“You’re not asking the fucking questions,” Sherm spat, “so sit back and shut the hell up. Don’t worry about Keith. He’s taken care of and he ain’t going nowhere.”
He lit up another cigarette, took a deep drag, and when he spoke again, it was with a much calmer tone.
“Tell me something, Lucas. Did your truck have oil in it?”
“W-what?”
“The engine? You know, that big thing under the hood that makes the truck run? You said that it had been burning up oil and that you’d been having trouble with it. So when you checked it this morning, was it okay? Does it work?”
“Yeah, it runs. Maintenance worked on it some. Burned about a half quart, but there’s still plenty of oil in it.”
“See? Now we’re getting somewhere. And it’s the one that’s parked out back, next to the Chinese restaurant’s garbage Dumpster?”
“Yes.”
I remembered seeing the truck when we’d rolled up in John’s car. It seemed like years ago now, rather than hours.
“Are the keys still in the truck, or do you have them on you?”
“I have them with me. They’re in my left pocket.”
“Good.” Sherm smiled. “Shit, this is perfect. Let’s go take a look and see what we got. You’re going to stick your head up to the back window and tell me how many cops are swarming around your truck and our car?”
“There is no window,” Sharon interrupted. “The only way to see out back is to open the fire door. But if you do that, you’ll set off the fire alarm.”
“Where do you guys go to smoke, then? I didn’t see an ashtray out on the front sidewalk.”
“No, there isn’t one. The girls go . . . out back.”
“So I’ll bet the alarm is disengaged during the day, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she reluctantly admitted. “Keith turns it off so Kim and some of the other girls can smoke outside. He doesn’t want them doing it in front of the bank. The company that owns the mall doesn’t allow it, and Keith worries that it might offend some of the customers.”
“Well, no problem then, as long as the alarm is off.” He grabbed Lucas by the arm and dragged him to his feet. “Come on, man. Let’s go check out the situation with your truck.”
I was confused, so I spoke up before he could leave.
“Sherm, what the hell are we gonna do with his truck?”
He shoved Lucas toward the vault door and turned to answer me.
“I told you that I’d find us a way out of here, right? Well this is it, dog. This is our ticket home. We use a few hostages as human shields, slip out the back door, and make our getaway. If we can’t make it to our car, we use his truck. Then the cops come in and get Carpet Dick some help. Sound like a plan to you?”
I shrugged.
“You’re running the show right now, so whatever you say goes, I guess.”
“Well, it’s what I say. Any more questions?”
“No.”
“Okay. Watch them till we get back.”
As they walked down the hall, I heard Sherm ask Lucas how much a bottled water delivery driver made in a week. His laughter echoed off the walls.
In my arms, John was still dying.
Martha paused in her prayers.
“Oh my.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more, Martha.” I sighed. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
* * *
And John was still dying when my pocket began to vibrate.
I gasped, in spite of myself, and the hostages jumped with me, unsure of what I was up to. Oscar’s man breasts jiggled in fright. They eyed me warily while I slapped at my pocket. Then I calmed down, remembering that I’d stuffed Lucas’s cell phone inside my pants.
“It’s okay,” I assured them, “the delivery driver’s cell phone is buzzing. He must have it on silent ring or something. Everything is cool. Just scared me for a second, that’s all.”
I let out a nervous laugh and they relaxed— as much as they could given the circumstances.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the phone. The display screen was lit up, glowing green under the fluorescents. It identified the incoming call as VERA . I wondered who Vera was. Probably his wife. Lucas said that he’d tried calling her but that she hadn’t been home. Maybe now she was returning the call, or maybe news of the bank robbery was on the air, and she was calling to make sure he wasn’t still at the bank.
His worried wife was calling him to make sure he was okay. Somehow, I knew that was it. The bank was on his route, and Vera wanted to make sure that he wasn’t still there. Michelle would have done the same thing. For a brief second, I thought about answering it and letting Vera know that Lucas was okay, that his truck was still working fine and that he couldn’t come to the phone right now, but pretty soon, we’d all be home safe because Sherm had promised it. But I didn’t. Instead, I wondered what my own wife was doing. If I had been in Lucas’s shoes, Michelle would have been worried sick about me. Of course, she had no reason to think I was here at this bank, one at which we didn’t even have an account. I was supposed to be at work. Still, I wondered if she’d heard about the hostage situation yet. I wondered how much the cops really knew about us and how much had made it out onto the airwaves. If she didn’t know yet, she would soon. A customer would tell her or they’d have the radio on or she’d find out when she got home. I searched my brain but for some reason I couldn’t remember what time Michelle got off work.
The phone quit vibrating and the screen went black again.
Without thinking, I pressed the TALK button and dialed home. There was a static whir, then the phone began to ring.
“Who are you calling?” Sheila asked.
Ring . . .
I ignored the question.
“He’s calling the police,” Roy said. “I just knew that you’d do the right thing, Tommy. And we’ll make sure we tell them too. We’ll tell them that it was Sherm that killed those people. Right, everyone?”
Ring . . .
“Sure we will,” Sharon agreed.
Ring . . .
“Tommy?” Sheila tapped her foot, trying to get my attention.
Ring . . .
And then our answering machine picked up and my own voice said, “Hi. You’ve reached the O’Briens: Tommy, Michelle, and T. J. Please leave your digits after the tone. Peace out.”
My mouth was parched.
“Michelle, it’s me. Are you there, babe? If so, pick up.”
They were all watching me now, silent. There was no sign of Sherm or Lucas. Outside the bank, there was a muffled electronic shriek, as if somebody was testing a microphone or a radio.
“Michelle? You there?”
No answer. I hung up and stared at the phone. Then I dialed again, calling her at the convenience store. It rang twice, then she picked up.
“Thank you for calling Minit-Mart. This is Michelle. How can I help you?”
I opened my mouth but the words didn’t want to come out. Her voice was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, but at that moment, it filled me with dread. I had to force myself to speak.
“Hello?” she said again. “Is there somebody there?”
“I—”
“If this is another crank call, we don’t appreciate it. I’m hanging up now.”
“Hey, babe,” I croaked, “It’s me.”
