Bank Job

by Anita Sanchez

The bank was built of brick, solid and heavy, with barred, narrow windows and  enormous locks on the door. Heyes and Kid walked slowly up the marble steps between tall white pillars, looking the bank over with a professional air. They scrutinized the windows, eyed the nearby buildings, and Heyes carefully read the serial numbers on the locks, nodding to himself with pursed lips.  Kid fingered the gun in his holster, and tapped a nervous foot.

Finally Heyes turned and gave the heavy door a resounding slap. "There, see, built like a fort, Thaddeus, the latest thing in locks and bolts. What better place to keep our money than in a good safe bank?"

"Heyes, this has got to be your stupidest idea yet," grumbled Kid.  "Whoever heard of bank robbers putting money into a bank?"

"We're not bank robbers any more, Kid, try to get that through your head," said Heyes in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder.  "Respectable, law-abiding citizens don't go around burying their money under rocks.  They put it in the bank."

"But why?  A rock's just as good.  Probably safer."

"Because," said Heyes patiently, "We can telegraph to a bank for funds when we need to, and they'll wire us a cash order.  Can't do that with a rock.  How many more times do you want to have this conversation?"

"I still don't like it," growled Kid, but Heyes ignored him and swung the door open.  They entered the bank, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor, and looked around at the ornate room, decorated with murals and goldwork, and the high ceiling that was supported by marble pillars down the center.  Heyes had to admit to himself it did feel a bit odd to be entering such an obviously profitable bank with strictly peaceable intentions. 

"Well, go on, you're the expert," Kid nudged him.  "What do we do next, pull our guns and shout 'Hands up, we're making a deposit?'"

"Oh, shut up," said Heyes, and strode over to the teller's cage with a confident step.  He hastily prepared a story in case the teller asked him to account for the five hundred dollars they'd won playing poker, but the bored teller didn't bat an eye, just gave him some forms to sign.  Heyes conscientiously read all the fine print on the deposit forms, then signed "Joshua Smith" in four or five places, as the clerk indicated. Behind him there was a low hum of talk, and he heard Kid give an impatient sigh. Then suddenly a voice behind Heyes bellowed "Hands up!  This is a hold-up!"

Heyes couldn't believe his ears.  His first thought was to spin around and snarl at Kid to shut up with such a stupid practical joke.  But as he turned, he saw Kid behind him, staring at the door of the bank with mouth agape.  In the doorway stood five men with drawn guns.

"No," moaned Kid.  "This can't be happening.  I don't believe it."  The customers in the bank were staring in fright, and starting to raise trembling hands.  A woman screamed.  The tellers bunched together behind the counter like frightened sheep.  The gang strode into the bank, guns bristling, and three of them surrounded the customers as the other two pushed the tellers out from behind the marble counter.  Heyes realized his own mouth was open as wide as Kid's, and shut it hastily.  He gave Kid a shove, and they mingled with the townsfolk as the outlaws herded them into the center of the room.  One of the outlaws, a youngster of eighteen or so, went nervously behind all the men who wore gunbelts and collected their weapons. 

"Everybody just stand there with their hands up and no one gets hurt!" shouted a heavyset man who appeared to be the leader of the gang.  Behind him a tall, bearded outlaw with a huge shotgun waved the gun back and forth under the noses of the terrified citizens, three women and four or five men.

"That guy's an amateur," Kid whispered to Heyes.  "He's waving that gun around all over the place, he ought to get the drop on one person and hold it.  Ought to make every one lie down, too."

"Well, why don't you offer him a word of helpful advice," Heyes muttered.  "I'll bet he doesn't realize he's being watched by a professional." 

"Shut up," said Kid.  "I just hate to see things being done wrong, that's all."

"They got the time right," murmured Heyes. "Four o'clock, just before closing time.  And it's a Friday, they've got the week's payrolls all together.  I should have known to stay out of a bank on a Friday afternoon."

"You should have known to stay out of a bank, period," growled Kid.

