptance. I made several jokes to each of them while in the vault about how easy it would be to just take the money, aware this could point the finger at me later, but no longer caring. No one took the bait. My co-workers were simply too damn honest.
From there, it became apparent if I was going to take the money, I would have to do so myself, or procure outside assistance. To this end, my current social circle would not suffice. I had several people in mind, but began with the one person that I knew had serious money issues and a questionable grasp of ethics.
Matthew “Squeaky” Turner had been my baseball coach in High School. At the time, he seemed ancient, but was in his mid-thirties. He was a good ‘ol boy from some Podunk little Ward in Georgia that did not hide the fact he considered football the only real sport. He had a constant chew in his lip and favored obscenities when none were necessary. His indifference was truly legendary amongst the players and no one had the slightest clue how he had procured the job. Blackmail was assumed.
However, we loved the man. He was the worst leader we had ever seen and failed to grasp many of the most basic tenants of baseball, but Holy Cow was he fun to be around. He bought us all beer regularly and regaled us with graphic details of his triumphs with the opposite sex, which made him a God to us seventeen year old virgins. He played poker with us for stakes that required several players to steal from their own parents and loved to pile several of us in his souped up Thunderbird and speed all over town. We saw him arrested for public indecency (streaking) and public urination within the same week. He was quite simply the coolest individual I had ever met.
It was with little surprise, then, that he was fired several years after I graduated. The rumor, never substantiated, was that he was caught sleeping with a girl in his Physical Education class by another teacher. No charges were ever pressed and no official explanation for his termination was ever offered by the school. But due to his termination, he did not receive any unemployment or pension and with a questionable background, his teaching days were over. He simply slipped out of consciousness of the city and into the black underbelly.
I ran into him several times over the years, always at a bar with friends. He had become the middle-aged man with a beer gut and endless stories of yesteryear. More often than not, he was falling down drunk, and on several occasions I had driven him home out of a sense of duty.
He lived in a small studio apartment in Southeast Portland amongst a solid mile of used car dealers. Strip clubs and bars were plentiful in the neighborhood, along with drug dealers and prostitutes. His apartment was filled with fast food wrappers and newspapers, which he read daily to pass the time. His decrepit television was always on, even when we arrived from the bar. He had no pets, no friends, and no woman. Several times he had gone to jail for two week stretches for various bar fights and assaults. But most of all, he had no money and had become bitter.
I sought him out once my mind had been made up regarding the money. I doubted I would have any trouble convincing him to help me (for the right price), but more than anything I wanted to judge his condition. A desperate and willing drunk is still a drunk, and more of a liability that help. So it was with some concern that on the night in question I went to his apartment and found it empty. I checked the two closest bars but did not find him, so I contented myself to wait for him to return. When he finally arrived at two in the morning, I began to doubt his ability to help. He smiled widely and invited me in without so much as an explanation.
“Holy Christ,” he exalted. “I’m starting to think you’re stalking my sweet ass. My ladies might not take kindly to a little unwelcome attention.”
“You know I’m not here for that. I just wanted to check in on you. Considering the last time I left you, you were covered in your own vomit, I’m just worried about you.”
“Bullshit. Nobody worries about ‘ol Squeaky. I am a goddamn indestructible force that you can’t live without any more. Well, just to set the record straight, I ain’t going gay for you, and I ain’t letting you have any of my women. Just because you’re skinny ass can’t get laid is no reason to come begging Squeaky for help.”
“Good to see you haven’t lost that self confidence I remember. And since we’re putting things on the record, can I just say I find it hard to believe you have any women in your life. You look and smell like shit. More precisely, shit in an ashtray. Do you even open a window in here when you’re smoking?”
“Nobody cares what ‘ol Squeaky does in here, most of all my douchebag of a Super. He don’t speak English anyway.”
“Fair enough. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I guess you still have a roof over your head and money for booze, not to mention women, so you must be doing alright.”
“Ha. Alright is a relative term. This is not exactly the life I planned when I was eighteen, you know. Even when I was coaching you guys, I never wanted it. I had NFL dreams, man, but not enough talent. Somewhere along the way my life turned to shit and I just stopped fighting. But look at you. You seem to be doing okay.”
“My life isn’t exactly what I hoped for either, which is why I’m here.”
“Dude, I ain’t a charity case, so take your liberal handouts elsewhere.”
“You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”
“I don’t need to. I see the way you look at me. Hell, even the way you talk to me. You always thought your shit didn’t stink back in the day, and you’re no different now. You stupid kids never thought I heard what you said about me, but I did. You thought I didn’t play you as much because you hung out with the black kids on the team. I actually heard you say that once. Not even close to the truth. Not all Southerners are racist, you know. The truth is you were not that good. A decent fielder, but you couldn’t hit your weight back then. We’re in Portland, not Klamath Falls. There’s talent everywhere, but not in you. I had to try and win.”
“Okay, ignoring all that, I have a proposition for you. And spare me the quiet dignity. You didn’t have it back then and you sure as shit don’t have it now. I have a way for both of us to make some money, decent money, but it is not exactly legal. I just need to know how bad you’re hurting and what you’d consider doing before I tell you any more.”
“You think I’m a goddamn criminal? Just because I’ve done some time. Those were just fights, nothing bad. If you think I’m willing to break the law for a stain like you, guess again. I told you once, I’m not a fucking charity case.”
