Story: "Getaway"

     "Stay down. Face on the floor, hands on the back of your head. You're doing good. Be smart, and nobody dies today."

      Sal makes a fist, pumps it up and down rapidly, military tactical hand signal: Time to go. Hurry up.

     Rhett — carrying two large, black, ballistic-nylon duffle bags stuffed full of cash, 25 kilos in each bag, half a million dollars — takes point, breaching, pushing the front door open, holding it as Sal slings the automatic rifle over his shoulder, grabs the other two duffle bags, a cool million between the four bags, and follows Rhett out, leaving the customers and bank employees face-down on the marble floor.

     Bright sunshine, disorienting after the dim interior of the bank.

     "There he is." Rhett yanks the handle on the red mini-van, slides the door open, and in go Rhett's duffle bags, then Rhett, then Sal's bags, then Sal, sliding the mini-van door shut behind him, yelling:

     "Okay, Arlie, it's go time. Go, go, go."

     "What, who — who are you?" The middle-aged lady looks back at them from the driver's seat, frightened wide eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses.

     "Shit! Wrong car." Rhett's blue eyes are wild behind the balaclava mask. "We gotta get out, find Arlie."

     Sirens, dopplering, coming closer.

     "Drive." Sal pulls his pistol from the holster, points it at the middle-aged lady driver.

     She screams.

     "Shut up and drive. Now, now, now."

     "Please."

     "Drive, now." Sal pushes the gun barrel into her neck.

     "Oh, God." She hunches over, pulls the van away from the curb, but slowly, blinkers on, careful, looking in the rearview and side-view mirrors.

     The sirens are louder.

     "Faster. Or I shoot you right now, dump you out, take the wheel myself."

     "No, no. I'm going. Please." She pulls the van out into the light mid-morning traffic.

     "Shit, they're here already." Rhett cranes his neck. Two patrol cars arrive at the bank, blue lights flashing, one patrolman gets out, runs up the stairs, gun drawn. The front door opens and the older gray-haired teller exits the bank, points straight at the red mini-van, must have seen them jump into the vehicle.

     "Take a right here," Sal says calmly.

     "Here?" Her voice quavering.

     "Yes. Turn right. Now."

     She makes the turn, no blinker.

     "Next, take a left, up at the intersection."

     She complies, remembers the blinker this time.

     "What is your name?" Sal asks, tone conversational.

     "My ... my name?"

     "Your name."

     "Lily ... Lilibet ... people call me Lily."

     "I like Lilibet. What's your last name, Lilibet?"

     "Ready. Lilibet Ready."

     "Well, Lilibet Ready, you are doing good. Real good. Keep doing good, Lilibet, and nobody dies today."

     "Please, I don't want to die. I have kids."

     "How many kids, Lilibet?"

     "Two. Twins. Boy and a girl."

     "Names."

     "What?"

     "What are your kids' names, Lilibet?"

     "Tommy and Annika."

     "Like the two kids in the Pippi Longstocking books, right?"

     Lilibet nods.

     "Well, Tommy and Annika will have their mommy home tonight," Sal says. "I promise. Just do as I say, and you'll have an adventure to tell them about."

     "You promise?" She glances back at him. Her eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses are a quite beautiful green, clear like Bahamian waters. She smiles tentatively, hopefully, with prominent buck teeth.

     "Eyes on the road, now, Lilibet. Yes, I promise."

     Siren behind them. Blue lights up ahead.

     "Shit." Rhett says. "They're blocking us in."

     Suddenly, Lilibet turns the wheel, goes down a one-way street, weaves around an oncoming pickup-truck, takes a quick left, another right, then into a parking garage, the window goes down, she collects the ticket, the gate opens, then they are inside the dark cavern, parked cars all around.

     The sirens move away in the distance.

     "Lilibet, I am proud of you," Sal says. "That was some quick thinking."

     "Yes, and here's another thing I was thinking," she says. "You don't need to be in a red mini-van. Grab one of these instead." She waves a hand at the parked cars. "Hot-wire it or whatever you call it. Let me go."

     Sal's eyes smile from behind the balaclava mask.

     "I won't say anything," she speaks fast, pleading. "Haven't seen your faces. Don't know your names."

     "Only problem," Sal says. "I think I screwed up. I think I yelled out Arlie's name as I jumped in the van."

     "Oh."

     "So you know that. Arlie's name."

     "Well, how many Arlies can there be, a city this size? A lot, right?"

     "Sure. It's just that the cops, you know, have their usual suspects. And unfortunately ... "

     "Arlie is one of those?"

     Sal nods, eyes sad behind the balaclava.

     Lilibet sighs, pulls up next to a parked black SUV, stops the van, turns around to face them.

     "And you made such a nice promise. Mommy home with Tommy and Annika, telling them all about her adventures. That was a lie."

     "Afraid so."

     Two shots in quick succession.

***

      "I hate liars."

     The woman gets out of the mini-van, hits the button on the keyfob and the tailgate of the black SUV lifts up. She slides open the red mini-van door, reaches over the two dead bodies to haul out the duffle bags full of cash, drags each heavy bag over, and loads them into the SUV, one by one by one by one.

     She opens the tailgate to the red mini-van, grabs a black leather bag.

     "Bye, Arlie."

     In the mini-van cargo space, the corpse of Arlie, the getaway driver, doesn't answer.

***

     When she is past the cameras at the garage entrance, she takes off the glasses, pulls out the fake buck teeth, yanks off the mousy brown wig with the gray streaks, shakes her long red hair loose, and presses the button on the radio frequency remote.

     In the rearview mirror, she sees the red mini-van explode into an orange fireball.

     The key to a clean getaway: no loose ends.

— The End —

If you want to know more about how I developed this story, here is a link to a blog post that describes the writing process.