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Part III: The Heist
OCTOBER 19, 2016
Clarissa had an uneventful night's sleep. She anticipated some horrific nightmares, reflecting the anxieties she felt about the coming day and the regrets that drover her to this point. But there was nothing. Maybe Clarissa was just that mundane of her a person. She had outgrown dreams after the sixth grade.
Or maybe Clarissa didn't find anything spectacular to dream about. If so, there was one symptom for her losing her mind.
She got out of bed and wiped at her face. Her digital clock read 4:54 in blaring red. Clarissa was ahead of schedule. Then again, that was her standard for her day-job. She expected no less from herself. Prematurely turning off her alarm, Clarissa got up (a few bones snapped than she would have liked but that was life now) and gingerly walked to the kitchen. Snatching a hot pocket from the freezer, she threw it in the microwave and turned the dial. That had to constitute for breakfast today. Of all the things Clarissa planned, she didn't consider what was the best nutritious meal for robbing a bank.
While the hot pocket rotated in the mediocre appliance, Clarissa checked her email. School bitching for funding, school bitching for funding, boss asking her to stop the bitching for funding, boss checking to see if the SAT-prep was wholly in swing in her district yet, update on that G.W High hippy-dippy retreat--Clarissa saw the easy solution here in taking the G.W High money to give to the bitching schools to fund the SAT-prep but no one listened to her. The messenger was always shot down, like the poor sap stuck on the customer service lines dealing with the worst callers. All Clarissa could do was play diplomat, enforce this, suggest that, have that refused and suggest another idea, get called tyrant by the school, then by the board. All a game of egos and cockfighting, with Clarissa consistently ending up as the doormat at the end of every scuffle.
At least with this robbing gig, the group seemed democratic. Vaguely.
The microwave dinged. Sighing, Clarissa took out her searing-hot breakfast, wincing a bit at the touch. Taking out a fork and knife, she cut open the food, letting the steam flood out. Stabbing a chunk with her fork, Clarissa slowly brought the food to her mouth.
Three honks outside her apartment window jarred her out of her breakfast, causing her to drop the food on her foot. "Jesus!" Immediately, she stormed to the window to see what hoodlums had to the nerve to create such a ruckus at five in the...
Clarissa narrowed her eyes, disappointed but not surprised. There was the van, fifteen minutes early.
You stressed punctuality, he gave it. If only he could do it quietly...
She waved down at him, signaling that she'd be there soon. So much for her gourmet breakfast. Clarissa went to her bedroom to get dressed.
***
Wearing her black turtleneck and slacks (ski mask in tote bag), Clarissa sped-walk to the passenger's window and knocked on the glass, demanding an audience with her driver.
"Morning, beautiful," Dom grinned, "Want a McMuffin?" he held up a McDonald's bag.
-Dom
Clarissa swatted the bag away. "I said get here early, not wake up the neighborhood." She opened the door and sat in the worn-out seat. "Still...thanks for coming early."
"Ayo, presidente!"
"FUCK!" Clarissa jumped at the sudden appearance of Clyde from the back, mouth full of McMuffin. "What the...why are you here?!"
"Wanted Dom to pick me up early," Clyde casually explained. "I'm hype as fuck, you don't even know it..."
Clarissa rolled her eyes, reminding herself she was still working with idiot kids. Wanting desperately to change the topic, she tiredly asked Dom, "Tank's full?"
-Clarissa and Clyde
"Any fuller and countries would start fighting over it," said Dom easily, getting them back on the road, "Now, let's pick-up Clyde's deadweight."
-Dom
"Ah, no," Clyde waved his hand at that. "We're already done."
Clarissa scrunched her face at that. "You barely even started."
"That's cause this chapter of my life is ending. The next one is just beginning. And y'know, Clyde needs his Bonnie but Zoe ain't that."
"So we brought your fling on board for nothing. Great."
"Ay, she's contributing, ain't she? Fling she may be, but it helped our operation in the long run."
