Terminal

“Yeah, John, that’s where you come in. Let’s see how well you were paying attention. What route are we taking?”

“York Road and 116 to Codorus Road, if there’s no cops on our tail,” he recited from memory.

“After that, we take the old Glen Rock road to Jefferson, then out past LeHorn Hollow, through Shrewsbury and down to the Maryland border.”

“Beautiful. You remembered. What if we go with plan B and head toward Littlestown instead?”

“Head toward Littlestown, then we drive over the border into Westminster, and grab the 140 to 795.”

“In either case, where do we go when we’re in Maryland?”

“Cockeysville. Plan A, we take the Susquehanna Trail to Interstate 83, then grab the Cockeysville exit. Plan B, we take 795 to Interstate 83 and again grab the Cockeysville exit. Once we’re there, we take Cranberry Lane up to the woods, go down the old service road that leads back to the power lines, park out of sight in behind the trees, switch the license plates on the car, split up for a little bit, then, if nobody has found the car, we meet back there after dark.”

“Then we count the money,” Sherm finished, “and start living large.”

“You really think we’ll nab that much?” I asked.

“Yo, I’m telling you; a bank like this in a town the size of Hanover, we could easily walk away with forty or fifty thousand today. Most of that goes to you, of course, but even with the little cut that Carpet Dick and I are taking, it’s still all good.”

“Especially since we’re laid off,” John agreed.

I tried to picture it, tried to imagine holding that much cash in my hands, smelling it, feeling the paper between my fingers, and found that I couldn’t. But that was okay. In a little less than an hour, imagination wouldn’t have to suffice. It would be a reality. Sherm’s crib was on one edge of Hanover, near the lake. The strip mall and the bank were on the other side, right on the border with McSherrystown. On a normal day, it took twenty minutes to drive from one side to the other. But that day, it seemed to take an instant, like we were traveling at light speed.

John turned into the parking lot. He gripped the steering wheel hard and his knuckles popped. I noticed they were white. Staring straight ahead, he drove around behind the strip mall and parked next to the Chinese restaurant’s garbage Dumpster— just like we’d planned. The look on his face was one of resolve. He reached for the keys, but Sherm stopped him.

“No, just let it run. Last thing we need is for you to shut this car off, and we come out with the money and it doesn’t fucking start again.”

John shrugged.

“Is the coast clear?” Sherm asked, craning his head around.

“I didn’t see anybody,” John’s voice was hushed, somber. “There’s a Drovers Water delivery truck over there, but it’s empty. Look’s like it’s just the three of us. You guys see anyone?”

I shook my head.

“Cool. Me neither.” Sherm placed a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Not really.” I coughed.

“What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“For the past week, I’ve been throwing up nonstop, and this morning was no different. Even when I’m not puking, I feel like I’m going to any second. Puff Daddy is remixing shit in my head, along with a military drum corps and a few howitzers and some scientists setting off nuclear bomb tests, and every inch of my body hurts. I’ve got aches in places where I didn’t even know you could get aches. Sometimes my fever is hot enough to fry an egg on my head, and other times it just makes me sweat a little, but it’s always there. I’ve been bullshitting my wife. She’s on the verge of figuring out that I lied to her about our finances, and once that shit hits the fan, it’s only a matter of time before she learns what else I’ve been lying to her about. Like the fact that I’ve been laid off, and I’m still pretending to go to work. Or the fact that I’m fucking dying. God ain’t gonna step in and cure me because I recently learned that He doesn’t exist. Oh, and before I forget, in about two minutes, I’m gonna rob a fucking bank. So no, Sherm, I’m not all right. I’m really not. But thanks for asking, man. Thanks a lot. That means a lot to me.”

“Yo, can that sarcasm shit. You want to quit? Because this is our last fucking chance here, Tommy. Once we get out of this car and enter that bank, there ain’t no going back.”

I stared at him, stared at John, closed my eyes, and opened the door. His words echoed in my head.

Ain’t no going back . . .

My mind had already been made up.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

There are certain moments in your life that, when you think about them later, happen in slow motion. In reality, it probably took us thirty seconds. But sitting here now, when I replay it in my mind, it took hours. Everything was in bullet time, like in The Matrix. I can step outside myself, and envision it from someone else’s view, as if it’s a movie, changing camera angles and adding a sound track.