I stood up. “Okay, sorry to waste your time. Good luck with whatever the hell you’re doing while waiting to die.”
“Fuck you college boy!” he shouted as I walked back outside. “I oughta call the cops on you right now.”
I went home that night convinced Squeaky would help with my plan. Ignoring his words, which were full of his usual bravado, I saw the squalor his life had descended into, and assumed he was desperate. He had no prospects and no real responsibilities. For a man like that, jail is just a consequence, not a reason to say no. I, on the other hand, could not run the risk of jail. I was soft and largely a coward, concepts I had come to grips with long ago and simply accepted my fate in life. I was no leader of men or Alpha Male, but instead a quiet banker with no real reason to live. And given a choice between prison and the great beyond, I would have chosen the latter.
Squeaky relented the following afternoon, as I knew he would. He barely put up a fight when I laid out my plan for him and the promise of $10,000 once we were done. Yet I will admit I did not completely trust him. While I felt secure I could trust in his silence and cooperation up until the point of capture (when I understood he would tell all he knew with no prodding), I was not confident I could trust Squeaky to save him from himself. I needed more help, and once again I turned back to my High School days.
Burner and Toosh (nicknamed after the hideous movie “Turner and Hooch”) had been the epitome of white trash while roaming the halls of Ulysseus S. Gran High School. They sported mullets, earrings, wore acid wash jeans, and smoked pot daily. Each was suspended occasionally for general retardation and always returned with a smile on their face. The fact that they took auto shop and remedial English only enhanced their reputations.
Yet, for some reason we bonded. I occasionally bought pot from them and hung out. Though I was on a college path, I envied their complete disregard to their future. I spent nights freaking out over math tests while they got drunk and dropped super-charged engines into VW Beetles. And for some reason, they envied my future. Little did either of us know we would end up in the same hell.
After high school, they each drifted from auto shop to shop, sometimes working together, but usually quitting or getting fired after six months. Their saving grace was the quality of work. Their downfall was a complete and utter inability to deal with bosses and clocks. Lunch hours became a running gag, often ending with simply choosing to go home instead of coming back to the shop. And it is doubtful they ever left a job on good terms, usually blowing up at another worker or boss and storming out like a six year old. Finally, they ended up living together in a run down house with a barn in back, where they performed the best six month repair jobs in the city.
Like Squeaky, I new Burner and Toosh were hurting for money. The house in which they currently resided appeared to be one strong wind from collapsing and the barn actually swayed on a clear day. Yet they were happy and unsurprised when I appeared.
“What’s up, Professor?” Burner asked, answering the door in a pair of boxers and a stained undershirt. At least he had cut his hair, I noted, at least the part that still grew.
“Not much, just came to see how my boys are holding up these days.”
“Come on in and we’ll smoke some shit, man. You looking to buy?”
“Only if you’re selling.”
“Always, man, always.”
He called out to Toosh, who came in from the barn and greeted me with a hug as if he had seen me in the last five years.
“This place is a shit-hole,” I said, looking around. No one argued, and in fact the pair nodded in agreement. “You can’t possibly be making any money selling pot and working on cars, can you? How do you two eat?”
“We get by,” Burner said, in no way insulted by my words. “Just take life as it comes, man. Hell, I’m surprised either of us made it this long. Tell the truth, you thought we’d be dead or in jail by now, didn’t you?”
“We all did.”
“That’s life in the fast lane for you.”
I bought some pot that I really had no interest in, but wanted the duo to feel I had a reason for stopping by other than my true motives. We smoked a little and downed a couple beers before I sprung my true thoughts.
“So, I hadn’t thought of you guys for this, but I have an opportunity to make some cash in a less than legal manner. It carries a little risk, but I could promise you five thousand dollars each. But only if you’re interested. I’m still working on the details and had been thinking of some others, but you two have always been cool, so I’d give you first crack if interested.”
“What are we talking about here?” Toosh asked, perking up at the mention of money, just as I had assumed. “Anything that could land us in serious trouble.”
“Yeah, it is. Again, that’s why I was thinking of someone else, but if you’re interested, we can talk specifics.”
“Cut the shit, man,” Burner said, cutting in. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to steal money from my own bank. I have it all worked out, but I can’t blow my cover or it won’t work, so I need someone else to do the actual deed. I will feed you all the information you need to get away and there is actually little risk. It will be done in the morning before the bank even opens, so it’s not like there’s a lot that could go wrong.”
“No fucking way, man. Robbing a bank can get you serious time.”
“You’d be looking at a 4 year sentence at most, maybe serving two. Add up all the time you two have done, and I’ll bet it’s close to that. You won’t be using a gun, and the penalty is always a lot less if there’s no gun or violence. I’ll see to it that nothing goes wrong. But again, just say the word and I’ll move on guys. I trust, though, you won’t say anything to anyone about this, right?”
“I don’t like it,” Toosh said, standing up and heading for the back door. “This is shit we don’t need, no matter how much that money would help. If we get five thousand, what is your end?”
“About a hundred, more or less. Just depends on the day. There’s no way to tell until it actually happens.”
“What if we said we’d do it, but only for ten each?”
“I’d say lots of luck and go fuck yourself. It’s just an opportunity, nothing more.” I stood up myself and put my beer on the table. “Look, it’s obvious this isn’t your thing, and it’s cool. I probably shouldn’t even have said anything, but I guess I get nostalgic around you guys. Grant High for life, right?”
