Bank Heist

• Jacob Zanatta, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2013

The three men stood on the footpath at the intersection of Tumbler Road and 21st Street. They were on the corner that was next to the lush, green Stallion Park, where there were several families out enjoying the sunshine with a picnic.

But that wasn’t what the men were concentrating on.

Opposite the intersection, over the noisy traffic and chattering pedestrians, stood a plain, slightly squat, grey building, the Eastern Profits Bank. It was in stark contrast to the tall, glass-clad skyscrapers and the sunny park around it. In fact, it almost looked like it was trying to hide in the shadows, unnoticed. That was what the men were looking at.

One of the men, Harley, with his slick black hair, narrow moustache and black, well-pressed suit, looked like he should be selling insurance. In fact, that was what Harley used to do, before they fired him for using the last of the coffee.

The man on his right looked about fifty years old, but his dark eyes were burning with intelligence. He too, was wearing a suit, a dark grey one the colour of charcoal. His brown hair was slightly thinning, and flecked with grey. No one made a comment on it though. The last person to do so had mysteriously ended up with a large, sharp implement in his chest. His name was Roberts.

The last man was noticeably younger than the other two, and looked slightly out of place. He was wearing slacks and a cheap leather jacket. Zephyr, as he was known as, had very short, brown hair, and narrow, hazel eyes.

There was one more member of their group, who was in the pristine skyscraper on Tumbler Road, opposite the bank. He was crouched in one of the offices, overlooking the intersection, with the remains of the original user of the office spread out on the desk behind him. He was short, lean and always wore a facemask. He never gave away his name, so the others simply called him Tom.

Tom suddenly stood up, his hawk-like eyes having spotted what he was searching for. He opened the window about an inch, and let a single, white piece of paper flutter down to the footpath.

The others spotted this and immediately reacted.
“Let’s go. You all know the drill.” Harley muttered.
Harley and Zephyr started across the road, while Roberts hung back and reached into his pocket for something. A black car with tinted windows and a V12 engine pulled up outside the bank. Two heavyset men in suits got out, followed by a mousey, watery-eyed old man whose mind was filled with murderous thoughts. Roberts straightened up, levelled his pistol and shot the old man in the head.

He went down in a fountain of blood, then Tom, still in the office above, pressed a button on his phone. And everything went to Hell.