absolute ebony shine. My father was vibrant and muscular. He had been a naval officer. She was the blushing young bride he brought back from Japan. My dad retired at the age of forty-seven. They waited until then to start a family. Mom was in her mid-thirties when I was born. We were a perfectly happy family until – " Jasmine choked and took a few moments to resume. Mick walked by her side in silence. "They were both chain smokers and began to get sick when I was seventeen. Both Mom and Dad were diagnosed with lung cancer the same month, Mick." Jasmine's voice trembled. A tear slid down her cheek. Jasmine continued as she and Mick entered the southeast entrance, "They were subjected to the standard treatments of radioactive and chemical poisons which only made them weaker and sicker. I had to watch my mother's gorgeous hair fall out and my father's fine physique shrivel to a skeleton." As Mick and Jasmine stepped onto the bottom of the escalator and were slowly raised toward the lobby, they were looking into each other's eyes as though no other people in the world existed. "I loved them so much, Mick. I couldn't bear to see those horrors happen to someone else I – " Jasmine's eyes sprang wide looking over Mick's shoulder. Loneshark felt something cold, round, and hard press against the back of his head which could only be the business end of a small pistol barrel.
"Put-chore hay-ends en tha ere, there, big see-tee ma-an! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh . . . Ehhhhhhhh."
Minutes before, Doctor Barker couldn't believe his eyes when two men with neckerchiefs tied over their faces entered the lobby of The Adam Midas Memorial Bank and pulled pistols out of the bibs of their overalls. They both wore heavily soiled baseball caps. The big man had the word Beer above the cap's bill. The smaller one had what appeared to be Nuther printed on the front of his cap. Brad summoned two junior technicians to the control room from another department and supervised them personally. Barker rapidly assigned each tech the remote operation of one of the lobby's movable mounted cameras. "All right, guys," the director hurriedly instructed, "don't worry about editing, follow the action and forward your raw footage directly to the news agencies and networks in real time!" The doctor then pulled the phone from his coat pocket and speed-dialed his new assistant director.
Due to his nervous exhaustion, it had taken Dweeb much longer than usual to do his work. Dorky had edited until one and then went for a late lunch. He listlessly picked at his food while the emotional roller-coaster of recent events charged through his overwhelmed consciousness. Dorky was too drained to logically weigh the losses against the gains. Dweeb had left the lunchroom, heading for the tower's underground parking area, only minutes before the special report commandeered the employee cafeteria's television screens. As Dorky beeped the lock open on his sports car, his cell phone vibrated. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled into the phone.
"Dweeb! I'm sorry, I know I gave you the afternoon off, but I need you back in the control room as soon as you can get here!"
"What – "
"The memorial bank is being robbed!"
"You're joking!"
"No! Weren't you the one who said only a moron would attempt a robbery there?"
