Two Days Later

Stepping out of the shower, Shawn called for his roommate but received no response. Class, I guess. He entered his room and glanced towards his empty backpack and frowned. I’m behind at work and class.

Despite leading to midterms, school is the furthest topic on his mind. Shawn put on a pair of shorts and stretched to be a bit more limber. Afterward, he changed into his Levi’s, tube socks, and a solid black T-shirt. Then he tossed a Walkman, a pair of gloves, and Chuck Taylor's in his backpack and followed it by lacing a separate pair of Chuck’s to his feet.

The doorbell rang, and he hurried upfront. “Be there in a sec.” He grabbed his parka along the way, excited to see the brunette, Amanda, since her absence from yesterday’s rehearsal. Again, he tripped over the phone line across the living room, but he recovered quickly and opened the door to a different brunette girl on his stoop. “Julie, what are you doing here?”

“May I come in?” she asked, where he lowered his defense, and she entered his domain. The two dressed identically except she wore a tank instead of a T-shirt.

“Amanda and I were supposed to meet you.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” she sat on the couch. “Morgan found her high the other night, so he signed her into a clinic.”

“That’s why she wasn’t at rehearsal,” Shawn realized aloud.

“Yeah.”

“Mark’s missing too.” Shawn sat on the chair close to his room. “Will he make it?”

“He’s preppin as we speak, just don’t look him in the eyes.” She smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” she picked up the phone receiver, “Mind if I use this?"

The retreat to his room answered her question as he tossed his cotton mask in his backpack. An absence of Mark sounded like a great idea, less conflict for everyone, but performance without Amanda would throw off everyone. Sure, she had no-showed several times in the past, but never for a job of this magnitude. Amanda was Shawn’s tag team partner; more importantly, she was the hot tag. He’d do all the work, and she was the spark he needed to finish. On his night table, a box of 9mm rounds sat beside the lamp. He proceeded to toss the ammo on his bed; he followed it up with his fully loaded Beretta Cheetah.

“Are you ready?” Julie hovered in the doorway with Shawn’s hoodie. He backpacked his supplies, and they rode off in the station wagon.

After a short trip to the industrial district, they met up with the crew hanging around a white conversion van. The pair departed her car, “We do this job just like we drew it up,” she said as the two left to speak with Mark.

Leaning with a shoulder pressed against the van, Shawn stirred up a conversation with him and proceeded to chat face to face, and he realized what Julie meant about not looking him in the eyes. Mark had a black eye similar to the dark side of the moon.

“Whoa. Who gave you the shiner?” Shawn asked. Mark looked up and only whispered a dirty word.

Dean sat in the sliding door section of the van. Inside it looked more like an FBI surveillance van. Gutted from the standard three rows of bench seats and replaced with state-of-the-art radios, long-range listening devices, and other electronics. Dean debriefed again with the others on how everything would go down.

Morgan pulled up in his BMW and had everyone huddle up for a speech. The crew dressed identically, with hoodies tied around their waists, Chuck Taylor’s, gloves, and balaclavas rolled atop their heads. The professor informed them that Amanda wouldn’t be present, and everything would be identical to the rehearsal. A chill rolled down Shawn’s spine, knowing it was official that she was off the heist. Immediately, Julie held his hand. The two had close chemistry, but nothing was the same without Amanda. They knew everything would be unbalanced. Some thought she might be the glue that kept everyone together. Although she didn’t run the show, things indeed went smoothly with her.

Amanda was the only person to keep up with Dean while he rewired someone’s account to a fake geriatric in Florida. Her drive to learn inspired him to be better at his job. They admired how she gave people ample opportunities to speak their minds. Julie enjoyed their contagious laughter throughout their sisterhood. Mark didn’t share the connection with her but knew everyone benefited from Amanda’s chemistry. Morgan saw all the positives in the girl and did his best to change the negatives. Then there was Shawn. He was in love with her. Although they were lovers, he didn’t see signs of her fading from him. Most everyone wanted her, but she was absent.

The crew wanted to rob a gang of skinheads in the middle of a drug deal at an abandoned warehouse. A simple smash and grab where they hoped each would earn 5k.

Again, they talked over the plan. Mark, Morgan, and Dean covered the North and East exits and Shawn and Julie at the South. There was an unbalance from the usual: three and three. Shawn was weary if a post-Reagan Era version of himself could walk into another heist without his girlfriend by his side. He had no choice but to go with it.

Stolen novel; please report.

Dean handed everyone a ballistic vest, where they strapped them on and zipped up their hoodies. Morgan gave the order to roll out, and the crew either piled into the station wagon or the van they stole years earlier. The idea of everyone jumping in the intel van sounded good on paper, but everyone would be on top of each other, surrounded by Dean’s surveillance equipment. On the other hand, Shawn thought the station wagon smelled of BO, and in a carload, there could be double the smell. To avoid any bickering, Morgan had them split into vehicles.

They drove a block to the location and parked in the parking lot. With no sentries outside, Morgan said, “Proceed like normal.”

They met outside the van where Dean opened a crate of their automatic firearms. Each were set to semi-auto while they unloaded the empty magazines. They quickly loaded their weapons with live rounds, ready for zero hour.