Two of the outlaws went behind the counter and started grabbing up bills and stacks of coins. The other three watched eagerly, their eyes wide as the men stuffed hundred dollar bills by the handfuls into the canvas sacks.  The bearded man with the shotgun took a step towards the stacks of money, his eyes intent on the loot. Suddenly one of the bank tellers bolted for the door, and three of the outlaws swung their guns in his direction.

"Don't, you idiot!" yelled Kid, taking a step forward. Heyes grabbed Kid's arm and pulled him back.  The man with the shotgun took a hasty aim and a deafening roar reverberated around the marble walls of the bank.  The fleeing man fell, his head shattered.

Heyes and Kid both stood frozen.  The bank robbers and the civilians did, too, in a moment of horror that seemed to engulf them all. The echoes of the shot died away, and silence filled the room as all eyes looked at the dead man and the blood that was spreading in an ever-widening circle.  Then the leader of the outlaw gang began to shout obscenities, and wrested the shotgun from the man's hands.  The women began to scream in unison. One of them, an elderly lady, put her hands over her face, and backed up, trembling and panting.  She tripped and fell, then scrambled to her feet, and ran screaming for the door.  One of the outlaws, a thin, narrow-eyed man, aimed hastily at her back. 

Kid ripped his arm free from Heyes’s grasp, and made a dive for the outlaw’s gun.  Heyes's shout of "No!" and the gunshot echoed together.  The woman fell, sprawled headlong on the floor.  And the outlaw whirled, panic on his face, and fired another shot directly at Kid, who spun around, hands pressed to his side, crashed heavily into the marble counter, and fell to the floor.

All the townsfolk were shouting now, but Heyes was silent.  He ran over to Kid and bent down, shaking him roughly by the shoulder, but Kid didn’t move.  Heyes started to roll him over and look for the wound, forgetting the chaos all around, but he suddenly felt himself pulled violently backwards.  He tore himself free and swung a fist at one of the outlaws, but another of the men cracked him on the head with a gun butt.  Dazed, he felt himself slammed against one of the pillars as his hands were yanked behind his back.

He shook his head painfully, leaning against the marble pillar.  When his vision cleared, he saw Kid still lying where he had fallen.  Heyes strained at the rope that tied him to the pillar, but he couldn't get free.  "Kid!" he shouted, not caring who heard him.  "Kid, answer me! Kid!"  But there was no answer.

Desperate, he looked around.  The outlaws were engaged in a heated argument, yelling at each other.  The townsfolk were huddled together, the men with their hands still raised high, the women weeping.  Heyes shouted to them, "Help!  Somebody come over here, help him!  Come on!  Damn you, somebody help him!"

But the townsfolk looked at him with terrified faces, then looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.  A woman in a silk dress turned her back and sank to the ground in a heap.  The others stood shaking.  The outlaw leader glanced over and snarled “You all stay where you are, don't nobody move." Then he went back to arguing with his men, debating whether they should make a break for it now or wait till darkness.  Voices from the street outside showed that the shots had been heard, and there was no time to lose.  Heyes looked back at Kid and watched as a small pool of red slowly formed on the floor beside his body.

Heyes twisted and strained at the rope till his hands were numb, and he could feel the sticky wetness of blood on his wrists.  Finally he stopped and leaned his head back against the pillar, panting.  He tried to see if Kid was breathing, but Kid was lying face down a few feet away, wearing the heavy sheepskin jacket, and it was impossible to see if his chest was moving or not.  Heyes could just see a glimpse of Kid’s face, dead white, eyes closed.  Heyes watched him for a long time, then finally sank down to sit on the floor, his hands still bound to the pillar behind him.

The noisy argument among the outlaws was still going on, but it was interrupted by three shots fired outside.  The robbers fell silent, looking around uneasily.  Then a voice from outside shouted “Hey, you, in the bank, what’s wrong in there?  This is the sheriff!”

The outlaw leader ran to the window and stood beside it, his back pressed to the wall.  “We’ve got a lot of hostages in here!”  he shouted.  “There are ten of us, and we’ve got hostages!  You let us go with the money, or we’ll kill’em all!”

