(Inspired by “Why Me,” by Kris Kristofferson)

A simple note informed a young bank teller that there was to be a large
withdrawal from the First Trust Bank of Idaho. Megan Reece tensed seeing the gun. She looked up to see a man in his 40s, unshaven, unkempt, smiling with certainty she got the message.  She opened her cash drawer.

Malcolm Dade enjoyed this moment more than any other but shook his head and nodded in the direction of the vault. He cocked his gun for effect.

Freddie Jones, the bank guard, heard the sound. He instinctively looked up in the direction of the cashiers. Everyone looked normal save Megan. Freddie pushed his knee against a button under his desk tripping the bank’s silent alarm.

Freddie’s nerves tensed. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The bank lobby was packed. Too many possible accomplices, Freddie thought. A second more powerful thought entered Freddie’s mind, this is what the bank hired him to do. Freddie got up and made his way through a line of customers.

As Freddie made his way through the line toward Megan’s station, a younger man, Henri, in a long gray coat stepped out of line and followed.

Freddie unsnapped his sidearm holster nonchalantly. The young man behind him noticed. He raised a shotgun from his coat as Freddie pulled his .40 caliber Beretta handgun.

The young man making no pains to conceal himself, flipped a safety on his shotgun and took aim a few feet behind Freddie. Gasps, frozen feet, then the missteps of panic took customers one by one in the middle of the line. Customers at the teller windows were starting or completing the day’s transaction unaware. Customers at the back of the line saw the panic but did not know what was causing it.

Boom!

The young man’s shotgun opened a hole in Freddie’s back. It was followed by an unexpected BANG! Freddie fired as he fell to the lobby floor. Screams. Panic. They were blood spattered cockroaches at the flick of a light switch. People scurried in every direction.

A woman customer stood in horror as Freddie lay dead at her feet. An old man behind her grabbed her by the shoulders, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t budge, the terror so real.

The robber at the window winced and leaned, but grabbed Megan by the hair, jerking her over the counter. The Young man fired again, as sirens echoed through the open doorway jammed with escaping people.

“Henri, the fucking door!” Mal yelled as police officers made their way through the exiting crowd into the bank.

Henri stuck his shotgun barrel in the back of the old man and grabbed the woman with his left arm around her neck. Malcolm forced Megan into an office. Henri followed.

“Fuck!” Mal said. “Where’s the back door?”

Henri pushed the old man into the room. He threw his spent shotgun to the floor, grabbed his .44 revolver from his waistline, turned and fired two shots at patrol officers entering the lobby. Henri kicked the office door shut and threw the woman to the floor.

Malcolm, sat against the wall. His side bled from Freddie’s bullet. His arms filled with goose bumps as a cold rushed over him. Removing his jacket, blood quickly collected on the floor beneath Malcolm.

Time passed. Henri put his revolver back into the waistline of his pants, picked up his shotgun and reloaded. He forced the hostages against the wall in the small windowless office. He fidgeted, as Mal sat in pain and silence for a moment.

Mal’s thoughts raced. Short breaths followed long, painful breaths. He rolled his head back and forth against the wall. Agony replaced his thoughts, all save one.
      
Malcolm mumbled some song about salvation that tried to ignite a memory in the hopped up mind of Henri. Henri couldn’t place it. He just knew he didn’t like it.

“Stop singing that!” Henri yelled at Malcolm.

Malcolm continued mumbling and now humming the song. As his face grew paler with each passing moment, as blood pooled more and more on the floor up against the wall, the song seemed in some desperate reach of his mind to comfort him.

Its presence in the room frustrated Henri. This song to Henri was the epitome of the hocus-pocus snake oil salesmen who robbed people blind every week on televangelist TV. It was a song you might hear in church. Church, a place in Henri’s mind that was so brazen they handed out wicker baskets to the people they intended to rob and the people willingly handed over their money. Church was a place to Henri that taught its flock not to judge while it judged each and every member of its flock.

The song was disturbing to Henri on another level. He couldn’t place it, but he knew he had last heard it in the middle of perpetrating a crime. The song once disturbed Malcolm, too. Malcolm did something about the song then. Now, though, Malcolm was mumbling it, humming it. Henri couldn’t well do much about it now, not with his criminal mentor perpetrating it in mumbles and hums.

The three hostages sat in various states of terror or shock. Henri and Malcolm grabbed two bank customers who were caught up in the commotion of the robbery going terribly bad. They used these two innocent bystanders as collateral with the patrol officers who arrived on scene before they knew the seriousness of the situation.

