Chapter 4: We Gotta Go Now

(For mature audiences)

(This version isn’t finalized. All writings are from its origin and unedited.)

Among the small commotion of panic, a couple of hostages movements caught my attention. Surrounding customers scooted outward to reveal a dead man who accepted the bouncing bullet. Through the neck. Gurgled on his own fluids until drowned. I couldn’t verbally admire the unluckiest shot taken. Blood was pouring out faster than I’d like to have seen. People slid away, as if the red pool would burn them. Our heist went from breeze to bullshit.

Alpha knocked Echo hard across the face and shouted, “You fuckin’ idiot!”

Echo dropped to the ground, without a word, though Quinn showed up with a few, “You had one job! What the fuck?!”

Nobody wanted to explain and I didn’t wanna be present for her reaction so I shouted over the ringing to excuse myself, “I’m gonna check on Delta at the truck! Hopefully it was on time or we can kiss the cash goodbye!”

My partners faced the music alone. What became louder than the alarm as I walked the hall? Rapid gunfire from a simultaneous exchange of a machine gun, shotgun, and pistol. Clear sign of offensive action on two fronts made my surprise entry advantageous. Delta was wounded, partially on his back in the guard booth threshold and under fire by a truck operator; the second was dead on the passenger side. Only two handled transport. Delta blind fired as my distraction with the pistol first, then machine gun. I quietly dropped and snaked around the boxed blue truck, where low sounds of reloading came.

Machine gun pointed at the female operator, “Enough’a that or I’ll plug ten in you.” She stopped shoving shells into the shotgun without directly acknowledging my presence, “Drop it and go.”

After she did, I gave ample room to move further from the garage door. Past the dead partner that got a quick once-over by both of us for proof of life. Blood splatter on the rear wall didn’t come from the dead guard or the live ones, and certainly not me. It belonged to our first casualty. Parked against the bolted down desk in a weakened state. Another exerted moment spent covering our asses. I could tell there wouldn’t be a third. The shell scatter punched more holes than two hands could block. My two hands could have helped but not for long. His lung collapsed. Small huffs wanted to release words like “don’t just stand there, help.” Instead, they tried to preserve life. One less share didn’t cross my mind, because that wasn’t why I was there either.

I gave the truck driver an order, “Take out that bottom drawer and handcuff yourself to the desk.”

She sat at the opposite end of the desk and tried convincing me to care, “Your friend isn’t going to make it…” Delta’s gasps filled my ears and his eyes begged for help, “You need to get him to a hospital…” I ignored her again, noticing she hadn’t yet done what I asked, “You can still–”

I interrupted, “Didn’t I tell you to cuff yourself to the desk?”

When the door behind me opened, she looked but I only heard the voice, “That looks bad.”

Echo. A likely scenario: the drop had been made until an unnecessary gunshot and alarm forced the truck team into default heroes. Why else? The robbery had gone sideways and people were dying. When both cuff ends rapidly clicked, I left the booth. Escaping through the dock and taking the alley to our vehicles was still salvageable. Lingering had consequences. Retainer S.W.A.T. response had a two-minute expectancy. Belief that no one was stupid enough to make an attempt earned additional seconds to drop card games and newspapers and grab guns. A violent visit still felt predicted. Alpha came with two bags and passed one to me, quickly continuing to the small exit door. Fox and Quinn popped in next with a single bag dangling off their shoulders.

Quinn shouted back into the hallway, “Shoot anybody that moves!”

A message for Charlie. We were short one. The truck’s five hundred thousand became useless unless someone didn’t mind risking extra weight and an awkward run. Quinn noticed the dying Delta and paid no mind beyond eye contact. We gravitated collective attention toward wailing sirens. Thick walls conned every ear into time we wanted to have. Walking to our getaway vehicles turned into the worst segment of an awful plan.

Quinn demanded, “Empty the truck.”

I asked, “What about Delta?”

“You wanna carry that muthafucka, be my guest. I’m not about to let half a mill get away from us. We take his share for ourselves. Long live D. Me and Fox will watch for cops at the shutter, everybody got thirty seconds to fill that last bag.”

