Combustion

Clockwork

The sound of the windshield wiper blades scrubbing back and forth against the glass as they half-assedly cleared the rain off the windshield was starting to make me irritated. The rain had been pouring down heavy since noon and ten hours later it showed no signs of slowing down. I wiped water droplets off my watch for the third time and checked the time. It was a quarter past ten. Another quarter had passed before I checked it again and I was beginning to grow anxious. Time was dwindling. Soon the window would close right before my eyes. I had been standing on the corner across from the bank I was casing for a little over thirty minutes. I was posted outside of a stolen car I hotwired in some rundown neighborhood. The foot traffic that regularly kept the neighborhood booming was nonexistent because of the rain. I had the car wired and in drive in less than 3 minutes, a new personal record in this type of weather. The rain kept traffic to a minimum in the neighborhood and in the inner city as well. The bank was located in the middle of downtown so the route from the bank to the safe house was approximately 20 to 25 minutes depending on the flow of traffic. Why would I have a safe house so far away? Well, we'll get to that.

"Where is this fool?" I muttered, wiping my watch again. The time was now 10:35 and in ten minutes we would miss our window. Just as I lit a Marlboro 72 a Corvette Stingray came to a screeching halt behind the 1997 BMW series 5 I borrowed. The driver stepped out while simultaneously concealing a Beretta px4 storm. I tossed the cigarette. "You lost track of time or something nigga?" I asked, sticking a firm hand in the drivers chest. "If you fuck this up for us that's your ass."

"Yo relax nigga, I had to make a pit stop," he said while fixing his jacket. "Here."

He handed me a cell phone with a number already ready on the dial screen. I looked at him and smiled, "This is it?" I asked. He nodded.

He stepped towards the car I stole and started inspecting it. "This nigga Blasé always got to have him a Beamer," he said as I called the number on the screen, "Niggas don't change."

I got off the phone at 10:40. Just in time for the security officer to hit the far corner of the sidewalk on his patrol. This would be his 4th time walking past me since I'd arrived. I got there at 9:30 and stayed in my car to observe. It took him 15 minutes to make a lap around the bank. Each time he made a lap he did the same thing: shine his flashlight through the front doors, check his phone, and for some fucking reason he kicks the trash can. He stopped once to smoke a cigarette and I grew anxious, thinking I had been made, so I jogged over to ask him for a cigarette. He was rude about it but didn't mind giving me a Marlboro 72. I didn't even smoke, I just needed some quick reassurance. Minutes later Blaze arrived and it was showtime.

By 10:45 the guard will be directly across from us on the sidewalk about to turn down the alley. That was two minutes from now. Blaze and I walked to his trunk and got situated. Guns, magazines, armor, etc.. Blaze is my weapons specialist. In charge of all artillery usage in the group. There wasn't a modification or firearm he didn't know about. He was already equipped with the Beretta px4 storm we would need so he handed me mine. I cocked it back while admiring its rotating barrel. It was fully loaded with 9mm hollow points. If our plan went accordingly we wouldn't need any of the heavier fire power he had to offer in his trunk. Hopefully, we wouldn't even need our Berettas. We went through the plan once more. I glanced at my watch just as the sound of someone kicking a tin trash can erupted. The trash can was on the corner directly across from us. A glance at my watch told me it was 10:45 and a nudge from Blaze told me it was time to go to work.

I snatched my umbrella from the passenger seat of the BMW and me and Blaze made our way down the alley after the guard. The rain was still pouring heavily as we crossed the street. Blaze stepped into a puddle right before we made it onto the sidewalk. "Damn, not my ones!" he exclaimed while examining his all white shoes.

"Only you would wear forces to some shit like this," I laughed.

The guard was standing near the trash cans in the alley flickering his lighter as we approached him. There were only three cameras around the perimeter of the building. Two in the front facing the street entrances and one in the alley facing the back door. We were standing just underneath it with the umbrella blocking it's view. Two guards worked the overnight shift. One patrols the outside while the other stays comfy in the surveillance room. The guard in the surveillance room is only permitted to leave the room under certain circumstances and he must be let out of the surveillance room by the patrolling guard who is the only one with a key for the room.

"Hey, you mind if I get another cigarette?" I asked the guard.

He glanced up from his gaze at the lighters flame and said, "Not yet, the call hasn't come yet." He then resumed his gaze at the flame, becoming trapped in it. I checked my watch. 10:51. I grew anxious again and turned to Blaze. He ensured everything was going according to plan and signaled for me to breathe. Just as I began to control my heart rate static came in through the guard's radio. The other guard needed to exit the room for some reason.

"Now can I have a cigarette?" I asked again. This time I was handed keys, a radio, a cap, and an armor vest. In return I handed the guard my umbrella. Facing Blaze I said, "If he moves," turning towards the guard and then back to Blaze, "Kill him." Then I entered the building.

"Aye, you know how to clean shoes nigga?" Blaze asked the guard. He already had his gun pulled out and aimed at the guards abdomen.