“Well, there’s fifty of us,” shouted the voice.  “And we’re not letting you go anywhere!”  You come out with your hands up!  And if every single person in that bank isn’t perfectly fine, we’ll hang the whole lot of you!”

Heyes listened to all this with horror.  At any other time, this dialog might have struck him as hilarious.  Like Kid, he hated to see a really lucrative bank job  hopelessly bungled.  Now, with so many lives riding on the outcome of this Mexican stand-off, he was terrified.  The outlaws, amateurs as Kid had pointed out, were similarly petrified, and stood arguing in furious whispers.

“Well?” the sheriff shouted.  “What’s your answer?  You coming out peaceable?  Or are we gong to blast our way in?”

“Blast your way in?” hollered the leader.  “Blast your way in here?  Take more’n fifty men to do that!  This place is built like a fort, and we can hold it for a long time!”  Heyes looked around i at the dim interior, the narrow windows, the stone walls.  It was built like a fort, all right.  It would take a posse a long time to shoot their way in.  A long time.

The gang was still debating what to do.  The citizens, one by one, sank down to sit on the ground in a miserable huddle.  Heyes eyed both groups with hatred.  The youngest outlaw, a tall, nervous youth, was urging that they try to make a run for it.  “Yeah,” said the outlaw with the shotgun. “The hell with it, let’s go now.  I’ll blast us a way out.”  He brandished the huge weapon.

“Put that thing down, Anderson, you’ve already got us into enough trouble,” said the one who had shot Kid.  Heyes looked at the man with narrowed eyes, memorizing his face.

“Me?” said Anderson.  “You’re the one who shot the woman and the other guy.  You’ll swing for sure, Curtis.”

“Yeah, right beside you, if they catch us,” broke in the leader.  “That’s why we’re gonna wait till midnight and bust our way out in the dark.”

Heyes decided it was time to get in the game.  “Too bad it’s a full moon tonight, fellas,” he called over.  “It’ll be bright as day out in the street right about midnight.”  They turned and stared at him.

“See?” the youngster said.  “I tell you, we gotta go now!”

“Are you stupid, there’s fifty men out there,” snapped the leader.

“There aren’t fifty men out there now, they couldn’t possibly be that organized yet,” said Heyes.  “But there will be soon.  They’re sending the word out right now.  You haven’t got any time to waste, you stupid fools.”

“Shut up,” said the leader.

“No let him talk, Snyder, he’s making sense,” said Anderson.

“If you shoot that elephant gun out the front door a couple of times as a diversion, and then head out the back, you just might make it,” said Heyes.  “But you’ve gotta go now, while it’s dusk, before moonrise.” 

“Makes sense,” said the youngster. 

“Shut up!” said Snyder, shoving him violently into the wall.  He strode over to Heyes, drawing his gun.  “I said shut up, and I meant it.  You stop shooting off your mouth, you hear, what do you know about posses and bank robbing, you sodbustin’ farmer? Who do you think you are, anyway?”

Heyes struggled to his feet, leaning against the pillar, and gazed at Snyder for a moment.  “Hannibal Heyes,” he said quietly.

There was a silence.  The outlaws as well as the townsfolk looked him over curiously, like an exhibit  in a zoo.  Snyder stared at him uneasily, then laughed.  “Oh, sure, Hannibal Heyes, of course.  And I’m Billy the Kid.”  He jerked his thumb at the floor.  “Who’s that, Kid Curry?”

Heyes looked down at the still figure.  “That’s right,” he said.

“Oh, sure, the fastest gun in the west,” said Snyder, giving Kid a kick in the ribs.  Heyes clenched his fists in fury, and shouted, “You stupid bastard!  You’re gonna get all your men killed, not just yourself, you hear me?”

Snyder approached slowly, murder in his face. He pushed his gun against the side of Heyes’s head.  Heyes closed his eyes as he heard the click of the hammer drawn back.  Snyder‘s voice hissed in his ear, he could feel the man’s breath on his cheek.  “You say one more word, and you’re a dead man.  You got that?  One more word.  You think I’m kidding, try it.”  The gun was withdrawn and Heyes started to breathe again and opened his eyes as he heard Snyder’s footsteps fading.  He sagged against the pillar and sank down to the floor again.  So much for the silver tongue, he thought.