“Can we have a couple days to think about it?”
“Sure. You have my number, so give me a call once you make up your mind. I’ll be around.”
While waiting for Burner and Toosh to say yes, and I never seriously doubted they would, I went to work on my exit strategy. I did not let any of the others in on my plan, but I never actually believed I could get away with my plan and stick around Portland. The tips I would give the others, things such as all-clear signs for entering the bank, passwords for the alarm company, and combinations to the safe if necessary, would all obviously point to someone in the bank. Sure, I could probably avoid being arrested for twenty-four hours, while all the facts were sorted out, but long-term, there was no chance I would get away free. Also, I didn’t doubt for a second anyone I was bringing in would hesitate to turn me in for a free cookie if presented the chance. My plan was to relocate to Montana. But to do so would require setting up a completely new life and identity.
Hello, my name is Brian Gates of Kalispell, Montana, and I love the outdoors and Caucasians.
To set up a new identity was surprisingly easy given my access to so many customer’s vital information. Social Security numbers, addresses, job histories, phone numbers, employers, references, tax returns, creditors – all were accessible with ease. And in contrast to the emphasis that was placed on protecting the cash of the bank, files were not given a second thought. Not a single mention was made of any of the files I took home and replaced the following morning. After a few weeks, I had a list of complete personal histories of roughly twenty bank customers that I could use if need be. I looked for those in prison, recently deceased, or incapacitated close to my age.
I chose Brian Gates, as he had been in a car accident only several months prior. He had been riding a car that was nearly split in two by a drunk driver. His brother and friend had died instantly, but he lived. Kinda. He was in a permanent vegetative state and his divorced parents were fighting over whether or not to pull the plug. Lawyers had been retained, and I assumed it could take years before the plug puller finally won. In the meantime, Brian would not be needing his identity for anything and would never have a clue what I was doing out in the Great Wide Open.
The unfortunate part was that I was required to spend several weekends and sick days (for which I let my co-workers assume I was hung over, as that was a rumor I could easily deflect while making them think it was true) travelling between Portland and Kalispell. If anyone ever tries to convince you that the drive between Portland and Kalispell along I-90 is enjoyable, do me a favor and punch them in the face for me. When Spokane, Washington is the highlight of the trip (hey, Bing Crosby and John Stockton lived here!), you are in hell. By the time the twelve hour drive was over, I was usually ready to drink myself into oblivion, and several times did just that.
The reason for the trips was to set myself up with a place to come to right after the robbery. My first visit was the DMV. And despite the relative ease with which I obtained the fake driver’s license, this was the most stressful portion of my adventures. My story was that I was new to the state and had lost my Oregon license before moving. Though I had a air-tight Social Security Number, copies of forged rental agreements and utility bills, the fact was that I looked nothing like Brian Gates of Portland, Oregon. Had anyone actually cared enough to pull up a picture from back home, there would have been no way to talk myself out of that. I would simply have run and tried another of my names in another city. But instead, fifteen minutes after walking in, I left with the key to my new identity.
Once the driver’s license was obtained, the rest fell into place. I rented an apartment near Woodland Park on the east side of the city without a problem. I had already pulled credit on Brian to make sure that background checks would be quick and painless, so I knew I would face no problem there. And once I had an address and driver’s license, it was easy to set up utilities, open credit cards, buy a car, and more importantly, open several bank accounts around town. I even travelled to the relatively nearby cities of Somers and Evergreen to set up accounts there. I intended to spread around some of the money, but not in large amounts that would draw attention. The last thing I needed was someone looking into me because a teller in Montana filled out a Suspicious Activity Report.
Now I was set up with a place to run to when the deed was done. I intended to simply sit in my apartment for a couple weeks, growing out my hair and facial hair, and reading about the aftermath on the web. I was without question the smartest man on the face of the planet, and there was simply no way my plan could fail.
Returning to Portland, I called a meeting once everyone was on board to discuss the plan. To build goodwill, I immediately told them all I was going to raise their portion to ten thousand. I had intended to do this all along, and though I did not relay this to the others, had they all required twenty-five thousand apiece, I would have agreed. Once I told them about the robbery, there was no backing out. I could call off the whole thing and say I was joking, but if I robbed it and didn’t involve others I had told, they would turn me in for the reward in a heartbeat.
Though Squeaky and the others had never met, they seemed to get along well enough that I had no concerns about chemistry. We all got high, went over the plan repeatedly, and then went over the plans again the next morning when we were all sober. I had taken pictures of nearly every inch of the bank over the previous month with the phone on my camera and was very specific about who would do what and where we would all be positioned. Then I made each of them repeat the plan back to me in a separate room to make sure they understood it. It was hours before I was satisfied that all three knew what they were doing, but we finally reached a point where everyone not only could tell me their part, but the parts of everyone else as well.

I decided to do the deed the following Wednesday morning. My reasoning for this was that the typical money shipment out of the bank was on Tuesdays. I would cancel the order on Tuesday and asking the armored car company to come a day later so I could pick up another day of deposits. I was lucky in that our branch seemed to have more business customers than most others, so we accumulated excess money as opposed to ordering additional every week. The postponement of the shipment would attract attention, but I had “mistakenly” done the same thing several times when we had previously been busy or short-staffed. Normally, it would result in a talking to by the Assistant Manager, but nothing would come of the act.