"Pfft," was all Clarissa could say to that. "Guns are in the back?" She asked no one in particular.
"Bet!" Clyde said as heaved an assault rifle over into the front seat.
"GET THAT OUT OF HERE!" Clarissa shouted, leaning against the door.
"Relax, it isn't loaded. Man, you're nervous."
Clarissa didn't dignify that with a response, begrudgingly taking the offered McMuffin and unwrapping it. Mouth full, she said, "At least you guys are...enthusiastic. If all you needed was a can-do attitude to get this done, I wouldn't be worried."
-Clyde and Clarissa
"He's done with her, but we're stuck with her. Man might as well have got her pregnant," but Dom shrugged, "Whatever the fuck. Let's move," he turned to Clarissa as they got underway, "So, what's the plan with the Teaguebot? 'Cause I'm still betting she's gonna crack."
-Dom
Crinkling the wrapper of the now-consumed McMuffin, Clarissa assured Dom, "She won't crack. We ran the drill a thousand times, and if I've learned anything, she's a damn fine actor. That's what you get out of ceaseless repetition." She cocked her hand as she immediately played devil's advocate. "Then again, all the kids in our school district are forced to do fire drills every other week, yet I'm still not convinced half of them won't be incinerated when a fire did happen." Tossing the wrapper behind her and into Clyde's face, Clarissa returned to careful optimism. "But Sarah will do fine. As much of a cold drone her father is, the emotionless hasn't been bullied out of her yet."
"That's why you don't get married," said Dom with great authority, "My Ma, she talks like the instructions on the back of the box."
But he frowned, "I still think she's an op, though. She's got her husband to think about."
-Dom
Clarissa looked between the two teenagers-turned-accomplices. "She won't snitch. If she wanted to be an 'op,' she would've ratted us out at the start. No reason she would have tolerated us this long."
Clyde shot Dom a look that read something like, Women don't get women, amirite? before looking out the window. "Ay, this is it. Pull up."
-Clarissa and Clyde
"You're getting her," said Dom as though Zoe were a pack of cigarettes.
He unlocked the car, allowing the resulting clicking noise to underscore his point.
"Aight," Clyde opened the door and stepped out. "Be back in a sec." He approached the door, texting Zoe that it was go-time soon.
***
While they had the time, Clarissa asked Dom, "You sure you've got the escape route down?"
-Clyde and Clarissa
"Said it every night before bed like prayers," Dom assured her smoothly, "Don't sweat it. I don't know what these other clowns are doing, but I know my part."
"Well, you better hope these 'clowns' know their part, otherwise we won't get to your part." Clarissa exhaled a beleaguered sigh. "Speaking of...there's one more thing you should know."
"Oh?" Dom cocked an eyebrow, "What, is there another guy or something? Because, just so you know, I wasn't gettin' any ideas this was anything elusive or whatever, you know? Actually, I been thinking about branching out myself a lit..."
-Dom
"Could you not...be an asshole right now? For once?" Clarissa sighed, as if this was the first time she was considering the weight about what she was going to say. "If we're not out of there in ten minutes...just get away, as fast as you can. No pickup, no route, none of that. Just drive off and wash your hands of this, got it?"
"Oh, right, yeah, yeah..." Dom nodded, only for his face to slacken as he seemed to finally process what he'd heard, "Wait, what? Whaddaya mean 'wash my hands'? Hang you out to dry? Are you tellin' me to walk?" his mouth quirked dangerously, "What the hell kinda mook do you think I am?"
-Dom
"It's one thing to go down with the ship," Clarissa shot back sternly. "It's another thing to actively jump onto a sinking boat. You don't owe anything to us, especially your freedom, alright? I don't care if it hurts your ego or disrespects your honor or whatever hyper-masculine 'principles' you're going to sling into my face. We're late, you leave, got it?"
