"Sir. As I have already told you, we can’t give you that loan. You haven’t paid the last one—mind you, which is months overdue—and your credit score is downright awful! I can’t justify giving you more money—I’d lose my job!”
“Please. You don’t get it. I really need—“
The gentlemen turned the computer around so that its ugly slick screen was facing Ronan, blue light burning through his retina. Ronan cringed at the numbers scoring down the screen, the bright red negatives taunting him.
“You owe us eighty grand, with an already sky-high interest rate. You aren’t going to get the loan, no matter how many times you come knocking at my door.” The gentlemen clasped his hands together, setting them on the table.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m tired of you coming here and I’m sure that you’re tired of it too. Let’s make a deal—if you can pay at least twenty grand, we’ll give you the loan. Happy?”
Ronan let out a breath through his nose. “If I had that money, I wouldn’t need the extra money. Look, you need to understand, sir. I promise I’m working my way through paying it off. It’s just that my mother—”
“I am truly sorry for you, what did you say your name was again?”the gentleman interrupted, “Ah whatever, it doesn’t matter. Look, bud. You’re young; I can’t hold your naivety against you. But what you are asking cannot be done. It goes against all the rulebooks!” The gentleman rose from his chair, holding open the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. You are making me late to another appointment. Have a good day.”
He ushered Ronan out, the door slamming behind him. Leaning against the door, Ronan dragged his hands down the sides of his face as he took in a breath.
Great. Absolutely wonderful.
With one last exhale, he dragged his feet back to the counter, the lady behind the glass pane watching him with haughty eyes and a lifted chin like a critic at a fumbling performance, holding disdain for his every move and finding pleasure in his distress.
“Well, I trust everything has been resolved then?” she asked, her voice bitterly sweet. “Is there anything else I could help you with?”
“Uh, no thank you.” He began to walk away before he briefly remembered the other thing he came to the bank for. “Oh, wait!” Ronan ran back to the counter and the lady raised an eyebrow. “Um, I have these.” He rummaged through his pockets before sliding a few crumbled single dollar bills, underneath the glass pane, to the lady. He smiled. “Can you add them to my account? Please.”
The lady’s nose scrunched in distaste as she reached for the crumpled bills. “Sure. Anything else I could help you with?”
“No, that’s it. Thank you, ma’am.”
As the lady punched the keys on her computer, Ronan tucked his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumping. He glanced at the clock hanging behind the lady. Trying to get the loan really cut time short—he should have already been down two blocks.
(He stopped taking the bus a while ago- it saved only a small amount, but that amount could be the difference between dinner or no dinner.)
However, he still should be able to make it in time for his second shift at the pizza shop if he runs as fast as he can and takes a few shortcuts. He’d come to work reeking of rat dump and looking like he crawled from a dumpster, but at least he’d be on time.
Ronan’s earlier disappointment from not getting the loan returned. How did it even get so bad? Eighty grand. Insanity. He swore he did everything those blasted gentlemen in suits recommended. He accepted every payday loan and signed every paper they slid to him. They were so eager to help him in the beginning, only to cut him off when he needed it most.
The lady slid his receipt under the glass.
“How’s your mother doing, Ronny?”
“Better.” He crumbled the receipt into his pockets. “Doc said that she should be able to come home in a few weeks.”
He wasn’t lying. His mother was getting to the point where she could hold his hand and they would talk for an hour, about school and his nonexistent life (not that she knew that), until inevitably her medicine would kick in and she would drift away, her hand limping against his own. But he didn’t mention the last tumor that came up on the x-ray. The one that needed surgery. How cruel of the world to give them relief only to throw them into another hell: the finishing line was just within their grasp, but it was one that they couldn’t afford. And it wasn’t like the lady cared anyways, because the question was only asked out of courtesy. She was already facing the screen again, her glasses reflecting the blue light.
“Have a good day,” he mumbled before turning around.