To celebrate (and get our heads right), I threw a party at my place on the Saturday before. My directions to everyone were to get as shit-faced and high as they wanted that night (my treat), but once the night was over, there would be no more partying until the job was over. I was a little concerned because all were typically in some state of inebriation when I had interacted with them over the years, but none seemed addicted or dependent, so a couple days should have been achievable. I wanted everyone sharp and focused when Wednesday morning came.
My boys did not fail to follow my directions that night. We started the night at The Acropolis and eyed the dancers for the better part of three hours, while I paid for drinks, lap dances, and the absolute worst steak I’ve ever eaten in my life. Partially because I couldn’t get past what the “cooks” were doing to my meat in the back. Eventually Burner made a statement that one of the girls did not appreciate (I have no idea what, he claimed he’d been misunderstood and the bouncer certainly wasn’t there to give out answers) and we were booted. So from there, we wandered down the street to Southies and killed another couple hours playing pool and downing beers.
When the place closed at two in the morning, Toosh was nowhere to be found. There had been no women he was hitting on previously, no one he was looking to fight, he just up and left at some point. The rest of us made it back to my place and passed out early in the morning. When I woke up the next morning, Burner was urinating all over the corner of my living room. Instead of being upset (possibly as I was still drunk), we all laughed and then passed out again. That was to be the last time I saw any of them until the morning of the robbery, and I watched them leave thinking we were a real “team” and nothing could go wrong.
The Tuesday before the robbery was not a good one for me. I was nervous, fidgety, and distracted all day. I messed up several simple transactions and kept staring at the clock to the point the Manager mentioned something to me.
Part of my concern was that Toosh had still not shown up. I had repeatedly called Burner to find out what the hell was going on (from a pay phone several miles away on my breaks and lunch hour – I was now covering my tracks for the investigation), but he had no idea. I called around to several hospitals and even the Multnomah County jail, but he was nowhere to be found. Burner checked out his other friend’s places and his brother, but no one had seen him. I let both Burner and Squeaky know that if Toosh did not show up, we would be a no go for the following day.
My fears were allayed finally, however, when Toosh showed up. He claimed he’d hooked up with a girl that night at the bar, but none of us believed him. The women that night had been fat and ugly, and no matter how drunk Toosh was, he could have done better. This, of course, led to a talk between Burner and I to try and figure out what he could be covering up. I didn’t think he was doing anything to ruin the plan or somehow get the money for himself – he was far too stupid for such a thing – but all the same the mysterious disappearance had me concerned. Finally, I just decided screw it. I let them know the plan was back on, and that I would expect them around 8:30 the next morning as planned.
That night would be my last restful one to this day.

I must say, with no amount of false modesty that my plan worked to perfection. At first.
I arrived at work and found several cars already in the parking lot. The all clear signal was in place, consisting of a stuffed dog turned with its tail towards the parking lot in the drive-through window, as was there every morning. This told me that if my boys were inside (which was not a given, since if something was wrong, they were told to abort before going in), that not only had the plan been activated, but that so far everything was going according to plan.
I stepped inside, bracing for the bedlam that was sure to be found. And true to the plan, no less than four steps inside the side door, a gun was shoved in my face and I heard Squeaky’s muffled voice grunt, “Don’t move motherfucker!”
From there, I was escorted to the vault room, where I found the rest of my co-workers seated on the floor.
“Is this the last one?” Squeaky (acting as the lead, as planned) asked, pointing the gun at the Branch Manager, who nodded. “Okay, then get your ass up, we’ve got some work to do.”
Squeaky led the Manager over to the vault door and nodded. “Open up this goddamn thing, or I’ll shoot you in the fucking face, so help me God!”
“I can’t do that.”
“I know, so get whoever else you need to do it with you over here. We’ve got a half hour until the place opens and I don’t want to leave six bodies on our way out. Got it?”
“Please don’t do this,” my manager said, using his best fatherly tone. “If you go now, it will be alright. You do this, though, and you can’t turn back the clock.”
“Are you really going to make me shoot you in front of everyone to show how serious I am. We’re not stupid. At least two of you have the combination and another two have the key. I can shoot one of you and still be assured that we can open this thing. I’m guessing if we do that, I won’t find much resistance from the others. Now are we gonna do this thing?”
“Okay,” the Manager said, then turned to one of the tellers. “Marcy, get your key. You and I will open it.”
The two then opened up the vault and stepped back. The Manager motioned to Squeaky. “It’s on a timer. Even if we open it up now, it will automatically set off the alarm.”
Squeaky calmly walked over to the Manager and punched him in the face. Then, after the Manager fell to the ground, Squeaky stood over him with the gun inches from his nose. “That is the last goddamn time you lie to me. Don’t you understand that I know exactly how you operate? I’ve been watching for weeks. You expect me to believe you can’t get to the money without setting off the alarm so close to opening? I’ve seen you all with your money out by 8am before. So don’t sit there and feed me bullshit! I’m getting tired of this and more than a little trigger-happy. I don’t want to shoot anyone, but we are walking out of here with the contents of this safe, with or without your help. Got it?”
The Manager grunted and then motioned for Marcy to help him finish the job. They opened the safe and the other two immediately went to work. Toosh grabbed a large duffel bag and started filling it with bundles of cash, ordered neatly by yours truly the previous afternoon.
“Don’t grab the teller’s drawers,” Squeaky instructed. “No doubt they’ve got dye packs or tracking devices. Just the cash.”
