Terminal

“And they’ll give us that?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know, Sherm. Why not just make a break for it now? We could go out the back.”

“That’s no good, yo. They’ve got us surrounded already. Even if we could make it to John’s car, they’d bum rush it as soon as we were inside. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this, Tommy.”

He turned to Keith.

“Your office is across the hall, right?”

“Yes. But there’s no money in there.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the money anymore. What I do give a fuck about is if your office has windows. Are there any windows in it? Don’t lie to me, Keith, because if we get in there and I see a cop peering through the glass at me, I’m gonna cap him, then I’m gonna rape your ass with the barrel of this pistol and cap you too.”

“No,” Keith swallowed, “there aren’t any windows.”

“Good. Okay, this is how it’s gonna be. Keith and I are going to have a chat and wait for the cops’ phone call. You stay here with them, Tommy. And keep that fucking kid under control.”

“What about John, Sherm? What do we do about him?”

He didn’t answer. I don’t know if he didn’t hear or if he was just ignoring me. Instead, he yanked Keith up by his hair and shoved him out the vault door. Then he turned back to me.

“Keep your shit together, Tommy. We’ll get out of here and get John some help and you’ll see Michelle and T. J. again.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

He flashed that grin of his.

“Trust me.”

TWELVE

After Sherm left, my headache swelled, exploding in the space between my eyes. I sat back down, keeping the pressure on John’s wound, and felt like dying with him. You know how in books and movies they sometimes describe pain as being blinding? I’d never really thought it was possible until that moment. For a second, I really was blind. Frustrated, I knocked my head against the steel wall, and that made it worse. I felt completely and utterly helpless. But it was more than just the pain. I tried to breathe and found that I couldn’t. Something welled up inside of me— a sense of sorrow and grief and guilt unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was like I’d swallowed a balloon, and it was inflating inside my chest. At the same time, my lips began to swell, as if someone had cracked me in the mouth with a baseball bat. I could feel my heartbeat pulsing in them as they grew. That was when the tears started; hot, self-pitying tears that didn’t stop.

“Oh my,” Martha breathed.

“Wow . . .” Oscar whispered.

“Ummm, are you okay?” Kim asked.

I tried to respond but all I could manage was a long, grieving whine. John’s blood coated my arms and hands. It had been warm at first but now it was cold. Cold and sticky. He was dying. I was dying. Mac Davis and Kelvin were dead. Before this was over, there was no telling who else would join them.

“We are so fucked.” I leaned my forehead against John’s and sobbed. I felt like I was going to burst.

“You could give yourself up,” Roy commiserated. “Don’t you understand, son? There’s still time to save your friend, still time to get him to the hospital. Nobody else has to get hurt. The way I see it, you didn’t do any of the shooting. It was your friend, Sherm, that killed those two men.”

“That’s right,” Dugan agreed, sitting up straight. “We can all vouch for that. We could sneak out now, while he’s busy with the manager. Then you surrender and we’ll tell the police that you helped us escape.”

I shook my head and wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, willing the tears to stop, the pain to go away. The mucus on my sleeve was pink, and I wasn’t sure if it was John’s blood or my own.

“No. That won’t work, man. It’s too late. John’s dying and I may as well be dead and it’s my fault. All this shit is my fault. My wife and my kid . . . I deserve whatever happens next. Everything’s fucked.”

Roy tried again. “I’m sure that your wife and child would want you to do the right thing. You want to see them again, don’t you? They’ll want to see you alive, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Kirby. I’m already dead.”

“What do you mean you’re already dead? Surely, your sentence wouldn’t amount to the death penalty. Your friend perhaps, but not yourself. You’re just an accomplice, and if you help us, it could only go in your favor.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m dead already— was dead before we walked in this fucking bank.”

The bloody ski mask felt like a heavy sponge. Laying John’s head on the floor, I ignored Roy’s question and placed John’s lifeless arm over the tourniquet. I didn’t like leaving him, but I had no choice. I taped up Sheila and Benjy as quickly as I could, trying to be as gentle as possible. I felt bad about doing it, but I knew Sherm would do worse if he came back and found their hands free. Then I ripped the duct tape from Oscar’s wrists. He cringed, scooting back in fear.

“P-please don’t kill me . . .”

“Give me your shirt.”

“What— why?”

“Because that ski mask is worthless and I need something to stop my friend’s bleeding, and because Hellboy is for pussies. The Punisher is the real shit.”