Page 1 of Hawk
Prologue
Hawk
It was supposed to be an easy job my younger brother Gage had said when he planned this bank robbery with his two friends, one of which who had been nothing but trouble since they were in school together. The other – well, I don’t know the guy, but he can’t be no better than any of his other homeboys. The plan was supposed to be simple – they’d rush into the bank fifteen minutes after it opened, rob the joint for everything they could get, and take off with cold, hard stolen cash.
They would be in and out in less than a minute. No harm, no foul. Yeah, that’s what Gage said.
What was my role in this? I volunteered to be on lookout and would radio them if anything popped off outside. And I took my job seriously. I sat on my Harley wearing a pair of polarized sunglasses, holding a walkie-talkie while the engine revved beneath me. Yeah, I had a walkie-talkie. We all did. How nineties of them to pull off a bank robbery using equipment from three decades ago.
I’m more pissed at myself for agreeing to this because, while I ain’t no saint, I don’t do stupid. I do stuff I know I’ll get away with, but Gage – he operates on idiocrasy. He already has two strikes. One more and he’s up the creek.
So, while I would rather be hanging with my crew at the Sin City clubhouse throwing back beers while half-naked club snatches – Beauties – dance on the pool table, I’m here making sure Gage doesn’t end up in the slammer.
The plan is going smoothly so far.
We arrive at the bank at 9:15. Gage is driving a beat-up black F150. I imagine it’s stolen since he doesn’t own a car, and neither does his co-conspirators. And they decided to boost a drop-top, cherry red Mustang.
Idiots!
Why would you drive something so flashy to a bank robbery?
At any rate, these imbeciles jump out of the Mustang with ski masks on. Gage follows them inside, sliding a mask over his face as he enters the lobby. I’m backed into a parking space, scanning the empty parking lot but mainly the street, watching cars whiz by. I see a cop car and nearly piss myself, but it keeps on by.
I turn back to look at the bank entrance. I see no movement, nor do I see three men running out with bags of cash. Now, my palms are getting sweaty. What the heck is taking them so long?
I press the side button on the walkie and asks, “What’s going on in there? Let’s go.”
I know these banks have silent alarm systems. I also know they’ve probably already pressed the button by now. Again, what’s taking so long? Brandon doesn’t even radio back. Now, I’m beginning to feel like something’s off.
The idiots finally come running out, hooting and hollering. The two Mustang dummies jump in the car with two backpacks. My brother comes running out with nothing but a gun in his hand, and is that blood on his shirt?
Crap!
Gage stuffs the glock in the back of his pants, and yells at me, “Let’s go!”
He sounds like he’s out of it. He looks frantic. I need to know what happened, but first, we have to get out of here and fast.
Brandon’s peeling off in the truck, drawing a lot of unnecessary attention while I speed to keep up with him. His actions now have blue lights and sirens behind us.
My brother calls me on my cell. I answer with my Bluetooth earpiece and before I can say a word, he asks, “Where’s your walkie, bro?”
“Walkie? I threw that piece of trash in the ditch, man. I tried to call you on it back there. What the heck is going on, Gage?”
“I’m trying to focus right now, Gideon.”
“Focus? You need to start talking now! This was supposed to be easy, remember? Isn’t that what you said? In and out? Now, we got the cops behind us.”
“Oh, crap bro!” he says nervously. “We’re going to jail! I can’t go back to jail, Gideon. I can’t—”
“Shut up and listen to me!”
“Okay! Okay! I’m listening.”
“Tell me what happened in that bank.”
“You know what happened. We robbed the joint!”
“That’s not what I’m talking about! You have blood on your shirt. That’s what I’m talking about!”