Page 23 of The Thief
I could hear the old couple from the queue in front of me, sitting in the corner a little way down from where we were, stifling their cries as they clung to each other for support. Another one of the gunmen came to stand guard over them, pointing his gun at them, and then he started to laugh as he pressed the barrel into the old man’s forehead, pretending to shoot him.
“Bang,” he said with a snigger as the old man screwed his eyes shut, shaking feverishly and crying silent tears.
The old lady sobbed beside him, her mouth moving in silent prayer as she begged for mercy. But she wouldn’t get it. Not from that guy. He was just a sick and twisted cunt, getting off on the fear of the hostages. He loved the carnage they were creating, revelling in the wreckage like an action movie villain, about to walk away from the flames with a fucking smile. I couldn’t wait for the tables to turn, because they would. I’d enjoy inflicting fucking havoc onhimwhen I got him where I wanted.
“When they come over here, I’ll do the talking,” I assured Jess quietly. “I’ll protect you both.” And I put a hand on her thigh, moving myself closer to her so she’d feel the protection that I was promising. Or at least, I hoped she did. If I could’ve used my body to shield them from sight, I would’ve. If I could’ve wrapped them up and hidden them away, I’d have done it in a heartbeat.
Another gunman stood over the guy who’d been on his mobile phone in the queue. But that mobile was nowhere to be seen now and he was snivelling, blubbering, staring up at the gunman, his eyes bugging as he pleaded with him, “Pl... please... don’t... don’t... hurt me.”
“Two and three, check the back. See if there’s any other workers out there that need taking care of.” Ceiling shooter guybarked his orders, and the one who’d shot through the door to get to the bank workers, and the sicko who’d pressed his gun into the old man’s forehead stepped back and nodded, doing as they were told. Leaving their posts and striding towards a door marked ‘Private’. One of the sickos kicked it open with a force that made the old couple nearby flinch in fear, and he laughed as he disappeared into the back room with the other gunman.
Two and Three.
Were they using numbers to talk to each other? It appeared so, which would make life a hell of a lot easier for me to remember who was who. Pinpoint the little tells and any clues that’d help me work out who they were. I knew one thing, Two and Three would be at the top of my kill list, whenever the moment to flip this script came my way. Them, and the bastard standing in the middle of the room, aiming his gun at everyone.
That bastard stood with his arms outstretched, gun ready to fire, as he slowly pointed his weapon at each of us. His eyes, through the balaclava, were on high alert, watching every move we made. I guessed he was the main guy, giving out orders, standing where he was, overseeing us all.
“Well, isn’t this the best fucking day you ever had?” he said, irony dripping from every word. “In a few hours, you’ll all leave here with one hell of a fucking tale to tell. And us? We’ll be the richest fucking assholes you’ll find on a beach somewhere exotic tomorrow morning.”
He chuckled to himself, but we all stayed deadly still on the cold, hard floor. The only sounds were our ragged breaths, the pitiful cries around us, and then the sound of Two and Three knocking stuff over and shouting in the back room.
“What’s fucking happening back there?” he yelled as he stoodguard in the middle of the room. But Two and Three didn’t answer. Whatever was happening, they’d let him know in their own good time.
I glared up at him standing over us, and he noticed my attention, pointing his gun right at me and grinning. I stared right back at him, hatred burning in my eyes as I imagined what I’d do to him if it was just me and him in here. That, and I tried to figure out a plan. Any plan. There had to be something I could do. If I could take him out, get his gun, maybe I’d have a chance fighting the others.
“Four, get over here and watch this fucker,” he said, gesturing to me. “I don’t fucking trust him.” And another member of the gang came to stand right in front of me, Jess, and Ava.
He was right not to trust me. If I found an opportunity, anything, I was taking it. They had the upper hand now, but that wouldn’t last forever. My time would come.
I glanced around the room at the three gunmen standing guard. There were five of them altogether and eight hostages. But suddenly, that number turned to nine as Two and Three burst through the door, dragging an older guy along the floor by his shirt collar as he stumbled and spluttered over his cries and pointless pleas for help.
“Look what we found out the back. Mister Bank Manager himself,” one of them crooned, shoving the man into the middle of the room. “Want us to put him out of his misery, One?” he asked, pushing his gun into the back of the man’s head as he fell to the floor.
One.
I knew that’d be his number. The main guy. Standing in the middle, running this motherfucking shitshow.
“I bet he’s alerted the police. He was out the back for too long, for fuck’s sake. He has access to the CCTV and the alarms from his office,” One cursed. Then he looked down at the man quivering on the floor. “You’ve fucked us over, haven’t you?”
The man shook his head, spluttering as he said, “No.”
“I’m not a fucking idiot. I know the police are on their way,” One snarled. Then he pushed his gun against the man’s forehead and left it there for a few seconds to properly mess with his head, before dropping it to his side and saying, “Put him with the others in the office. I’ll deal with him later.”
They dragged the man off to the back office, throwing him down next to his colleagues. One of the men stayed at the door, pointing his gun right at them, but the other guy sauntered over to where Number One was standing. In the distance, we could hear police sirens, but it didn’t faze them.
“I say we take him out now. Fuck him up real good. Come on. Let’s get this over with,” he snapped at Number One, his eyes darting everywhere like he was on something.
One glared back at him, and from the steel in his gaze, I could tell he didn’t like being questioned.
“When he gets taken out, I’ll be the one giving the fucking orders. Do you hear me,Two?” The way he said his number in a patronising, repulsed manner made Two’s back go up and his hand flexed as he gripped his gun tighter.
“You do as I say,” One went on. “You follow my fucking lead. End of.”
Number Two was clearly pissed off. He clucked his tongue as he backed up, and I half expected him to lift his gun and put a bullet through Number One’s head for talking to him the way he had.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he started to laugh, a fake, condescending laugh, and then replied, “Chill your fucking bones, man. I just thought you might want to show the rest of your gang what a decent fucking leader looks like. But it’s no biggie. You wanna play with the mouse first before you eat it?” He raised his arms by his sides, palms up, as if he didn’t give a fuck. “That’s cool with me. I’ve got plenty of mice in here I can torment while you have your fun.”