No more than two minutes later, the duffel bag was filled and the three were ready to leave. However, at this point, the laziness of Toosh and Burner was exposed. They were to have pulled guns earlier and flashed them at everyone so that everyone appeared armed. Now, as everyone was getting ready to leave, Squeaky made the mistake of turning his back on us while conferring with the other two. As he did this, Damon, the youngest and quite possibly the stupidest of the tellers, acted. He saw Squeaky had lowered his gun and had taken his eye off us, which prompted him to rush forward and knock Squeaky over. Toosh saw this happen a moment before contact and was there to grab Squeaky’s gun, which had fallen to the floor. However, Damon was busy wrestling with Squeaky, who he thought still had the gun.
We had not planned for this, and Toosh looked at the gun in amazement instead of pointing it towards us, while Squeaky slowly lost his leverage with the younger and stronger Damn. In fact, Damon was able to partially remove Squeaky’s mask before being subdued by a kick in the ribs from Burner and Toosh’s gun.
Pissed off, Squeaky grabbed the gun and pistol-whipped Damon in the face, drawing a sizeable amount of blood. “This motherfucker is leaving with us. He saw my face.” He then turned back to us and pointed the gun at me. “Anyone else want to be a fucking hero? Speak now, and I’ll grant your wish.” When none of us answered, he closed the outer safe door on us, bathing us in darkness.
And silence, at least until Rachel began bawling like a little girl.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” the Manager answered, and then we waited.

The day was excruciatingly dull outwardly, but inside I was in hell. We waited in the vault perhaps ten minutes before the Manager decided it was safe to exit. For some reason, I had thought we would be locked inside until the police showed (called presumably by concerned customers and employees of other branches when we never opened), but as it turns out, since the vault door was not locked from the outside, we simply pushed the door open and stepped into the bank. With relief I saw no sign of Burner, Toosh, or Squeaky still within the bank. The Manager had us all wait in separate rooms before he went off to call the police, as I expected, since this was standard policy so no one’s recollections would be tainted by group discussion. As a result, I spent another half hour having no idea what was going on with my partners. For all I knew, they could have been caught in the parking lot and the police would come and arrest me immediately. In my calm, collected planning stages, I had assumed the hardest part of the post-robbery wait would simply be not giggling hysterically over the money that we stole. In reality, I couldn’t stand up because my leg was spasming violently and my stomach was churning to the point of occasional vomit pushing its way up into the back of my mouth. My only saving grace was that it would appear to outsiders that I was shaken up over the robbery, but I was dying on the inside.
The police finally arrived and interviewed all of us. I told my side as best as I could, dropping a hint that I never actually saw Damon pull off the mask of the robber, hoping they would consider he had been the inside man and focus on his part instead of mine. Outside of that, I said exactly what happened, which had been part of the plan. If you don’t lie, you don’t have to struggle to remember what you are supposed to remember. At least that was my rationale.
By eleven in the morning we were freed from our interrogation rooms and I found more people in the branch than on a normal Friday afternoon at the end of the month. Local police, FBI, Bank bigwigs were all milling around. Everyone wanted to watch the video, and we were allowed to do so as well. I never took my eyes off myself and was pleased to see everything looked ordinary, at least compared to the other tellers. The only moment of possible trouble was when Damon rushed towards Squeaky. I am not certain if anyone else caught the slight movement, but my arm instinctively reached out towards Damon, as if to hold him back. No one said a word, however, so I assumed I was in the clear for the moment.
As the morning progressed, I endured a second round of questioning by bank representatives, who were more interested in what led up to the robbery than catching them. This was where I began to sweat a little. I was grilled on why I had postponed the money delivery for a day, and why I had arrived so late. Luckily, I had foreseen this eventuality and created a pattern for them to check (which I knew they would). I had postponed the delivery several times in the prior months and claimed this was due to understaffing, in an attempt to throw it back at them. My lateness was simply a scheduling issue. Completely unrelated to the robbery, I had told the Manager long ago that I had to stop by my disabled mother’s house every morning at eight to help her with breakfast and getting ready for her day. In reality, I was just extremely lazy and preferred to sleep in. If they checked, they would find my mother was disabled and likely stop digging. However, if they pushed, it might be awkward for me if they found out I never stopped by in the morning, and only saw her when she called me for help, which she was far too proud to do on a consistent basis.
Once both the bank and authorities were satisfied they had gleaned every useful piece of information from us, we were sent home and the branch closed for the day. On my way to the car, I was besieged by several television reporters and cameras. None of us said a word and drove off, but I did not want to see a replay of myself at the trial slinking off that day, as no doubt there would be plenty of footage available.
Once home, I spent the better part of my day looking out my window to see if anyone was watching. We had agreed on meeting at Burner and Toosh’s barn at midnight, and I would be goddamned if I was going to blow everything because I was anxious and did not trust the group to be levelheaded. I was particularly concerned because of Damon’s presence. In none of our planning had we focused on this eventuality, instead planning for the alarm company if someone slipped and triggered the alarm or what to do if a dye pack exploded. While I was the brains, I would have to leave it to three substance-dependent retards to not screw up a bag of cash with over four hundred thousand dollars and a hostage that was no doubt pissed and likely to cause a serious amount of havoc for us all. The wait was excruciating and I spent most of the day on the toilet puking into a garbage can.