Typically the line from Point Break: “Let's rock and roll” would be quoted, but Dean had something else in mind. He cleared his throat and said: “Fun and gun guys,” in his unusually high voice that made Julie giggle. Everyone rolled down their masks and screwed their suppressors onto to their firearms. The change in the team prompted Shawn to do something different. He started his Walkman and played Guns n’ Roses, November Rain. He remembered in rehearsal how the gig lasted about 10 minutes, so he wanted to test this one. More importantly, he wanted to put his mind somewhere else. Julie interrupted his music by pulling a headphone from his ear and whispered, “Remember, don’t shoot Curt.”

It wasn’t like the movies where someone’s posted outside to watch for cops. Everyone who’s anybody was already in the transaction room ready to leave once both parties reached an agreement.

The crew entered the compound smooth enough but looked out for any stragglers coming in late from a restroom break. Morgan informed them that the bathrooms were empty. They reached outside the kitchen where the deal occurred. Footsteps scurried from just outside the door, keeping the gang on their toes.

With her fingers, Julie motioned a pair of legs running. Her caution then met with optimism once the steps stopped at the door, and Shawn nodded to continue. Julie set up the flashbang charge on the door, ready to breach. Shawn gave her his radio and trusted her to inform him when the others were willing to breach. The song was just entering a guitar solo from Slash when she gave him a 5-second countdown with her fingers.

Five fingers up. Shawn licked his lips in anticipation of bloodshed in the subsequent firefight. Julie’s thumb dropped. He felt needles pricking his fingertips as he tightened the grip on his shotgun. The tip of her trigger finger and thumb touched. The hairs on his neck stood up, feeling the electricity outside the pseudo power plant. Jules’ hand made the peace symbol. His mouth dried up, and he got teary-eyed, waiting for the flash. She put up her index finger and covered her ears. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The explosion almost took down the door and the dork standing at the opposing side. The two outsiders hurried inside, followed by Team A on the east and north exits. Next was Terrified Asshole #1, whose eyes opened a mile wide, followed by a quarter second of fidgeting to remove his sidearm until being shot down by either Shawn or Julie. Nobody was sure who shot first, but the outcome was obvious. Asshole #2, ran from the dynamic duo until Julie plugged him with at least a pair of rounds. With Team A dropping three bad guys, the remaining three skinheads fired from cover until one raised his hands in an act to surrender.

“Show your hands, or you’re dead,” the professor ordered.

Within a five-second window, four more hands appeared, causing the crew to step forward. As they crept forward, the gang realized one skinhead had been shot in the leg, giving a massive pool of blood. The shock had his hands shaking in the air. Once Julie gathered the cash, Mark executed two skinheads. The other looked over to Mark.

“According to plan?” the shaved hulking brute asked.

“Am I supposed to keep them alive?” Mark reached out his hand. “Besides, we can’t leave a witness.” The big guy accepted his gesture and was pulled up. “Curt, thank you for going undercover.”

“I gotta thank Amanda for the acting classes.” Curt looked around at the crew. “Where is she?”

“Everybody out but me and Mark,” Morgan ordered as his voice vibrated the glass windows. With the others gone, Morgan ripped him a new one. “What the hell was that?” Mark pondered the question.

“What did you expect me to do?” Mark asked. “Let them live? That would violate the entire operation.”

“That’s why we carry these sedatives in syringes,” Morgan pulled three syringes from one of the many pockets on his pants. “This has always been protocol. Where the hell have you been? What is it, amateur hour? Maybe I should have put my mercenary friend on this heist?”

“Fuck him,” Mark said. “He’ll eat into our profits and not help us in the long term.”

“Your execution might kill Curt,” Morgan continued. “We were to keep two alive and toss them into a shipping container, so the other skinhead members won’t raise eyebrows towards just Curt but the two assholes we captured. I’m a miracle worker, but I can’t change human thought. So now there are two dead bodies that you will have to clean up. Take two of these assholes and bury them in the desert.” There was no arguing from Mark, just anger and aggravation.

Despite the successful heist, grim thoughts of Amanda’s well-being clung in Shawn’s troubled mind. The gang met at Mark’s house to split the cash, all but Morgan felt satisfied with the heist. With Dean distributing an underwhelming 3 grand each, Morgan stirred in frustration in the backyard smoking his ritual victory cigar.

After everyone received their cash, Shawn pulled Julie to the side and revealed his deep concern of Amanda. She admitted similar feelings.

“Remember last time she was in rehab they ruffed her up pretty bad,” Shawn said.

“Yeah,” Julie said. “It seems like a terrible place. I know it’s illegal for them to touch her, but I guess somehow they found a loophole around it.”

“I have to get her out,” he said.

“They did get her clean, Shawn,” she reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said.

Julie left, and Shawn waited beside the back door as Professor Abbott finished his cigar. Choosing to speak on the issue, Shawn walked up to Morgan, where the cigar-smoking professor informed Shawn that he didn’t want another meeting. But then he saw how Shawn was in an immediate query.

“What’s going on?” he calmly asked his young employee.

“Can you take me to her?” Shawn asked sternly.