The Bank Robber Jericho Brown
By: P.G. Barnett
Tags: Storytelling, Fiction, Short Story, Fiction Series, Henry And Sunny

My name is Henry James and I’m a writer for Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Conclusion

Six weeks ago I woke up in a hospital with a massive headache and my left arm in a cast. I also met Baxter Huntley, a doctor who’d been dead for twenty five years.

Yeah, I know. In my line of work strange things are the rule rather than the exception. I’ve gotten used to the weird.

My personal doctor, after removing the cast, prescribed another eight weeks of physical therapy.

I took it as more of a suggestion.

For those of you who read my stories you know I have an aversion to exercise of any kind. Just not going to happen.

Unless you’re talking about walking from the car to the inside of a fast food joint.

Speaking of cars, I was forced to buy another steel stallion. The eighteen wheeler which smashed into my ass did a real number on my old ride. But the silver lining was the settlement check from the trucking company paid all my hospital bills and the cost of my new car.

So all in all, things were looking pretty good.

But as you folks should know by now my situation changes faster than Texas weather.

It all started with a trip to my local bank to withdraw a little traveling money from what was left of the settlement.

I’d been a customer at the bank so long I knew most of the people there on a first name basis. It was always a “hey Henry, hello Mr. James” moment when I walked in.

But not today.

Nobody was saying a damned word.

You know that feeling you get when something’s not quite right? You’re looking at what should be a normal situation and something seems out of place, but you just can’t put your finger on it?

Yeah, that feeling.

For some reason, my spidey sense started jangling big time. I should have listened to my brain yelling at me to get the hell out of there.

And…I didn’t.

I watched as two drive in tellers walked through the opening behind the counter followed by a skinny kid with stringy bleached hair beneath a ball cap.

He was wearing sunglasses and brandishing a shotgun.

Okay, so I’d just walked my way into the middle of a bank robbery. Now it was time to shift into reverse and walk my way out.

The minute he saw me he vaulted the counter and aimed the shotgun in my direction.

“Get on the fucking floor man! Get down or I swear to God I’ll cut your fat ass in half!”

As I struggled to comply I must say I was a little pissed.

I may be a few pounds on the heavy side, but come on fat ass?

Really?

“Everybody do what I tell you and nobody gets hurt. Ladies pop your tills, then come out from behind the counter slowly. Do it now. You people in the offices get your asses out here with old man fatty and sit your asses down. Everybody move it now!”

I tell you folks if he hadn’t had that shotgun I would have gotten up and punched him in the face. The nerve of that scrawny ass punk calling me fat two times in less than thirty seconds.

“Who has the keys to the front door?”

We all looked at Robert Sanford. Bob was the bank’s branch manager for as long as I could remember. I knew Bob pretty well. Hell, we’d even spent time in a deer stand together freezing our asses off. As cold as that day was, I was guessing Bob would have traded it for the situation we were all in now. Slowly, he raised his hand.

“Okay sir, the keys are in my pocket. I need to pull them out.”

“Get the fuck up and get your ass to the door. If you so much as flinch and I don’t like it I’ll cut you in half. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

We all watched Bob inch his way to the front door, lock it then return and sit down. Despite the chilled air from the units on the roof all of us were sweating.

“Give me the damned keys.”

Bob held up the keys and the man snatched them and jammed them in his pocket.

“Listen up people. I’m just here for the money. I don’t want to hurt nobody. Once I’m done with the tills, I’m going to take whatever money you got then I’m outta here. Nobody tries to be a hero and everybody stays alive. Got it?”

I’m guessing in the punk’s brain he was thinking everything was going as planned. A few more minutes and he would be out the door with a butt load of money.

When the flashing lights of several police cars bounced and flickered their way into the bank’s lobby the shit started to get real. My guess is one of the bank tellers must have triggered a silent alarm.

I believe Robert Burns said it best.

The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft a-gley.

The Texas version however, is almost as poetic.

Boy you done bit off way more’n you can chew.

I can tell you what was running through all of our minds right then. We’d all heard about hostage situations and as skittish as our well armed captor was it was quite possible one of us could get hurt.

Like dead hurt.

“Shit, shit, shit, SHIT, SHIT!!”

The punk kept repeating the one word as he darted back and forth from the edge of the double glass doors to where we sat.

“SHIT, SHIT!”

Okay somebody had to try and calm the kid down. I was thinking we wouldn’t get a chance to draw straws or pick a spokesperson with a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors so I took a deep breath, let it out then craned my neck to lock eyes with the guy.

“Son, I think you need to breathe a bit, and try to calm down.”

Whoa, that sure put a cap on it.

He stopped pacing and aimed the shotgun at my head.

“I don’t think I want to hear a Goddamned word from you grandpa. Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?”

“First off you little piece of shit I ain’t your granddaddy. If I was I’d be kicking your ass right about now. Second off, you need to hear what your fucking options are before you kill somebody or the police start busting caps in your ass. How about we start with an introduction. My name’s Henry, Henry James. What’s yours?”

“Henry James? The Henry James what writes all that weird shit in the Dark Sides? That Henry James?”

I’m thinking my answer might bring about two reactions. One, this punk was a loyal fan who read my work and loved me. Two, this guy hated my shit so bad he’d as soon shoot my ass as look at me.

Oh well. There’s days when you just gotta lay it out there.

“One and the same.”

“Well ain’t this a kick in the head? I read that last story you and that chick wrote.”

“Sunny Alexander?”

“Yeah that story was totally whack.”

“Whack like in good?”

“Oh dude, that shit was crazy good. So did you guys really talk to a ghost? Like for real?”

“Yeah, except he wasn’t pointing a shotgun at my ass and trying to steal my money. Okay so you know who I am. Now it’s your turn.”

Before the young man could answer one of the phones began to ring, then another, and another. In seconds every phone in each of the five offices was warbling.

“I believe that’s for you son.”

READ ON — THE BANK ROBBER JERICHO BROWN PART II

Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com