Terminal

“Actually, and I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this, John is right,” Sherm nodded. “But you ain’t gotta worry about that shit. This branch doesn’t allow their tellers to slip dye packs into the money anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They got sued a few years back. A teller up in Buffalo slipped a dye pack into a robber’s take. The robber ran out the door, the dye pack went off, and the explosion injured a little old lady who was coming in to cash her social security check. She sued the bank and never had to worry about social security again. One thing they do have though is a tracking device— a little piece of plastic, thin enough to be hidden in between the bills. Works just like a Lo-Jack does on cars, and the cops can trace you with it. So make sure they don’t slip you one. And to be extra fucking careful, check your shit after you’re down the road.”

I stared out the passenger window, watching the night flash by. Sherm had given me a lot to think about, and the more I thought, the crazier the whole thing seemed. I wasn’t a bank robber. I wasn’t like the idiots on America’s Most Wanted. I was just a poor white trash schmuck, trying to feed his wife and kid, give them what they deserved rather than what they had.

But I was dying.

“Seems like an awful lot,” I sighed. “How the hell am I going to pull this off all by myself?”

“You’re not.” Sherm grinned. “I’m gonna help you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Straight up, Tommy. You said it yourself. No way you can pull this shit off by yourself.”

“I’m in too,” John promised.

“Fuck that.” I spat. “No way I’m letting either of you guys get involved in this shit. I need you guys to look out for Michelle and T. J. after— after I’m gone.”

“That’s why I want to help,” John argued. “You can’t do it by yourself, Tommy. Sherm said so. If we help you, then there’s a better chance it goes right. Which makes things better for them.”

“No way, John! No fucking way. End of argument.”

“Tommy, I love Michelle and T. J. as much as you do. I was best man at your fucking wedding. I was there when T. J. was born. I want to help them, and the best way to do that is to help you.”

“Forget it!”

“Fuck that.”

“He’s right, John,” Sherm said. “You know what you’re looking at if you get caught? First time offender, you’re looking at forty-one to fifty-one months. We’re talking a haul of more than ten thousand dollars easily; so add one more offense. We stole it, so add two more. Use a weapon or even fucking display one? Add a bunch more. You could end up in there for half your life, and unlike Tommy, that’s a lot of fucking time.”

“I don’t care.” He stuck his lip out stubbornly. “I want in on it.”

“Pull over, now,” I demanded.

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna bitch-slap the living shit out of you, that’s why.”

He slowed down, gripped the wheel tightly, and looked at me.

Slowly, deliberately, he said, “If you don’t let me help, I’ll tell Michelle.”

I opened my mouth but he cut me off.

“I mean it, Tommy. You’re my friend. I need to do this. And if you don’t let me, I swear to fucking God I’ll tell her everything. The cancer. The robbery. Everything.”

I looked into his eyes and saw that he meant it.

“Please?”

“Okay.” I sighed, exhausted. “All right, you’re in. But Sherm, I still don’t understand why you want to help.”

“Hey, man,” he flashed his teeth, “we’re boys. Besides, I believe we can actually pull this shit off, and I’m bored in this town. Hanover fucking sucks, yo. This will be the first fun thing I’ve done since I left Portland.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Like a fox, man. Crazy like a motherfucking fox.”

John parked at the lake and we stared out at the water in silence. The moon reflected off the rippling waves. Somewhere in the darkness, a whippoorwill cried out. John popped out Ice-T

and slipped in Ice Cube’s War and Peace disc instead. I suddenly felt very old, and very tired, and I wondered if I should plan my funeral in advance, or leave that detail to Michelle after I was gone.

One thing was for sure. If we pulled this off, she wouldn’t have to worry about paying for it.

“So where do we get the guns?” I asked. “We don’t have time for the seven-day waiting period and the background check.”

“I know a guy,” Sherm leaned forward. “He lives in York, down on South Queen Street. One for me, one for you— should cost us about two hundred even. Let me hit him on the cell and see if he’s around.”

“What about me?” John frowned. “Don’t I get a gun?”

“No,” Sherm told him. “You’re driving the getaway car.”

“Cool! Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

“Two hundred bucks? Sherm, all I’ve got is this last paycheck and I just deposited it this afternoon.”

“So? You got an ATM card, right?”

“Yeah, but we needed that money for bills. What the hell am I gonna tell Michelle if she finds out I spent it?”

“Dude, think about it. In less than a week, you’ll have all the money you need to pay the bills. All the money you fucking need . . .”