She slapped a button in the booth to raise the shutter and rushed into position. Duffle dropped close by. Overlooked consequences and havoc usually stood true when a door containing Quinntella Wallace opened. We cracked and robbed the truck. Small stacks did not equal to the assumed “big haul,” but an added split would have been a fix. Then “responsibility for your own loot” wouldn’t matter. A regroup after hiring strangers rarely played part. A.S.L. easily made the bad scene list before the heist even started, based solely on ownership. All at once, sirens fled, to boost faint sounds of an inaudible megaphone. Someone was giving Charlie generous offers. Shooting out with adequately trained, overpaid, and overzealous law enforcement was not a box I wanted checked off.

Just as the final bag neared full, Quinn whispered, “Let’s go. They’re about to surround the building.”

We were damn close enough to a half million. I forced the duffle onto Alpha and rushed to the shutter. Quinn made eye contact with me and walked backward. Plain stare, fearless. I froze, expecting bullets to shred her bones out of her skin. Voices shouted, as she continued reversing toward the alley’s opposite end. Pistol behind her back, not concealed from who doesn’t need to see it. Shotgun at her left side and distance made it useless. Alpha and I read through her confidence: Shoot for freedom and make it bloody. Closed on a graffitied dumpster, Alpha and Fox poked machine guns in the sun and open fired.

Cops immediately returned fire in thunderous fashion. Sprayed the entire alley worse than any graffiti artists. Quinn ducked behind the dumpster and waited on opportunities to pitch in. I felt stupid reminding myself alleys generally had two ends. Charlie came running in. We needed to keep moving and the perfect idea to do so came forth. I hopped into the armored truck’s driver seat. Key prepped in the cab, I ignited the engine, shifted and jammed reverse about hard enough to kick through the metal flooring. Loud beeps did not drown bullets thumping against the proof job and did not stop when I smashed the next building’s wall.

I rolled down the window, “Get in the truck!”

Blocking the path created an unspoken truce for both teams. Like many treaties before our time, it wasn’t everlasting. Peace gave me a moment to forget while cops knew we were winning. The truck didn’t jump, already weighing tons, but I heard my passengers’ feet stomping inside. Message across, I hurried my window closed. Two door slams and two bangs resonating on my back was the broken treaty. Hit hard or they lose; zero to Quinn. No room to move, I accelerated and spun the wheel sharply right into the bank wall. Resumed pecks at the windshield caught me off-guard in a flinch. Bank trucks were built to endure thousands of bullets, and cops didn’t match capacity. Left cosmetic stains but never broken. I’d lost side mirrors and had to scratch along bricks in reverse until wobbling into the open.

Slight jump and bump at traffic. Due to lack of proper police procedure, I felt and heard collisions behind me. Only a second glimpsed a black S.W.A.T. truck on my right. Too late to warn cargo. High speed rammed us. Spun past ninety degrees. Lost balance. No amount of front-wheel drive twisting set the weight shift straight. Without time to put mine on, I grabbed the passenger seatbelt. We tipped. Impact whipped my grip loose and I fell sideways into a more scrunched driver side space. Bag wedged between my lap and the steering wheel.

Alpha banged on the thick aluminum, “Let’s go!”

Diversified bangs of bullets echoed around tall buildings. Not a moment’s rest earned. I struggled in the tiny space until standing became easy. Climbing with that bag was light work; trying to push and hold a heavy door upward while pulling a balance act between a seat and opened glovebox was the true test. I tossed the bag out first and myself out, careful but quick, afterward. The door was my shield. Everyone was already firing light bursts at incoming officers to the west.

Returns were short bursts to likely keep us at bay until conserved ammunition became scarce or a plan was presented to apprehend us. I reclaimed the bag, then joined my pinned allies. The street was nearly clear of civilians. Traffic would soon be blocked for blocks. Hijacking a car here wasn’t smart, and wiring a parked car was dumping away another share from whoever tried. Cops would eventually wise up and circle the block so we needed to push our getaway timeline. I assisted defense, looking for ways we can go. All business sites used rear exits and there was a glass double door asking to be shattered.

Over gunfire, I declared, “We need to go.” Alpha looked at me like I was crazy, then I mentioned, “We can cut through this building on the right.”