At the appointed hour, I snuck out of my apartment and walked to my car. However, instead of driving straight to the meeting place, I drove over to Alameda Park and parked my car. I waited for a good fifteen minutes to see if anyone drove up behind me or appeared to be following me. In the movies, it is apparently easy to spot someone who is tailing you, but I had no clue. I repeated the move with a desolate street near the river, and saw no one. Hoping for the best, I then proceeded to the meeting place.
What I found was pure insanity. Damon lay on the ground, bleeding from his chest. I could not tell if he was dead or not by looking, but judging by the solemn looks of Burner and Squeaky, he was a corpse. Toosh, however, appeared to be freaking out. He was smiling a little too broadly and walking around with a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand, and the gun in the other. He was the first to notice me.
“Dude, I didn’t mean to, it just went off. I swear to God.”
“Is he dead?”
“I think so.”
“Didn’t anyone check?”
“Not really,” Squeaky said. “At this point, we have to hope he is. We can’t exactly take him to a hospital.”
“Really? That’s what the three of you have been sitting here doing? Just waiting for this guy to die? Anyone care to think what they’d want done in his position.”
“What would you have us do?” Toosh said, advancing towards me. “Drop him off at a hospital? Someone would see us, and I’m not getting caught over this. We’d get the fucking chair for this, and you know it. We have to let it happen.”
“So what happened?” I asked, getting in Toosh’s face. “First, you take the guy and then you accidentally shoot him. What the fuck were you thinking? Is this what you wanted? To know what it’s like to kill a man? You could have done that without endangering the rest of us. We could have been out of there and it would have been fine.”
“He saw my face, man.”
“So he had to die? To be honest with you, I didn’t even see him pull off your mask. It looked to me like he clocked you in the nose and you lost your fucking mind.”
“No. He saw my face. I didn’t want to shoot him, it just happened.”
“How? How do you accidentally shoot a guy in the chest?”
“He wouldn’t stop coming at us, man. We’d tie him down and he’d squirm and break free, so we’d do the same thing. Then finally, he got out and grabbed for the gun. I was trying to hit him with it and….”
“You killed him in cold blood. No, I get it. And now we are truly fucked.”
“Enough,” Squeaky said, rising from his stupor. “What’s done is done. We can’t change it. What we have to do now is be smart. We can’t let this be the end of everything. Do you have a plan?”
“No, I don’t have a fucking plan. I never foresaw this happening.”
“Well, you better come up with something quick. We are all starting to freak out here and we’re counting on you.”
So, for all my careful planning and prepping, a drunk and two retards were going to ruin everything. I had to come up with something quick or everyone would start to turn on each other. Plan one was to get the gun from Toosh and then I could calm down a little.
“Okay, Toosh, give me the gun. Let me think.”
“Fuck you, come get the gun, motherfucker!”
“Really, that’s how you want to play this? Listen, I need the gun so I can think clearly. You’ve already ‘accidentally’ shot someone today. If I’m going to think of a way to save all of our asses from your stupidity, I can’t be worried about being victim number two. Got it?”
“Fine.” He handed me the gun with a roll of the eyes, but at least I had the weapon. I then sat down on the ground. “Give me some time, I’ll come up with something.”
I truthfully had no idea what we were going to do. I couldn’t trust any of them to keep a secret, and if either the money or the body were discovered, we would all spend the rest of our lives looking at cement walls on Death Row. I had always known I would take the fall and be forced to go on the run, but I had assumed the others would be placated by the cash I gave them and keep quiet. Now, we all held each other’s lives in our hands and I didn’t trust a single one of them. Finally, I came up with something that I thought might work.
“Okay, we have two major problems right now. One is the kid’s body. We need to get rid of it, and I mean somewhere that it will never be found. And it can’t be around here. I’m leaving before Monday since they’ll probably arrest me then. But as long as this kid’s body doesn’t turn up, we’ll be in better shape. A robbery gets some attention, but a murder will unleash a shit-storm that we are quite frankly not prepared with withstand. Anyone have ideas for somewhere to bury the kid?” I looked around the room, and everyone either shook their head or refused to make eye contact with me. “Squeaky, what about you?”
“No.”
“What about that cabin your parents had near Seaside? Is that still around?”
“I don’t know. They sold the property to some investor years ago. I doubt it’s still standing. Nothing but forest now.”
“And don’t you think that sounds like a remote place that nobody would be looking over in the near future? Maybe a good place to bury a body?”
“No way, dude. They could tie that body to me if it’s ever found.”
“Why? You said your parents sold years ago. You haven’t been there since, have you?”
“No.”
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem. If I remember, there is lots of wooded area around, no neighbors, and plenty of area for us to dig deep and make a deposit. Unless one of you has a better idea, that is?” Again, I looked for signs of life from the crew and found nothing. “Okay, then let’s start loading the body up and then we can head out in the morning. It’s probably better travelling during the day with more cars around. I’ll put the body in my car and you all follow. That way, if I get pulled over, you can either help out or just keep rolling. I’ll leave it up to you.”
I started for Damon’s body and had knelt over him when Toosh rejoined the conversation. “What is number two?”
“What?”
“You said we had two problems. If the body is number one, then what is two?”
“Oh, yeah. I would say that is the money. I think we need to hold off spending any of it for now. The way the FBI was talking, some of the bills could be marked.”
“How is that possible?”
