Bank Robbery and Getaways – a Short Story by Sean P. Durham

Girl in car with pistol and mask

Girl in car with pistol and mask

Three Robbers exit the bank. They find themselves on a crowded street. The first of them is wearing a Theresa May mask. He is carrying a holdall with 1.5 million Euros in it. The second guy has a sawn off shotgun in his hand, wearing a Donald Trump mask. The third is a woman wearing a Boris Johnson mask and carrying a leather cosh. They wade into the crowd, searching the curb for their getaway car and driver. The crowd is marching in a large circle on the pavement while they protest about the bank. Passers-by edge through the protesters. The robbers can’t see the getaway car. They try to get to the roadside, knocking down two protesters as they head for the kerb.

Protesters turn on the robbers and aim their chants at the three of them. They jostle them, shove them and try to push them to the ground. The robbers are split up and lose sight of each other. The gang leader tries to keep an eye on the money bag but is helpless as he watches the protesters drag Theresa May into a group and start to kick and punch him. ‘Theresa May’ fights back but doesn’t want to make things worse. He grips the holdall of money and curls up on the floor. Do like he’s dead. Animals don’t attack other dead animals, he thinks. The crowd get it, they move away and focus on the bank again, “Pay the customer! not shareholders!” – “Fire the CEO!”. The protesters chant. Their banners and plaques waving in the air.

Theresa may grabs her holdall and stands up, she looks along the kerb and sees the car. The driver is leaning his head against the window. He’s asleep, his arms crossed and a newspaper spread over the steering wheel. “Idiot”, He thinks and runs towards the car. He sees his companions do the same, the one wearing Boris Johnson has blood on his mask. Donald Trump is running towards the car, too. He’s waving his sawn-off shotgun at anybody who looks at him. He was always the frightener on the job and he’s good at it. A woman and child run into doorway and cower in the shadow. A large man wearing a combat jacket and army boots runs into a newsagent’s doorway.

They reach the car and pull open the doors. Once inside, the boss shouts at the driver,”Go!Go!”. The other two look for the small bag of clothes that they will change into as they get away. They are pulling off the jackets and masks as the boss shouts again, “Go! Go! – Drive this fucking car!”.

They stare at the driver. He seems to be sleeping soundly. A newspaper is spread across the steering wheel. Boris Johnson points at the black and white print. The other two look closer and see the splatter of wetness that has hit the paper and slid down onto the driver’s lap.

“Fuck!”

“I think that’s his brains”

Boris Johnson, Theresa May and Donald Trump lean over and stare at their driver’s face. They see the burn mark on his forehead and the dark bloody hole in the middle.

Boris Johnson Jumps out of the car, runs to the driver door and pulls it open. The body flops out, bits of something wet and dark on his shirt. Boris Johnson drags the body out into the street and dumps it on the pavement behind the protesting crowd. She laughs for some reason and then jumps into the drivers seat, removes the newspaper and fires-up the engine. The motor growls and spits under her heavy foot.

She pulls away and drives into the heavy traffic, jamming the car into gaps, threatening other drivers with the bulk of the car and the quick accelerated movements. She flips a switch on the dashboard, a shrieking noise pierces the heavy atmosphere. The other cars look for space and make way for the police vehicle as it clears a path for itself through the traffic and makes its getaway towards Westminster.

 

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