The third hostage was a bank teller who was so terrified by the gun in her face that she froze when others in the bank used the distraction of the bank guard shootout and the police entering to escape. Now she sat there with the two other hostages mortified, and panic was welling up inside her.

Three people had been shot in the robbery attempt. Why wouldn’t these two desperate men shoot the other three when they were no longer needed? The thought crossed the minds of each hostage. It also crossed the minds of the police outside.

“This is the police,” a voice echoed from a loud speaker. “We have the building surrounded, release the hostages and throw out your weapons.”

Henri chuckled, “shit, were they watching some old cop show before this shit went down?” Henri noticed a small trash can next to the desk. He acted as if he was throwing his revolver in the waste can, giggling a bit. He looked over at the hostages.

“I’m throwing out my weapon,” Henri laughed.

Malcolm kept mumbling and humming that infernal song.

“Stop singing that!”

Henri walked over to the door. He cracked it open to address the police that were still in the lobby of the bank.

“If you want any of these people in here to live past today, you’ll shut the hell up!”

Henri slammed the door and walked back to Malcolm. 

“How are we going to get out of this mess, Mal?”

Malcolm mumbled and hummed, but this time Henri made out the name Jesus.

“Shut up about that and help me think!”

Henri leaned his shotgun up against the wall and grabbed his .44 revolver out from his waistline.

He tapped the gun barrel to his forehead, trying to think. Malcolm sat against the wall in pain contemplating something entirely different. All the while, he kept muttering, mumbling and humming. From time to time, he would pause a moment as if he lost his place. At these times, true anguish rushed over his face.

“Why are you singing that song?” Henri’s mind sparked a memory in him.  “Is it that pregnant woman you shot over in Baker?”

Malcolm didn’t respond.

“Mal, I need you to focus on the situation. The local yocals have us surrounded, didn’t you hear?”

Henri then turned his attention to the hostages.

“If any of you make a move, I’m going to shoot every damn one of you somewhere where it hurts.”

One of the hostages, an older man, raised his hand.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to move?”

Henri ran over to him and shoved the revolver up against his cheek.

“What do you want old man, a bathroom break? Well, piss on you!”

The old man showed no sign of panic. Henri grabbed his shirt.

“I won’t hesitate to kill every damn one of you!”

With that, the bank teller began to sob uncontrollably.

Henri turned his attention to her.

“Shut up! Damn it  woman, if there’s something that makes me homicidal, it’s a damn bitch crying!”

The old man opened his mouth.

“I was just going to suggest you let the police know what you want, then they can meet your demands and this thing can get resolved,” the old man said.

“That’s the kind of advice I’m looking for. When the time comes, I’ll shoot you in the head instead of making it painful, old man.”

Henri walked over to the door. He cracked it open. Remembering the old man’s advice, he shouted.

“I have demands!” Henri paused for a second waiting for a response.

“Did you hear me, I have demands!”

The police inside the lobby didn’t answer.

One of the officers grabbed his radio resting against his shoulder and spoke into it.

Henri shoved the gun through the crack in the door and fired off a pot shot.

“Did you hear that?”

Henri slammed the door shut again.

“Your plan didn’t work old man!”

“Give it some time. They need to find the phone number to this office and pretty soon they will call you.” The old man was oddly comforting to Henri.

“You’d better be right, old man. If they rush the door, I’m shooting you first before I concern myself with the police.”

Malcolm bobbed his head back and forth as if he was trying to remember something.

Malcolm mumbled something. Then he muttered some more then he hummed.

His shirt had varying shades from the blood spilling out his side. The blood was dark and caking in the center and top of the stain. It was more red as it traveled through the cotton before another dark pool garnered the gravity at the hem of his shirt to drip blood at a steady pace to the floor. If not for his muttering, mumbling and humming, the incessant drip into the ever-growing pool would frustrate Henri more.         

“Stop singing that song that pregnant woman was singing when you busted a cap in her in Baker, damn it!”

“Did she die?” the other hostage, a woman about 30, asked.

“What do you think bitch? Of course, she died. Mal doesn’t play around. He’s the coldest killer you ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

“Ain’t that right, Mal?”

Mal continued his hymn.

“Mal, I’m about to shoot your ass, too, if you don’t stop singing that song.”

An awkward silence overtook the office.

Then the phone rang. It was loud. The hostages jumped. Henri let it ring three times.

“What do we want, Mal?”

No answer came from Malcolm.

Henri walked over to the phone and picked it up.

“What!”

“This is Lieutenant George Lozano with the police; we understand you have some demands. Before we get into those demands, can you tell me your name and the condition of the hostages?”