The bank was almost dark now.  Shouts and hoofbeats and the light of torches drifted into the room from outside.  The townsfolk were silent in a dark group in the middle of the floor.  The outlaws paced back and forth, occasionally peering out windows and muttering together.  Fear filled the room in an almost visible fog.

Heyes stared at Kid’s body in the shadows, looking for any sign of movement, listening for a breath.  He found himself saying out loud “Please... please...”  He had no idea who he was addressing.  He couldn’t imagine a god who would take enough interest in the affairs of two bank robbers to intervene in this hopeless mess.  “Get it through your head, we’re not bank robbers any more,” he said angrily to whoever might be listening.  “He didn’t get shot robbing a bank, he got hurt trying to save that stupid woman who panicked.  Please...”  The bank grew darker, and he could barely see Kid anymore. 

Heyes looked around the vast, shadow-filled room searching for something, anything, to spark an idea.  He'd never needed one more, and his mind had never been blanker.  Red glare from lanterns and torches outside gave the bank a dim, fitful light, and Heyes caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.  He shifted his position cautiously, sliding the rope around the pillar, to see what it was.  A shadowy figure was creeping along behind the tellers' cages, head ducked low so as not to be seen from the other side.  From the long thin legs, Heyes guessed it was the young bank robber.  He couldn't see the face, but the tense figure and stealthy movement made him watch intently.  Snyder stood on the other side of the counter, his back turned, peering towards the door.

The youngster straightened up silently and raised his gun.  Heyes saw him silhouetted sharply against the window.  He instinctively opened his mouth to shout a warning, but shut it again and smiled.  He reflected with satisfaction that after all it had been Snyder himself who had told him not to say another word.  Heyes watched quietly as the young man took a deep breath, aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger.  Heyes didn't even blink as the bullet crashed through Snyder's head.  One down, Kid, he thought.

The huddle of townsfolk started shrieking again, men as well as women.  Heyes looked at them with contempt, wishing they would shut up so he could follow the outlaws' conversation.  Outside the sheriff was shouting threats, but his words were drowned by the outcry. When the noise from the citizens finally died down a bit, the outlaws were still shouting abuse at one another.  Curtis, the one who'd shot Kid, stormed up to the boy and started to take a swing at him, but Anderson swung the big shotgun around, and blasted the man with both barrels full in the chest.  Heyes smiled again, his eyes gleaming, as the man crashed to the ground.  Two down, he thought.

The three remaining outlaws seemed to be of the "make-a-run-for-it" school of thought, Heyes observed, since they were picking up the money bags and drawing their guns.  He was professionally interested to see that apparently they had decided to adopt his suggestion of creating a diversion out the front door, then ducking out the back.  Anderson approached the heavy front door cautiously, pulled back the bolts, then suddenly kicked it open.  He fired both barrels out the front, then all three raced for the back of the building.  They vanished in the shadows, and silence filled the room.

The townsfolk still cowered on the floor, afraid to move, but Heyes was grinning.  He couldn't stop.  Finally he laughed out loud.  The back exit plan would have worked a few hours ago in the half- light of dusk, before the sheriff had mobilized his forces.  But now, the combination of the full moon and dozens of armed men with torches made the results a foregone conclusion.  A sudden fusillade of shots and screams confirmed his prediction.

It was only a few minutes before the sheriff strode in the open front door, followed by  a crowd of men with torches and lanterns.  They swirled around the bank like an angry swarm of bees, looking for more outlaws.  Some went over to help the bank customers to their feet.  A deputy cut the rope that tied Heyes to the pillar, then hurried off to assist the woman in the silk dress who was having hysterics, drumming her heels against the floor.  Heyes didn't waste a glance in her direction.  He tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs wouldn't seem to work properly, so he crawled on hands and knees to where Kid still lay motionless through all the din.

“Kid?” Heyes said softly, knowing he wouldn’t answer.  He reached out a hand that shook, and gently turned Kid over.  Kid gave a low groan and moved his head.  His eyes were closed, but he was breathing.