“How much longer?” Chip asked.
“Five minutes,” I answered. “I told you to wear a watch for this.”
“I’ve got one,” Chip said, holding his wrist close, so that I wanted to tell him to get it out of my face.
“One that works,” I said, not bothering to look. I knew what was on it, the cracked face, the frozen hands.
“Yeah, but you know I can’t do that,” Chip said.
I was with Chip when his watch had broken. Its hands stopped forever at 9:55 am. He had refused to replace it, much less take it off. He had said it would be “bad luck,” but I knew there was more to it.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, its worn leather smooth beneath my fingers. The Corolla smelled sour, like old cigarettes with notes of stale vomit. Normally, Chip could’ve looked at the dash for the time, but the Corolla had none, a void of loose wiring where the stereo should’ve been. We had picked it up from Garcia’s for this job. He ran a chop shop now, at the south end of town.
Garcia had been with us that day, the day that time stopped.
We had all served together; Garcia had been the driver back then. In training, they tell you to try and avoid running over trash on the road, that it could be an IED, but they always forgot to mention that the roads over there are always covered in trash.
One moment we had been driving along, and the next I was on my back, squinting at the sun, copper in my mouth, on my tongue, and oily smoke in my lungs. Only the three of us had survived: me, Chip, and Garcia. The other nine were pieces of the wreckage. They say when someone dies, you should stop a clock.
We stared intently at the bank. When it was 9 am, the teller flipped the sign to OPEN.
“Let's go,” Chip said.
“Remember, five minutes. In and out,” I said.
“I know, I got it... five minutes.”
He opened the passenger side door, and I followed, adjusting the gun in my waistband.
***
Ten minutes later and we were still inside. The bank manager fumbled with the dial on the vault, and I couldn’t tell whether he was stalling or not. I cringed every time Chip cussed at him.
The teller sat gagged, and zip tied to the railing by my feet.
“Chip, leave it. Let's go. We’re out of time,” I said, and tapped the barrel of my gun on my watch.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a watch,” Chip said, with that irritating smile of his.
“He’s not stalling. He doesn’t know the combo. You’re going to get us caught.”
Red and blue illuminated the inside of the room, and my stomach tied itself up in knots. I couldn’t hear sirens, and then they flicked on. Smart, they didn’t want us to hear them coming.
“Looks like we were both right!” Chip yelled across the room.
Frustrated, Chip sent the bank manager out the front door and said, “Tell them if any of them try to come in here, she gets it.”
***
Thirty minutes later and the County Sherriff sounded off on the bullhorn, telling us to come out with our hands up.
“The hell with that,” Chip said, “they haven’t got us yet.”
“But they do,” I said. “It’s over, Chip.”
“We still have her,” Chip said. He waved the gun towards the bank teller. I heard her whimper through the gag. The sound tore my heart out.
“No, hostages Chip. We agreed when we started this... Nobody gets hurt.”
“She’s already a hostage, man. We let her go and then what?”
Chip started toward her, and I stepped up to block his path.
“Chip don’t do this,” I warned him. “There’s no coming back from this.”
“Coming back?” Chip said, he looked at me confused. “There was never any coming back.”
I got it then. I got what Chip’s been about since we started pulling bank jobs a year ago. For me it was the adrenaline. The camaraderie I couldn’t find in a cubicle. And maybe, just maybe, I could finish with a little bit of money. Retire in Mexico, never having to have lived a boring life. But for Chip... for Chip it had always been about this moment, about picking when you go, how you go, picking the time. I wondered then how this hadn’t happened on our very first job.
“I won’t let you do it,” I said, holding my ground. We had guns pointed at each other. So much for best friends.
“Fine, but you did this,” Chip said, and walked towards the door.
I watched him go, knowing nothing I could say would stop him.
I dropped to my knees and fell prone, waiting for what I knew would come next. The gunfire is how I remembered it, how I knew it to be, and the bank’s glass shattered into a million sparkling pieces, all singing when they touched the floor.
I checked my watch. It read 9:55 am. I stopped it, and clasped my hands behind my head.
Beautifully written. It's very impressive you established, explored, and resolved a meaningful narrative in such a short length.
Also, great job breaking up the 3 different scenes.