“Lozano? What kind of damn name is that? I’ll tell you the condition of the hostages. They are all about to be shot if you ask me what my damn name is again.”

“Alright, there’s no need for anyone else to get shot today. We can work out this problem together.”

“Since you haven’t asked me, yet, here’s what I want. I want a damn doctor in here right now. Then I want your damn officers out of the damn lobby and moved across the street. Then I want a damn helicopter on the damn roof. And for the fun of it, I want a damn hooker. You got that Lozano?”

“What do we get if we meet your demands?”

“You don’t get shot, Officer Lozano!”

“That’s not how this works. I give you something; you give me something.”

“I’ll tell you what Lozano, you get a damn doctor in here right now or I’m going to change my demand to a mortician!”

“Alright, everyone knows you are in control here, but I’m not going to send in another potential hostage for you if you don’t give me a hostage in return. There’s a lot of men out here with guns and they haven’t had many opportunities to fire at will. So you have got to work with me on this.”

“For a hostage you’ve got to give me a doctor and remove the pigs in the lobby. And you ain’t sending in some cop posing as a doctor, or I’ll shoot him in his damn head. Also, that damn doctor better be stripped down to his underwear and a stethoscope. We clear Lozano?”

“I’ll see what we can do, but it will take some time.”

“You ain’t got time. I’m sick of these hostages already.”

Henri slammed down the phone.

“I showed them who was boss. Didn’t I, Mal?”

“We’re going to get you a doctor, Mal.”

“Henri, call them back, I want a priest.”

“You ain’t Catholic. What the hell do you need a priest for?”

“Just do it before I shoot you,” Malcolm said as his face turned cold.
“Now we’re talking. That’s the Mal I know. Holy shit, Mal! There’s going to be some guns blazing later today!”

Henri cracked the door open.

“Hey, why ain’t you pigs left the lobby yet? We want a priest in here with the doctor. Strip the damn priest down to his underwear, but let him have his collar. You got that pig?”

Henri slammed the door shut.

Soon the phone rang.

Henri picked it up.

“I can’t give you a priest too for just one hostage.”

“I don’t think you understand. We want a priest and a doctor, and we want them right now. By the way, how are you coming on that hooker? These hostages are starting to look real good to me.”

Henri hung up the phone.

“Man, what kind of lazy ass public servant they got on the end of this line?”

He directed his attention to the female hostages.

“You two are looking nice–real nice. Mal’s getting a doctor and a priest. If I don’t get a hooker, I’m thinking the three of us can get it on. What do you think about that old man? Some Stockholm action up in this bitch!”

“I think you are a sick human being.”

Henri turned to the old man.

“You think so? Who the hell cares what you think, old man?”

Henri put his .44 back in the waistline of his pants and picked up the shotgun. Henri raised the shotgun up with both hands with the butt of the gun facing downward. With all his might, rage and hatred he hit the old man across his nose with the butt of the shotgun.

“What did you think about that old man? You’re pissing your absorbent undergarments aren’t you?”

The old man slumped to the floor, and his blood gushed into a large pool.

“Making judgments about me, old man, that ain’t how this works.”

The phone rang again. Henri walked over to grab it after the second ring.

“Yeah, what do you want?”

“Listen, we’ve got a doctor and a priest. You are going to have to give us sometime on the helicopter. I’ve instructed our officers to exit the lobby as soon as you give us one of the hostages.”

“What about my hooker?”

“That’s kind of a tall order in a town this size. This is a decent town of God-fearing people.”

“That’s fine; these women in here are taking a liking to me anyway. I tell you what, Lozano. You work on that hooker for me, but I want to hear a helicopter landing in the next 30 minutes or you’re going to start hearing, pop, pop, pop, pop. You got that? Yeah, you’ve got that.”

Henri hung up the phone.

“Mal, the doctor and the priest are on their way in.”

“Wake up, old man; you’re the first to go.”

Henri cracked the door open and waited for the doctor and the priest.

The old man didn’t move.

“Let one of the women go in my place,” he said struggling to speak from his position, face down in his blood.

Henri didn’t feel like arguing.

“Get up bitch,” he motioned to the bank teller.

Still sobbing she slowly got to her feet and inched along the wall toward the door.

“Get the fuck over here bitch, now!”

Henri grabbed her by her hair.

“You are going to do what I say, you got that?” She managed to nod her head.

The doctor and priest entered the bank and one of the police officers got up from behind a desk to escort them over to the room.

“Hey pig! You forgetting something?” Henri yelled out.

The officer put his gun down on the desk and continued walking with the doctor and the priest.