Ronan barely made it two steps when the doors slammed open, shaking the white walls and swinging the lights hanging from the ceilings.
Three men, clad in black beanies with two holes for their eyes, stomped inside, waving their guns.
“On the floor! This is a robbery,” the one on the left said giddily, aimlessly waving the gun like a toy.
One of the staff members shrieked.
The bank fell into chaos as the staff jolted out of their chairs, inciting panic from the rest of the bank. As the men yelled over their panicked screams, the gentleman from before peeked his head out of his office. His eyes widened at the sight of the burglars and immediately slammed his door closed, ignoring the people pleading at the door and desperately shaking the handle. Others clamored for the exits, like frightened sheep, a few heading for the window. A sensible option.
Ronan, on the other hand, was the first to fall onto his stomach. He crawled through the staff’s door, hiding behind the counters and glass panes. He was greeted by the lady huddled, hiding herself behind her chair. Her face was pale, her shaking hands vacantly adjusting her glasses.
He moved back his sleeve, looking at his watch. Not good! If he wasn’t in the pizza parlor in ten minutes, Matteo will have his head. The last worker was fired for taking one of her sick days. He bit down on his lower lip. He really can’t afford to lose another job- not right now. Maybe he should follow everyone else and try to escape. After all, what's the worst that could happen? The police knocking at their door and sitting down his poor mother and aging grandfather on their worn out couch (that they found for free on the side of the road), telling them slowly that their son—their hope, their breadwinner—was shot in something as mundane as a bank robbery?
Three gunshots pointed toward the ceiling rang through the building.
The lady whimpered, her hand over her mouth, and Ronan huddled closer to the counter.
“Get down on the floor. I am not going to ask again.”
He could hear the shuffling of the people as they got down on the ground. A child was crying; the mother anxiously whispering, trying to calm them both down. Fortunately, the burglars had already forgotten all about them as they barreled toward the counters. The lady and Ronan tried to make themselves invisible.
They ran left and right of the counter, opening doors and cabinets, rummaging through them looking for money. One after another, cabinets were left unclosed as the men rushed to find something of value. And they were failing miserably.
“Where’s the money?” one of the men demanded, swinging the barrel of the gun to the lady’s face who squeaked. “You. Show us where the money is.”
“It’s in the…” The lady fumbled with the register, breaking it open. Dollar bills stuck out. “Here.”
“No. Where’s the big vault?”
“Pardon?” the lady asked breathlessly.
Ronan couldn’t blame her.
“The one that you open with all the money that you could swim in. You know, like they show in the movies.”
“It’s-it’s all digitized now. We don’t have that anymore—”
“Whatever. We’re just wasting time,” the other burglar said. “Get the damned money.”
They dumped all the bills and coins from each register into their bags. While the burglars were collecting their loot, the lady took the opportunity to run off to the opposite end of the counter. They didn’t run after her, but Ronan’s eyes followed her. He looked down at the watch. Darn it. Five minutes late. No worries, he tried to console himself. Maybe Matteo was in a good mood! If he left, like right now, he might still be okay.
Ronan should start getting used to disappointment.
As he lifted himself off the ground, one of the burglar’s faces snapped to thim. They locked eyes with the sound of coins clinking in the background. The burglar stepped toward him and Ronan’s heart froze as the man lifted his hand. However, the burglar only lifted his beanie to reveal—
Ronan was flabbergasted, bewildered, dumbfounded!
“Mr. Burton?”
Ronan’s eyes were wide as he looked at the wrinkled, boyish face of his grandfather’s favorite bingo partner. Just this morning the older man was at their place, enjoying a cup of coffee around the kitchen table, talking about the new bingo partner with his grandfather.
“Ronan, my dear boy. Good to see you again! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Mr. Burton turned around to the other burglar. “Eh, Ernie look! It’s your grandson.”
“Grandpa?!” Ronan sputtered.
The burglar turned around.
Then Ronan saw it.