Without acknowledging my idea, he returned fire with a spray then pulled Echo by his shirt in retreat. I followed Alpha’s path off the street and others caught on. Mounting the curb, we were exposed to officers closing on our overturned truck. A quick succession of gunfire reeled us back into minor action as we hurried into a dead lobby. Rifle rounds popped windows, scratched concrete, and pierced walls. Inside was a brief period of safety that I couldn’t grasp yet.

I halted just inside the door and attempted a distraction. Quinn took a low firing position and mimicked me. Cops didn’t let up. Inched closer with each shot made me nervous. Lava underneath my mask. Fox was meant to enter last. Just before, a bullet went through his leg and multiple more got accepted in his back. Dropped to the ground in fast silence. Not wanting to stick around for newly approaching officers on the opposite corner, I ducked away. Physically forcing Quinntella along was met with resistance.

She returned to the door, fired at new officers then shouted at us, “Wait!”

I shouted a reply over the barrage of bangs and shattered glass, “For what?! He’s done, we gotta go!”

“I need to get that fuckin’ bag off him!”

Relentless gunfire aided my smart idea, “Leave it! We’re gonna get swarmed! We gotta go now!” She attempted to regain defensive at the door but I clutched her a second time, “You’re not killin’ yourself over no fuckin’ money! The cars are right behind us!”

She breathed heavily, fueled to do something stupid. Being stupid, I carried a loyalty obligation to do something even similar to protect her. To my surprise, she backed away. Stare held on the bag like a dearest old enemy. One cut of a dead man’s gain lost seemed like too much of a big deal. I didn’t have patience to be curious as to what I missed. We sprinted through corridors to the back door and burst through, each skipped or swerved into a right turn.

We reached the intersection. Took U-turns and fired at officers entering the entrance we were supposed to use. They scrambled for retreat and blind-fired with zero breathing room. Charlie sprinted by and exited the alley to ready the trucks. Officers attempted to retaliate but couldn’t do much with four automatic weapons holding them in tightened quarters. Sound of an ignited vehicle pulled Alpha off the frontline. Quinn next, followed by myself then crazy ass Echo, who yelled excitedly like a true crook while letting the final clip loose everywhere.

Quinn yelled to Charlie, who started the leading truck ahead, “Charlie, that’s on you! Fuck off!”

Screeching tires did not hesitate to leave. Alpha took the wheel of our rear truck and we piled inside. The fourth closing door led to an instant gear shift and more screeching tires swinging from behind a parked car and the scene itself. A right turn then left into an alley then more zigs and zags. In case the matching getaway vehicles were flagged as suspicious or being watched, I kept my rifle in hand and my finger off the trigger. Eyes, not once, leaving the side mirror. A silent drive was one that lasted more than thirty seconds. New York was full of honks that natives could easily tune out. No sirens eased my mind into relaxing the rifle barrel at my feet. Again, it didn’t last.

Quinntella’s stern voice spoke through her teeth, “Are we good?”

To understand, I looked back. A boiled rage of flames surrounded her retinas, chest heaving, nose flaring. It begged for release. Echo sat next to the blazing villainess; since we had gotten away, he was oblivious of what she yearned. I understood the desire. He single-handedly bombed a three and a half million dollar job and got two of us killed. No one under Bravo, myself, mattered, but the principle wrote volumes. His rotated peers out the window and back at me had anticipation; to see for himself if we escaped. My answer carried weight on both ends. She needed to kill him.

I attempted to talk her down, “Quinn, you don’t need–”

She interrupted with more frustration on her tongue, “Are we good?”

More people than one had their lives taken for smaller reasons, so I couldn’t imagine my persuasion being anything higher than unsuccessful. We lost the cops and not telling her probably wouldn’t have prolonged the inevitable. Echo ripped his mask off. Faced forward with a big grin. More focused on me, a glance at her didn’t tip him off at all. The pistol shook in Quinn’s right hand. Every mirror said we didn’t need the extra gun to fight away from further issues.

I faced out the passenger window, “Yeah.”

Before Echo’s excitement fully reigned over positive results, a clank of metal and an abruptly ended shout traveled the interior. More fast smacks against bone could be almost felt, along with furious roars from Quinn; expressing hostility the best way she knew how. The beating didn’t stop for a very long time. Sprinkles of blood flung over to the front seats and dashboard became fluid ounces. I didn’t want to picture how open his face was to produce that amount. My only method to avoid splashes was scooting closer to the window.