Dom was quiet for a while, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Finally, he let out a long sigh, "Right. Gotta be smart. But I don't like it. Stallions don't run awa..." but he seemed to realize the imperfectness of the metaphor, "I don't run away."
-Dom
As she exited the house, she came face to face with Clyde and said, "I'm all set. Are you?"
Clarissa scoffed. "You don't like being smart? Should have figured. Idiot..." She shook her head, regretting they were even having this conversation. "Look, let's not worry about it because we won't have to because the plan is going to work and there won't be any running away or washing hands. It'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Jesus..." She looked away and out her window, her heart suddenly feeling heavy. She had several innocent people on her back, all backing a whim of hers to prove she's got some life left in her, that she hadn't let life pass her by. So many people, young people, were putting their lives on the line because Clarissa was insecure, and now this one was willing to go down for the cause. At times, she preferred Clyde's shallow motives of money and women to Dom's...honor.
What a band of idiots she found, that they'd merrily follow her to their demise. Clarissa should have been flattered.
***
"Dom's got the ride all set up. Let's go!" Clyde began his jaunt back to the van. "Oh, and if we got time after, maybe we can have a better, not-boring second date. Few thousand dollars helps with that kind of stuff, y'know."
-Clarissa and Clyde
"Afterwards, I'm going to be laying low, Clyde," She said to him, "As should you."
"Geez, why you gotta be so serious? You act like we're committing a murder. We're just robbing a bank. Man..." Hopping in the van, Clyde gave Dom the OK. "Aight, let's roll!"
"Yeah, yeah, cool it." Clarissa regained her composure and greeted Zoe. "How are you feeling?"
-Clyde and Clarissa
Zoe gave a big smile and said, "Excited. You?"
Dom made a derisive noise in a bastardization of a Sicilian dialect that nobody on the island had spoken since World War II, but was pervasively popular amongst Italian-American transplants and their descendants all the same.
"That means I'm fuckin' stoked," he added in dry English.
-Dom
"Great, great. Good to have a group of eager beavers," Clarissa chirped in dryly. "That'll make this a lot easier." Patting Dom on shoulder, she said, "Head over to the bank. We have to make sure Sarah's not there for too long, otherwise people might get suspicious."
"Don't have to tell me twice," Dom gunned the engine, "Say your prayers. We're gonna need 'em."
-Dom
"We won't need prayers if we remember the plan. No stunts..." Clarissa glanced Clyde, who was only mildly offended. "...be vigilant on the cameras and the police radio..." She turned to Zoe, pointing to the bulky setup in the back of the van. "...and know your route." Her eyes finally rested on Dom. Then, as if looking up at some divine entity, Clarissa concluded, "And let's hope Sarah's a good enough actor."
And that I can keep the entire situation under control... But Clarissa didn't express those anxieties out loud. Because they were nothing. She'd keep her cool because she was cool.
She was Clarissa Seep, goddammit. They had nothing to worry about.
***
"Good morning, Mr. Werner," Sarah greeted as chirpily as she could without betraying how close she was to total nervous collapse, "Good to see you looking so alive after the surgery."
Mr. Werner was the most established teller at Williamson Community Bank. He was also approximately as old as the pyramids, and is slightly worse shape. Sarah figured that if she was going to be dealing with anybody here on this day of days, it might as well be him.
Stu, mercifully, was working from home, which was a load off her mind. If anything, Sarah saw her involvement with this whole crazy plot as beneficial. God knows what might've happened to Stu if that crazy tyrant and her cohort of imbecilic teenagers had happened upon this place without knowing him from Adam!
-Sarah
"Well, you know at my age," Mr. Werner croaked, jovial to see an older client (and dare he say, friend). "I'm lucky to be here working another day. I must say, I'm surprised you didn't visit when your husband was working. You know, so he could give you a little..." He chortled ahead of time, knowing this would be a great joke. "...little of this. Heh heh heh..." He rubbed his fingers together, his laughter slowly devolving into a coughing fit.