is show me. I don’t understand what it is You want from me. How am I supposed to know unless You tell me?”
The figure on the cross didn’t answer. Instead, He was silent, looming over me.
“Give me some proof. That’s all I’m asking for. Give me a sign— one single, simple sign.”
Silence.
“Cure me,” I whispered. “Make this cancer go away and let me live.”
I still felt sick. I was still dying. I’d become what I hated in other people by giving in to the culture of blame. It was time to move on. I stood up and wiped my bloody nose on the back of my hand.
“Then fuck You. I knew You wouldn’t help. You can’t help me because You don’t exist. You’re not real. You’re just another fairy tale, like the Easter bunny and Santa Claus. You can’t help me. I’ll do this my way.”
There was no lightning bolt or angel with a flaming sword. God didn’t show up and smite me down for my sacrilege. Jesus didn’t climb down from the wall and bash my head in with His cross. The priest would have probably said that was because He was a loving God, a forgiving God, but I knew it was really because He didn’t exist. I’d given Him a chance to prove me wrong, to show me that He was there for me, for all of us.
I’d gotten nothing. Nothing from God. Nothing from the government. Nothing from my doctor or the medical establishment or my employer.
The only person I could rely on to take care of my family was me. And pretty soon, I’d be gone.
It was time to get on with it.
It was raining when I walked outside. While I’d been inside the church, the beautiful, warm weather had vanished, replaced with dark, ominous clouds. I welcomed them. The downpour washed over me and it felt like a baptism. Dying, I was reborn.
I got back in the truck, and drove home— feeling more alone and depressed than ever before. But I was also beginning to feel something else. Something new. Determination. A feeling of peace settled over me, and I liked the way it felt.
Then the fear set in once again, washing it all away.
TEN
The next three days were pretty busy. We went over the plan, cased the bank and the strip mall where it was located, stole license plates for John’s car, mapped escape routes, and planned for everything we could think of that might possibly go wrong. I was still lying to Michelle— getting up for “work” each morning, then spending the day at John’s grungy bachelor pad crib instead, playing video games and watching porno and getting high when we weren’t planning the robbery. (My marijuana use was way up— it’s true what they say. It really does help curb the nausea.) For an extra touch of realism, Sherm even dropped by the foundry and got some dirt to rub on our clothes, hands, and faces, so that it looked like we’d been working. The only thing I didn’t have to fake was the fatigue. The cancer took care of that for me. Finally, Thursday came and it was time.
The morning of the robbery, Michelle had an early shift. When I woke up, she and T. J. were already gone. She’d left me a note on the refrigerator: “Tommy— I forgot to tell you. I tried to use the ATM card last night after I picked T. J. up, but it was declined. It says that we’re minus two hundred dollars! Can you please call the damn bank today and find out what happened?
Does this have to do with the layoffs? This is why I wish you’d let me help you do the bills. Love you, Michelle.”
It was good that they were gone, since I couldn’t seem to stop throwing up. Part of it was the disease, but a lot more of it was my nerves. I’d been over it in my head a hundred times, but now that the day was actually here, I was scared shitless.
John was scared too, and I saw it on his face when he arrived to pick me up. Neither of us mentioned it. We didn’t really talk at all. Instead, we listened to Outkast and sang along a little too loudly. We stopped at Sherm’s and he slid into the backseat, cup of coffee in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other.
“You sure about this, Tommy?”
I nodded in confirmation.
“Then it’s on.”
John let out a strangled sigh and we drove toward the edge of town.
“Carpet Dick, tell me that you checked the car over yesterday like I told you to, right? Turn signals and brake lights and everything are working? Filled the tank up, checked the oil and all of that shit?”
“Yep, we’re good to go.”
“Then let’s go over this shit one more time,” Sherm suggested. “And slow down. The last fucking thing we need right now is to get pulled over for speeding.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, this is how it goes. When we get to the strip mall, John parks behind the Chinese place, next to the big garbage Dumpster. There’s no traffic back there, garbage pickup isn’t until next Monday, and the Chinks don’t go outside for a smoke break until noon, so nobody will see us. After that, Tommy, me and you walk around the side, pull the ski masks down, and burst hard-core through those bank doors. No fucking names. You don’t call me Sherm and I don’t call you Tommy while we’re in there. Just remember, and I mean it, Tommy— this has to go down hard. That means yelling and cussing and shouting and pushing people around and shit. We need to get their attention with a quickness. It’s the only way this thing is gonna work. We’ve got to let them know who’s in charge. We may have to bloody a few noses or punch some motherfucker in the mouth to get their attention. There will probably be some violence. Be ready for that.”
“But no shooting, right?” I wanted to make sure we were absolutely clear on this point.
“Right man, no shooting. The guns are just for show. Worst-case scenario, I shoot a hole in the ceiling.”
I shook my head. “No, Sherm. No shooting at all. We agreed on that from the beginning.”
“Relax. Like I said, it’s a worst-case scenario. And this is gonna be easy. You’re getting worked up over nothing, dog. You’ll see.”
“Now what if I hear you guys shooting?” John asked. “Then what?”
“Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck did I just say, John? Did I stutter or something? There’s not going to be any shooting. You just stay in the car and keep out of sight.”
He took a sip of coffee, calmed down, and continued.
“Once we’re inside and have everybody’s attention, we do the takeover. With John in the car, we won’t have an extra person to watch the door and make sure that the hostages don’t try to make a break for it. So when we go through, turn the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED. We’ll make them all lie down on the floor, away from the door. That should make it easier to cover them. The door will be in your sight the whole time, so you’ll know if somebody else is coming. You hit the cash drawers while I hit the vault. Like I said before, we don’t have to worry about the dye packs. Just check your shit and make sure they don’t slip you one of those tracking devices. Once we’ve got the cash in the backpacks, we haul our asses out the door, get to the car, and we’re gone before five-oh even arrives.”
“That’s where I come in.” John sat up straight.
“Yeah, John, that’s where you come in. Let’s see how well you were paying attention. What route are we taking?”
“York Road and 116 to Codorus Road, if there’s no cops on our tail,” he recited from memory.
“After that, we take the old Glen Rock road to Jefferson, then out past LeHorn Hollow, through Shrewsbury and down to the Maryland border.”
“Beautiful. You remembered. What if we go with plan B and head toward Littlestown instead?”
“Head toward Littlestown, then we drive over the border into Westminster, and grab the 140 to 795.”
“In either case, where do we go when we’re in Maryland?”
“Cockeysville. Plan A, we take the Susquehanna Trail to Interstate 83, then grab the Cockeysville exit. Plan B, we take 795 to Interstate 83 and again grab the Cockeysville exit. Once we’re there, we take Cranberry Lane up to the woods, go down the old service road that leads back to the power lines, park out of sight in behind the trees, switch the license plates on the car, split up for a little bit, then, if nobody has found the car, we meet back there after dark.”
“Then we count the money,” Sherm finished, “and start living large.”
“You really think we’ll nab that much?” I asked.
