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The heist

March 12th, 2018 Leave a comment Go to comments

Jeff was fairly sure the plan would work. He had been brimming with certitude for weeks, though recently that was replaced with semi-confidence that swerved into outright doubt in his weaker moments. This was a huge undertaking and he had convinced himself that was norma, but with the seconds ticking ever more rapidly toward his starting time, he was more nervous than ever. He walked through the steps one last time, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

Throw the smoke bomb, run in firing the pistol at the ceiling, grab the bag of money, fire another time or two, run up three flights to the roof, jump onto the adjacent parking lot, run down a story, get into his cousin’s car that he had borrowed, and drive away quickly but in no way illegally. The plan was rife with problems but this was the most creative idea Jeff had ever had by far, so he was under the impression he had done the equivalent of solving cold fusion having thought this sequence up. His cousin Terese, whose car he had, was impressed as well.

Jeff pounded his fist against his chest and charged the door. As Terese had described for him, it was a cocktail party celebrating her friend’s mother, a recent game show winner. People were milling about the room and her winnings in cash were displayed on a round table. Jeff rushed toward it, suddenly remembered he was supposed to be firing his gun and fumbled for it as everyone looked at him quizzically. Noticing their leering, he realized he hadn’t set off the smoke yet either, leading to further fumbling and then stumbling and then a faceplant into the table, upsetting the pile of money. It was then that Jeff first realized none of it was in a bag as he had expected.

It seemed he had broken his nose on the way into the table was bleeding rather dramatically from his face. He staggered back to his feet, eyes watering, and struggled for breath, recalling for the first time since he’s donned it that he was wearing a ski mask. The blood was soaking into the cotton weave quickly, running into his mustache and around the mouth hole, making him panic. The guests looked on with horrified confusion, one woman screaming and another making a show of dialing 911. He was still making an attempt to get the smoke bomb out in spite of this when Terese arrived at his side and began pushing him toward the door.

“No need to call the police, I’ve already called them!” she yelled over her shoulder, shoving Jeff harder, who had gotten caught up in attempting to find his gun again in the confusion. “You fucking idiot,” she hissed, “that was your plan?” They reached the door. Jeff still couldn’t find the pistol. “Get out of here!” she whispered, pretending to be on the phone with 911. “And here!” She handed him a wad of hundreds. “I grabbed these in the hubbub. Please get my friends and I some booze so I can throw a party tonight. This party sucks!”

Jeff finally located the gun and promptly shot himself in the toe, then limped to the parking lot.

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