Heist

—Excuse me, sir? said the bank teller.

—I said, “Freeze,” said the old man, a little louder.

The long creases beside his upper lip made him look very sad. One of his eyes was red and watering. He was pointing a pistol at her chest.

The teller looked up. The bank had gone quiet. A woman with white hair and flowered dress and vast lap was sitting in the waiting area, a shotgun resting on her walker, covering the room. Ollie, the guard, had his hands in the air. All the customers and tellers had their hands up too.

—All the cash, said the skinny old man, all the cash, all the cash, in the cash drawer. Please.

He was missing some teeth on top but she heard him clear enough. She said: —Certainly, sir.

Her name was Lu and her name tag had three nine-pointed gold stars. She’d been Trainee of the Month three times in a row. In a crisis situation, remain polite and helpful.

She stacked bundles of bills on the counter. He one-handed his heavy reading glasses from a shirt pocket to check the bundles. They slipped and fell, with a clatter. Slowly he bent down to reach the floor, pick them up, and get them back to his pocket. (Ollie and the customers, hands in air, craned their necks to watch.) Then he stowed the bundles into a Trader Joe’s shopping bag, one by one.

—Goodbye, said the man. He was going to back away, but decided instead on a slow scissor-step toward the door, half-turned with the gun still pointing at the teller, its barrel trembling up and down a little.

—Thank you and have a great rest of your afternoon, the teller heard herself say.

At the door, the man shouted: —Edie. …Edie!

—Edie yourself, said the woman in flowers. She made a few practice swings, then raised herself to her feet. She waddled backwards, rolling the walker and shotgun smoothly.

—Now, don’t any of you move, she told the room, —or I will blast you. No, wait. On second thought. I take it back. On the floor! On the floor, now, everybody. Everybody on the floor. Hup, hup.

He opened the door for her. She rolled out, backwards.

—Goodbye now, they said. —Goodbye.

There was a golf cart at the curb. The man at the wheel wore a pink polo shirt.

—Dick!

—Wake up, Dick!

—I’m awake, said the man in the golf cart. –I’m awake. All done?

—Yes. We’re all done.

—Very good. Where to?

—Just drive for a while. We’ll tell you where.

—Okey doke. Off we go.

—Well, that wasn’t too bad, said the man in back, gripping the bag.

—I told you, Fred. Didn’t I tell you it wouldn’t be so bad?

—No, I don’t think so. I thought that’s what I told you.

—Fred. Don’t start with me.

—All right then.

There were cherry blossoms. A bit of sun broke through the clouds.

—”Have a great rest of your afternoon,” the woman mimicked.

They smiled.