The doctor was fully clothed and so was the priest.

“You ain’t coming in here in clothes. Strip down or I start shooting,” Henri yelled out.

The doctor began taking off his clothes. The priest protested.

“I am a man of the cloth, and that cloth will remain on me,” the priest said in an Irish accent. 

“How about I shoot you, padre? God damn pedophile can't strip down in front of adults, I bet your ass has no qualms when it comes to altar boys.”

Mal then spoke up.

“Henri, let the priest come in with his dignity, or I will shoot you where you stand.” Henri grinned, it sounded like the old Mal.

“Alright, padre you get to keep your clothes.”

The three men were about five feet from the door.

“Pig, that’s far enough.”

The officer stopped in his tracks.

Henri opened the door for the doctor and priest to come in.

He then shoved the bank teller out the door. She fell at the officer’s feet.

“Now get the hell out of the bank!” Henri shouted as he slammed the door.

The doctor immediately went over to the old man. The priest checked on the woman.

“Hey, idiots, I didn’t get you two in here to look at the hostages.”

The doctor arose to walk over to Malcolm, but Malcolm waved him away.

“Doctor, you stay. Let me speak to the priest.”

“Are you kidding me, Mal? You need the doctor more than you need the con man.”

Mal raised his Glock and fired off a shot above Henri’s head.

“Henri, I’m still in charge and if you don’t start listening to me, I won’t miss the next time.”

The phone rang.

“What!”

“What was the gunshot?”

“Nothing!”

“Did you just shoot somebody?”

“No, we were having a discussion.”

Henri hung up the phone. The priest made his way to Malcolm.

“Father, is there a place in heaven for a murdering thief?”

“Young man, your friend is right; you could use the doctor over here too.”

Answer the question, father,” Malcolm demanded.

“Son, if you repent your sins and place your faith in the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, you will be forgiven for your sins.”

“That’s good to hear, father, but how can a man who’s killed so many, taken so much ever be forgiven?”

“I don’t know son, save for the glory of the Father.” The priest paused a moment wishing he had a more tangible answer for Malcolm.

“Have you ever been to church, son?”

“In a way, I believe I have, though I’ve never walked into one.”

“What do you mean, son?”

“There was this pregnant woman over in Baker about four months ago. She was crying and holding her hands over her stomach. She was annoying the hell out of me and Henri.”

Malcolm paused a moment.

“Go on son,” the priest said.

“This woman knew I was going to shoot her if she didn’t shut up. I raised my gun to her head. And she just started singing this song.” Malcolm muttered and hummed it for the priest.

“I shot her point blank in the head, but as she was singing those words she looked up at me, not like any of the other people I had shot before. She stopped crying. She had a calm look about her. She seemed to be at peace. I’m haunted by her peace. I know I am an evil man and I’m not long for this world, but I want that peace, father. Why can’t I feel that peace I saw in that woman? I’ve been singing that song all day, father, and it’s not helping me.”

Henri piped up, "that wasn't peace in her eyes, that was the cold, hard realization of being dead, Mal." Mal ignored Henri and nodded to the priest to continue but Henri wasn’t through. “What the fuck padre!?! You gonna forgive Mal for being a murdering son-of-a-bitch, but my mom burns away in hell for being sad!?!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the priest said refocusing his attention on Henri.

“The fuck you don’t con man!”

“Henri, leave him alone!” Mal said with murder in his eyes.

“No, fuck you Mal, collar man answers my question first,” Henri was dead serious and a little nervous standing up to Mal who still sat slumped against the wall.

“My mom, you collars all said my mom was in hell cuz she killed herself,” Henri said, his face tensed to a grimace so tight it shook.

“My dad beats her and shit every fucking day and so one day, she kills herself and the cops show up and the collars and they tell us kids she is in hell, what the fuck kind of fucked up religion is that?”

“She lost hope son,” the priest said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hope!?! Nobody’s got hope, we live, we die, end of,” Henri said turning his attention away from the priest.

“Are you lecturing me about morality?” the priest said in disbelief. “You with your gun and threats, you rob people of their money and life without remorse, and you lecture me, presuming to know me by what you see on the TV news.”

Pissed off, Henri, walked over to the priest and pressed the barrel of the revolver up against the priest’s forehead.

“You can find out if your faith was worth it in half a second padre,” Henri whispered coldly.

Malcolm cocked his handgun, Henri retreated. The priest wiped some sweat from his brow, then turned to Mal, “thank you,” he said. The priest wanted to say more to Henri, stand up to him, but he didn’t and his expression showed defeat. Realizing his expression he wiped it clean and focused on Malcolm.

