Brad

“Don’t get caught!” Steve shouted in my ear.            

He really put me at ease.                     

Steve kept being persistent, "Have you got the money?" I was the calm one, on a mission, whilst he sat in the white van, around the corner.   

I pointed a gun at a helpless bank employee’s head as I crawled along the floor. I didn't have much time - another employee already pushed the red button under his desk. I couldn't watch them all. I'd already disabled the security - or so I thought. I shot a couple employees when I first came in. They reached for that button; I put on the silencer. Bang, bang. I'm an accurate aimer. 

He opened the safe. I indicated with the gun for him to get on the floor. “Make noise, you’re dead.”                             

I tossed an empty bag at him with my free hand. As he got back up, I kept checking behind me, sweat dripping from my forehead.                                 

The employees screamed when I jumped down from the ceiling. I used my laser to break in, the heat from it weakening the ceiling tile; then I stomped on the tile and it wobbled; before dropping to the floor with a loud thud. I dropped down a rope, using a clip at the top to attach it to the ceiling before I slid down.                                 

Those customers, they didn't have a chance.

Their screams became louder when, with a flick of my wrist, I exposed dynamite, attached to my stomach. It wasn't real - but they didn't know that. I threatened to blow the place up, unless they sat together on the floor, didn't move. I loved having power over people.                                 

Painting's was Cassie's thing - robbing people, mine.                                     

It all started when I worked in banks around town. I remember growing bored of Cassie on about her office job. The banks weren’t doing it for me, either. I had this sickening feeling every time I handed money over to someone. Then it clicked. I wanted excitement and riches �" but I wasn’t smart, or talented. There was no way I was going to have the life I really wanted without going bad. That's where Steve came in.                                  

Dark tinted glasses. Tall, medium build. He struck me as someone mysterious, like an FBI agent. He whipped off the glasses as he came to the counter, smirked and asked for his cash. Funny story, he aimed a gun at my face.                            

Instinctively, I tossed my hands up in the air. He'd hidden his gun with his dark jacket, but people watched my reaction, called the police. I was thrilled - excited. It was the most action I'd encountered the whole time I worked at Elmington's national bank. Here he was, a dark stranger, a gun at me. My life was at risk, my heart raced. Most people would've been frightened, but I was inspired. For a second, Steve glanced left to right; so I took the opportunity and slipped my hand up through the slit at the bottom of the window. I grabbed the gun from him. He was smart. Wearing gloves, no DNA evidence would've left his fingerprint. Luckily, he hadn't shot anyone, so I wouldn't be framed. Holding his gun, it felt natural, right. It was like the feeling of love. The thrill, the surge that ran through your whole body. The need to do something - to not sit back and let the chance pass you by. You had to grab it.                                 

I wrapped my fingers tightly round the gun, my forefinger almost tickling the trigger. With the restriction of movement being from the wrist down, I twisted the gun around, faced it to Steve. For a moment, his mouth was wide - fear struck his eyes.                                

He laughed, "You're quite clever," I let the gun go slack in my hand. It wasn't the reaction I expected. Here he was - a man, faced with death and he laughed in its face. He was my kind of guy.     

He looked down at my nametag, "Mr. Strewsbon. I have an offer for you..."                    

The bank disappeared. It was as if everything went white, the screaming customers and my colleagues, all gone. He proposed we work as a team. With my reflexes and his knowledge, we could run the town, maybe even the world, as he put it. I believed him.

And so, I tossed him back his gun. He turned round, shooting any customers that dared confront him. He pointed some of them toward the floor, made them kneel, hands on heads. He nodded toward me. I knew the bank inside out. I disabled the alarms, called the police - told them it was a mistake; the button to call them was pressed accidently. We grabbed the money and ran.                                    

And that's what I intended to do on my first one-man mission. Steve got injured on our last one; made a mistake. So far, we were doing much better than expected. It was like him having watch me from the outside benefitted us both. We didn't have to worry about our own lives and watch each other's backs. It was perfection.             

I sighed, back on the floor, watching that stupid bank employee who wasn't opening the safe fast enough. Luckily, I hadn’t seen anyone peering over the glass. They wouldn’t. People took me seriously. And that's what I loved about my "job."          

I was good at what I did. I stole from banks around town and would always put on a wax face beneath my mask. No one would ever identify me. Sometimes I’d get a wig and push out the long strands of brown hair �" or wear men’s shoes with heels on. Altering my height, hair and face made me undetectable.                    

He finally got it open, that beautiful click; it sent wonderful shivers down my spine. The smell of sweet, crisp, money. Frightened, the employee tossed the bag at me, after stuffing as much cash as it would fit.                              

I carried on crawling, getting up only at the emergency exit at the back of the bank. I slung the bin bag over my shoulder. A small amount of money was light, but this bag was heavy. At least that employee did his job. Well, helped me with mine. As I walked backwards out the exit, sirens from cop cars blaring loudly down the street, I kept my gun fixed on the employee’s face. There wasn't much point, though - one of his colleagues already pressed the damn button.         

I smirked. The sad thing was, this employee, shaking in front of me, wouldn’t be able to describe me to the cops. I was wearing green contact lenses.                                 

I let the door close. I dashed as fast as I could; up the alleyway to a wire fence. I couldn't believe it; we'd finally taken down the last bank in the city. How they bragged on the TV, "those robbers will never break in here," oh but we did. We tackled the biggest one last and succeeded. The fire, the surge to do more, grew. I wanted to rob the biggest banks in the world, to get a team together. This fire, it burned. And it burned brightly.                       

No, I had to stay in the moment, be focussed. I climbed up the fence, “Steve �" I’ve got the money. I’m out.”                      

I jumped down the other side, ran out to the street, round the buildings. He was parked by the Taffy Cafe, as we’d arranged.                              

Our white van was inconspicuous. It was a normal, average white van. Once we got going, we disappeared into the traffic.