The soft jaw line underneath the beanie, the white scruff sticking out underneath, the familiar muscled body built from years of training under the militaristic sun, and the same gentle hands that held him together on the days when the world was a little more mean and callous.
Captain Ernald was a military fellow once, a long time ago. Decorated with medals across his sash and an honorary medal from the army, his grandfather was a proud soldier. He fought for his country with unfailing values and patriotism, but was released from the army after an injury in Vietnam. “No longer fit for the army,” they said. It broke his grandfather’s heart. He lived with him and his mother now as it was too expensive for him to afford his own residence and his injury—not to mention his gray hairs and developing arthritis— prevented him from finding a stable job. His grandfather’s pension from his army days were hardly enough to support him, much less for all three of them. He wouldn’t let them make an appointment for his worsening arthritis either when, as he said, his daughter was still in the hospital. They tried appealing to the Veterans Administration but were left endlessly waiting for a response as they were pushed back and forth from one VA to another. Multiple times.
“Clifford, pull your hood down. They got more security cameras in here than in a Las Vegas casino,” his grandfather said. “They’ll take one look at your face and cart you straight to jail.”
Mr. Burton laughed, dismissively waving his hand in the air. The old man retreated from the two of them, going back to filling up their bags with the other one. Probably another bingo player. But Ronan saw this all from the corner of his eyes, for he never took his eyes off his grandfather.
“Grandpa?” he repeated, albeit quieter this time.
“Ronan, you are not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not supposed to be here? You're robbing a bank! Why?”
“You know why I am here, Ronan. We don’t have a choice anymore.”
“But I was helping! You don’t need to do—“
“Ronan, son,” his grandfather said gently and it was only the threat of the security cameras watching their every move that kept him from placing a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “You are fifteen. At your age, I was…” His grandfather paused before shaking his head. “We do not have much time. We’ll talk about this later at dinner.”
There were a million more questions Ronan wanted to ask but all he could do was watch his grandfather’s retreating back.
He stumbled toward the counter exit. And that’s when he saw the lady pressing her phone to her ear, her voice quickly muttering into the speaker.
Instinct took over.
“Wait, no—you can’t call the police!” He forced the phone out of her hands, ending the call.
“Ronny!”
“Hey! I said no one moves!” the other burglar shouted.
Mr. Burton and his grandfather probably didn’t explain the situation to him. They had already collected all the money from the registers and were sealing up their bags.
“Give me the phone,” the lady demanded, trying to steal her phone back.
Ronan pressed the phone to his chest, thwarting her swipes.
“They’ll go to jail!”
The lady stared at him incredulously.
“As criminals should be! The nerve of them- robbing a bank in broad daylight.”
“But you don’t know them…t-they might just be struggling. In a bad place right now.”
The lady stared at him with open disgust. “Have you gone crazy? Acting so sentimental like that? You break the law, you go to prison.”
She took advantage of his momentary distraction and tore the phone away. Ronan watched helplessly as the lady dialed again.
But she was right, wasn’t she? His grandfather had just committed a crime. He broke into a bank with a gun for goodness’s sake! They’ve put people in jail for less. However, at the same time…he knew his grandfather. Strict but honest. Loving and caring—everything a grandfather should be. If there wasn’t a good reason, he would have never done it.
And deep inside, Ronan already knew the reason.
And he hated that he saw the validity of it.
Sirens wailed in the background.
A choice needed to be made.
Ronan sat on the front steps of the bank, his arms resting against his propped knees.
“Come on, son.” A hard hand gripped his shoulder. “You were a witness to the robbery- we’re going to have to get your statement.”
He lifted his head to see a gentleman, the one wearing a dark blue uniform with the tarnished golden badge, looking down at him. The lady was standing at the front door of the bank talking with another gentleman. The video camera hidden up in the corner stared at him, its red light blinking.
Ronan sighed.
“Yeah, okay.”
He definitely was losing his job.
Comments