“Well, apparently it is now common practice to stash a couple thousand in a vault of marked bills in case of robbery. The FBI has those numbers and we have no idea which of these bills this is. I think it would be advisable if we agreed not to spend any money for a while, and I mean ANY of this money. I think if we wait for a good period of time and the heat cools, we could risk it. We just have to agree to spend only a little at a time and never in the same place.”
“How is that possible? You ran the vault there, right? I mean that was the whole point of your mastermind plan. Now you expect us to believe you wouldn’t have known if there was marked bills in there? I don’t buy it. I think you’re just trying to get out of paying us.”
“Toosh, that’s not the case. I’m suggesting none of us spend any money, which means I’m now on the run from the law with a bunch of money I can’t spend. If I were that smart, why would I have set it up like that?”
“Maybe because you’re feeding us a line of shit. If you take that money and leave, how do we know you’re not spending any?”
“I have a better question,” Squeaky added. “Why do you get to keep the money? We did all the work and we’re taking just as much risk now.” I watched Burner and Toosh’s eyes light up with Squeaky’s suggestion. I had hoped this eventuality would not come to pass, but here it was.
“That wasn’t the deal. Five thousand each. I was even nice enough to bump it to ten thousand. Remember? Without me, there wouldn’t be a bag of cash sitting here.”
“Fuck that. Without you, I wouldn’t be worried about burying a dead boy’s body in the woods. I say we are each entitled to a quarter of that bag, and we can do whatever the fuck we want with our share.”
“Squeaky, you drunk fuck, there will be no vote! It’s my plan, and I laid out all the groundrules in advance. If you weren’t on board, you shouldn’t have said yes. I gave each of you an out, and none of you took it. You get ten thousand and nothing else.”
“I say we take a vote,” Toosh said, smiling the same smile I had seen earlier. “I say the rules changed when the kid was shot.”
“You shot the kid! Do you hear how insane this is?”
“All the same, I say we take a vote. Squeaky?”
“Split it.”
“Burner?”
“Ditto.”
Toosh smirked at me and stood up. “You’re outvoted. It’s settled, we split it up. You go bury that fucking body if you want, but I’m taking my share and leaving town.”
“I can’t allow that.”
“How are you going to stop me? I’m bigger than you, and you’re outnumbered.”
I paused. “Okay, let’s all take a step back and think about this for a moment. If we all run off and start spending money, eventually someone will get caught. And if one of us gets caught, I think we are all smart enough to understand that we will all be caught. However, if we can just show a little self-control and wait, then we can all get away with this and have a good amount of seed money for the rest of our lives.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I will agree to split everything evenly. However, I will do so under two conditions. First, that we all bury this body and all the evidence in this room tying all of us to the robbery. Second, that we stash the money for a year.”
“A year? Are you out of your sweet fucking mind?”
“Hear me out. We don’t know what bills in there are marked, and it’s too risky right now. The longer this body goes undiscovered, the more people suspect Damon was part of the robbery and focus on him. That means when the trial gets cold, which it will if we are smart, people will stop looking so hard. However, if they think he was an innocent victim in this and gets murdered, there will always be people looking. If we can each just hold out a year, we will be golden.”
To my surprise, the room remained silent as each of the team pondered my words. I had figured they were all too stupid to comprehend everything I threw out (which was probably the reason I had chosen each of them to participate in the first place), but they surprised me.
“That actually makes sense,” Burner said finally. “I’d agree to that.”
The others quickly fell in line. We wrapped up Damon’s body in a sleeping bag and crammed it in my trunk. I put a bunch of beer behind the body, hoping that if I was stopped and forced to open the trunk, the booze might catch the attention of the law and cause them to stop looking. However, if they looked deeper, it wouldn’t matter what I put in the back, I’d simply be screwed for life. I had no illusion the others following me would stop to help. They would keep driving and act like they never knew me.
After loading Damon’s body, we took as much evidence from the site as we could find and loaded it in the bag. We tossed the gun, the ski masks, and even shoveled as much blood-soaked dirt as we could find into the duffel bag, which I loaded in my trunk next to Damon’s body. When we finished, there was literally no proof that Damon’s body or robbery utensils had ever been present at Burner and Toosh’s barn.
Having loaded everything incriminating in my vehicle, which despite my bravado freaked me out immensely, while the other three piled into Burner’s car, after grabbing two shovels and a couple garbage bags. We also had them bring some gasoline and matches to perhaps burn as much evidence as possible. Then we all went to bed and set our alarm clocks for ten the next morning.
I did not sleep much that night, if at all. I kept imaging scenarios wherein I was pulled over and Damon’s body was discovered. No doubt I would be sent away for life and probably put to death for my crimes, leading me to ponder the process and wonder if I would turn on the others. In the calm of the night, undiscovered, it was easy to say I would not, but the truth might be another matter. I was not scared of death, but the act of dying absolutely terrified me, and there was little doubt I would do anything I could to either prolong or postpone having a needle shoved in my arm and strapped to a gurney. When the following morning came, I was irritated and anxious from the lack of sleep, perhaps moreso because everyone else seemed to have slept soundly and was related and ready to face the day. I was merely awake and in no mood to interact with the others.
The drive was slow and frustrating, and my annoyance grew by the mile. There is literally no major freeway that will take one from Portland to the coast, and instead we were forced to take a series of one lane highways that lazily meandered through the Cascade Mountains. Had the roads been uninhabited, perhaps I could have lived with this , but instead, a steady stream of semis lined the road, causing us to crawl towards our destination. Further exacerbating the situation was the lack of radio stations I could receive, and was forced to choose between the nonsensical ravings of numerous religious nuts, or silence. I chose silence as the lesser of two evils. And finally, the car driven by Burner kept falling out of view in my rearview mirror. Not wanting to attract attention, I could not pull over and wait, so I had to repeatedly go slower than even the surrounding traffic.
