A Crooked Waitress

Chapter 57

Jack stopped his SUV about fifty yards from the bank and scanned the street for Morris's men. None of them was around; not on foot and not in a car. Morris's death had done the trick. Now that he was dead, his order to eliminate him was also deceased. His crew had a more urgent issue to deal with; who will be the next boss?

He examined his Ruger LCP and put it into his pocket. But before leaving the vehicle, he saw a police car veered into the street. The patrol slowed down, and stopped across the street from his vehicle; the cops were watching the traffic.

He took his phone out of his pocket and pretended to be busy with that.

Are they looking for me?

If they were, that was an excellent stop. It was far enough from the bank so they could watch the entrance without being spotted. But if Jack showed up, close enough to trap him inside.

A few minutes passed, and the cops didn't move. One of them opened a box of donuts, and each picked up one.

They hadn't noticed him, and it wasn't safe to remain there anymore. He decided to leave and turned on the engine. But just as it had appeared from nowhere, the police car moved on and vanished in the traffic.

He sighed in relief, left the SUV, and crossed the street into the bank. Before the day was out, he'd be hundreds of miles away, with his money in his pocket, ready to start a new life. He smiled at his bright future.

This small branch usually didn't have more than two tellers. Today it had one, and she had a customer. Waiting for his turn, Jack glanced around the place and hummed a song from an old movie. Then the teller's face caught his eyes.

She looked terrified and couldn't take her gaze off of him.

"Excuse me, Ms.?" The customer said but she ignored him.

The bank's armed guard was also looking at Jack. The security, a man in his sixties, usually sat down and leaned his AR15 against the wall. Today he was standing up and held his firearm with both hands.

"Excuse me, Ms.?" The customer said again.

The teller left her seat and went to the manager's desk.

Her boss listened to her and glanced at Jack once. Then he said something to her, but she shook her head.

With a stern look on his face, he repeated himself. And she reluctantly came back to the counter but avoided eye contact with Jack. The manager picked up the phone and dialed a number.

It has to be about Morris. They know, but how? How did the police catch up with me so quickly? Maybe someone saw me. But who?

Jack felt as if he was watching a slow-motion movie; a disaster waiting to happen in just a few seconds. His main opponent was the guard. He looked at the security, and the old man frowned and tightened his grip on the semiautomatic rifle.

That man is about to play cowboy, and in two minutes this place crawls with cops.

He turned toward the door to leave.

"Stop right there." The guard shouted.

"What the hell are you doing?" the manager yelled at the security.

Jack turned and drew his Rugger. And the old man opened fire. He had a clear shot but missed, and riddled the wall with bullets.

Jack shot him in the arm, and he lost his balance but still pulled the trigger. The gun barrel swiveled around, and the bullets flew all over the place.

The clerk was screaming behind the counter. The manager and the customer had dropped to the ground and covered their heads with their arms.

Jack cut him down in both legs and ended his firework. The man fell down and squirmed in pain. Jack slid his rifle aside, then kicked him in the face, and broke his jaw.

Police would show up in less than a minute. It was not enough time to force the manager to open the vault and pick up his money.

The last thing he noticed before he ran out ofthe bank was that the teller's shrieks had stopped.