“Perhaps, I can help you son. Perhaps I can teach you a prayer that has always brought me peace. You need to pray with all your heart and pray to your God, son, the ever-living God and if your desire is true, perhaps He will grant you the peace you seek from now until you can experience true peace at your Father’s side.”

“OK, father. Teach me your prayer.”

Henri walked over, taking an interest again.

“You’re seriously not listening to this hocus-pocus crap, Mal.”

“Henri, get away from me. You think our way out is a helicopter; this is it for me, Henri, and I think the only way out for both of us is through Jesus.”

“Jesus? Man, when you die, you are going to burn in an everlasting hellfire. My mom’s in hell for being unable to defend herself and being sad, collar man said it. If any of what that man says is true, there is no hope for you or me. But since all he offers is a fairy tale, I know this is it for us, this world and what we can take from it.”

“Henri get away from me. I wish you had my nightmares. They would help you.”

“Help me! Mal, you might as well be my hostage. Hey, Mal, if collar man gets you into heaven, rob the place for me.”

“Henri, let me pray with this holy man.”

The doctor interrupted.

This man over here needs to be in a hospital. I believe you have broken his skull and he’s bleeding profusely," the doctor said.

“Yeah, well that’s what I got you for, since Mal apparently thinks he can be healed by Jesus.”

“I need to look at your friend too.”

Well, he doesn’t want to see you. I should have asked for one of them polyester suit wearing, hand laying, Jesus freaks. That would have been a two for one, a doctor and a priest all in one, though he’d probably ask for a damn donation so he could keep his TV show on the air. Hypocrites!”

“Son, pray with me.”

The priest began to pray.

“Dear heavenly father, your Son, Jesus Christ on the cross was crucified between two thieves. One of the thieves begged your Son Jesus to forgive him as he hung there dying and he was forgiven. Dear Heavenly father, it seems we have a similar situation here before us today as this desperate killer and robber who has spent his whole life taking for and thinking of only himself has at this opportune time come to realize the error of his ways and begs of you the grace of forgiveness and your everlasting peace…”

Henri broke in.

“That’s a long prayer, padre. You got something shorter? My friend damn near died during your preamble."

“Shut up, Henri! He’s here to help.” Mal’s scorn kept Henri’s ridicule at bay.           

“Son, we can pray a shorter prayer that will protect you from the evils you have known and committed.” 

“OK, father. That sounds good.” 

The priest began reciting a short version of St. Patrick’s prayer. As Mal repeated the words of the prayer, his face turned from grave to serene. The portion of the prayer is meant to show Christ is everywhere. Christ above, beside, behind and in front of those who pray it. 

“That Christ fella must be a magician, cuz he was everywhere,” Henri joked. No one laughed. 

“Indeed he is son. He is here in this room right now as we speak,”  the priest said. 

Malcolm looked up at the priest and began singing again. This time he was singing, no longer muttering, mumbling and humming. Malcolm reached up to the priest. 

“Forgive me for my sins, I beg of you. Jesus, take my soul into heaven.” 

Malcolm’s spirit left him. His eyes locked on the priest. 

The Glock clutched in his hand rested on his stomach. He was no longer a part of this world. The priest began to pray over Malcolm's body. 

“What the hell are you doing over there?” Henri shouted. 

The priest kept praying over Malcolm. He rubbed a sign of the cross on Malcolm’s forehead and asked that his soul be accepted into heaven. 

The phone rang. 

Henri didn’t answer. Realizing he was now alone, he started to freak out. He shoved his shotgun up against the doctor. 

“Get over there and bring him back!” 

The doctor went over to perform CPR on Malcolm. Malcolm wasn’t responding. The priest placed his hand on the doctor. 

“Let him go. He goes with God now.” 

A helicopter could be heard in the distance. 

“Don’t stop! Bring him back doctor!” Henri demanded. “Don’t interfere priest!” 

“Your friend found peace, son. You can too, son. It’s not too late.” 

Henri’s distraction allowed the woman to get up and walk over to the doctor. 

“Who said you could get up, bitch?” 

Henri hit her and threw her to the ground. She fell next to Malcolm. 

Dazed a bit by the blow, she gathered her senses, spotted Malcolm’s gun, and grabbed it. 

The priest tried to wrestle the gun from her. 

BANG! BANG! 

The phone rang.

Henri turned toward the phone, placing his hand on the desk. Reaching to grab the phone, his hand fumbled the exchange and he fell forward knocking the phone off the desk.

~ fini ~