13 Adam 6

Charles Glover Interlude

It was twelve noon on November 21st, an extremely busy day for Scofield Bank & Loan. The bank was remotely located at the heart of the suburbs, just ten blocks east of Charles Glover's luxurious seven-story Victorian mansion. Charles was a successful accountant at a law firm until he was fired eight months ago under the suspicion that he was stealing money. While he was very wealthy, he was still on the verge of bankruptcy and because of his spending habits, he was close to losing his house and family. As he sat at the dining room table eating a late breakfast, he couldn't help but realize how he didn't have enough money to pay for next month's groceries. Thoughts of life on the streets and poverty raced through his mind. Tears helplessly rolled down his face, splashing loudly on the pink ivory dining room table. As he realized what was happening, he quickly wiped his face. His mind drifted to how he didn't have half the money he needed, but the bank had an estimated 20 billion dollars. He could feel himself getting angry and his face getting hot. Anger turned into rage, and he screamed out in frustration. Why should the bank have so much money while he's forced to struggle? He knew what needed to be done. Picking up the phone, he hit redial and waited patiently as the call went out.

...

Six months took forever to go by, but it was finally game day. Six months of planning, preparation, and sleepless nights, but it was worth it. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to hit the bank.  After a quick shower, I got dressed wearing an expensive wine red Burberry suit with suede black loafers. While I was in the closet, I grabbed a black duffle bag and stuffed it with a custom painted .223 assault rifle, a silver Smith & Wesson pistol, a black costume ski mask, more black duffle bags, and a satellite phone. Taking the heavy duffle bag to the driveway, I turned around almost forgetting to lock the doors. Simultaneously as the lock turned the power went off inside. "Fuck me!" I yelled out in frustration walking back towards the garage shaking my head in disbelief. I had a garage full of vehicles, all brand new with few miles on them painted matte black with illegally dark tinted windows. I stood there for a minute, unable to decide which car I wanted to take, but after a few minutes, I decided that the Chevy Suburban would be the best fit.

After a five minute drive through light traffic, I arrived at the bank. I parked in a dark alley on the east side of the building where there weren't any cameras to be a little inconspicuous. Stepping out, I walked to the back of the SUV to grab the gear bag. Panic started to set in as I thought more of what was about to happen. Now having second thoughts, I knew that once I opened the doors to the bank, there was no going back. I paced back and forth, saying a quick prayer. After the final Amen, I took in some fresh air knowing it could the last time. I struggled to put the mask and gloves on while I walked towards the door.

As I got to the red and blue tall stained glass doors of the bank, I paused and reached into my jacket pocket. Taking out a wrinkled piece of paper, I had seconds to review all the notes jotted down the night before. "4 security guards each with guns, 7 tellers, an unknown number of civilians and 30 minutes. Let's do it," I said mumbling to myself. After the fifth time reading it aloud, I snatched the door open and immediately barked out orders. "Everybody down on the ground, NOW!" Screaming loud enough to make sure my voice would echo throughout the bank. I grabbed the nearest hostage putting my arm around her neck standing behind her so she couldn't run putting my pistol to the right side of her head.  I ask, "What's your name?" The strawberry blonde chubby woman told me it was Christine. I responded to her by yelling out, "Security Guards! If you cooperate, Christine won't have to make the news. I'm sure the family she has will blame all four of you for all the grievances they will face dealing with the expensive costs of burying her." The guards looked at each other and remained glued in place. "Christine, you have any children- hey don't cry. As long as these nice men with guns give those guns up you can live today. Now, how many children do you have?" Between sobs, she was able to whisper out the number three. "Three children she said. Guards are you sure you want to make those children motherless?! I WILL not ask again," I screamed at the guards.