We arrived in Seaside in the middle of the afternoon. I waited for Burners car to take the lead and let Squeaky show the way. It was perfect. We broke off the main highway and onto a one lane street, from which we eventually turned off onto a dirt road, which we followed for half a mile. I doubted anyone had ever been on that road without a reason, which was exactly what we were looking for.
The cabin was not in as poor of condition as Squeaky let on, but it was obvious no one had set foot inside for perhaps a decade. The roof was groaning under the accumulated weight of moss and decaying leaves and two of the windows I could see were broken. But the walls were standing and it served as an adequate refuge from the elements, which had turned cold and misty on the Western side of the mountains. Once everyone stretched and smoked a cigarette, we gathered inside the cabin.
“Okay, let’s talk this through,” I started. “I think the first order of business should be to get the body out and bury it before it gets dark. Squeak, any good places around here.”
“Dude, it’s all good. Did you see anyone for the last two miles? No one will set foot on this property for years, by when we should be long gone.”
“Okay, but let’s assume if someone does, this cabin will be the meeting place, same as for us. I’d feel more comfortable if we buried it at least a half mile from here.”
“How?” Toosh asked. “We can’t drive the cars anywhere. There’s nothing but trees around here.”
“True, but we could just drag the body in the sleeping bag and I think it’d be okay. Two of us drag, the others carry the tools, and we can switch off if it gets too heavy. Anyone object?” No one said anything, though Toosh’s eye roll spoke volumes. “Guys, we need to focus. I feel like I’m doing everything here. I need input.”
Squeaky finally spoke up. “Dude, I hate to tell you this, but none of us give a shit. We just want this thing over and to move on. The sooner we can get on with our lives back in Portland, the better. So let’s just do this, okay?”
“Fine. Burner, why don’t you help me go get the body. Squeak, any problem with heading towards the ocean? I figure the further away from the road we can get, the better.”
“No, that’s fine. Let’s just go.”
Burner and I gathered Damon’s body and began dragging it, following the others as they walked slowly into the forest. Though I was repulsed by the sight of a corpse, I had to admit, I could not stop sneaking peeks. I had never seen an actual dead body, save for those at a funeral, which are nothing but caricatures. But here, I was face to face with what had been a living, breathing person less than twenty-four hours prior. I could see Damon’s five o’clock shadow, his huge nose, his vacant eyes, and blood soaked shirt. But most of all, I saw the person who I had worked side-by-side with for the last six months, and about whom I would have to live with the fact that my actions had gotten him killed, even if I did not pull the trigger.
I tried to recall everything I knew about the kid, but there was not much to speak of. He was about twenty-four. He was going to Portland Community College at nights and wanted to be a Research Scientist some day. He lived with a high school buddy in a run-down apartment off of SE 82nd Avenue. A typical night involved bars and pool. He was a decent looking guy, but never dated, and as far as we could guess, he was a virgin. He lacked self-confidence and took any good natured ribbing way too seriously. He always balanced his cash drawer at night, and was an occasional kiss-ass with the Manger. But most of all, he was now dead, never to pop his cherry or exact his revenge.
A dead body weighs much more than you would think. Burner and I worked up a sweat in the first few hundred feet, straining our arms, backs, and legs. I now understand the term “dead weight,” a little too well. Damon could not have been more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds, but moving his body felt like we were pulling a sled of pure lead. In the end, we had to trade off six different times with the others before we arrived at the site, which was perhaps a quarter of a mile from the cabin, but we all silently acknowledged we had gone far enough and no one wanted to continue to pull or look at the body any longer.
After another rest, we set about digging a whole, which after carrying the body felt like a vacation, particularly in the rich, moist Oceanside soil. Within a half hour, we had dug a hole, dumped Damon’s body along with the bag of money, refilled the whole, scattered the extra soil, and covered the spot with leaves and branches. We then all trudged back to the cabin and gathered inside.
Toosh was the first to speak. “So what now?”
“I think we just stick with the plan. We all head back to Portland and meet back up here a year from today. That would make it November eighth. Say high noon? Then we split up the money and all go our separate ways.”
“What about you?” Squeaky asked. “What are you going to do?”
“I am going to go collect my shit and just take off. They will come looking for me eventually, and I’d rather be gone when they do.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Doesn’t matter, that’s just the way it is now. I’ll be alright, but you all have to okay with this as well. This is either going to work because we all stick with the plan, or we’re all going down together. Everyone gets that, right?” Everyone nodded their heads. “Okay, then I guess we’re good. And let me just say that we all know where the body and money is, so we’re all trusting each other. There is really nothing to keep any of us from coming back here and grabbing the money, but remember, that money can’t be spent, so there’s no point. Until things die down, even spending one dollar of the money could cause whoever does it to be discovered, and all of us as a result.”
Looking back, I knew in my heart the temptation would be too much for someone to ignore all that money sitting in the woods, but I was doing my best to talk whoever was thinking of it into pausing before doing so. I would be long gone and unable to act. It was entirely possible Burner and Toosh could talk each other into grabbing the money and taking off,