THAT'S A TALL ORDER! -- A SHORT STORY

 

“That’s a Tall Order”

Keith lit a cigarette and snapped the Zippo’s lid closed with a clink. He returned the chromed lighter to the pocket of his worn blue jeans as he puff-started the smoke. It was dreary and damp out, but Keith didn’t mind. In the crisp air of an October day, underneath a white sky, he found that people tended to be more trusting, happier. Everyone always claimed they enjoyed the sunshine more but Keith often wondered if the average person actually knew what they liked, or why.

He had parked his car, a jet-black old Dodge with too much engine, by a bridge that stretched over the Halailee River. On a good, clear day, one could see all the way across to the other side, maybe even catch a glimpse of the Mardo Bay skyline. But not on days like this one. Today he couldn’t see halfway. He looked around cautiously as he smoked, hands in his pockets.

It was ten-thirty in the morning, and he was to meet with a new client he’d snagged online at a quarter to eleven. He liked to be early, and he liked meeting at this spot because if trouble arose, there were two ways out and if someone ever gave chase, not many cars in the world stood a chance against his Dodge.

Denise motored her small but cute and economic red convertible along the interstate, which wound in and out of the green foothills surrounding the Halailee. At twenty-seven, she knew better than to meet strangers on a bridge for a couple hits of Ecstasy, but she was going out with the girls that night and the pills made her feel free and happy and alive, the complete opposite of her usual self, which was riddled with anxiety and self-doubt.

She checked herself in the rear view mirror a mile away from the bridge—a nervous habit she picked up from her mother, who’d had identically-colored blonde hair and the same slightly chubby build. When she adjusted the mirror back to the road behind her, she was relieved to see no cars.

She was approaching the bridge when she saw the black hot rod and slowed to a crawl. Then she saw Keith, tall and lean and rebellious, crushing out a cigarette with his boot. Her first instinct was to keep driving, to pass the spot and forget the whole thing.

But she didn't keep driving. Instead, she did her best to stay in the moment and be brave. When Keith noticed her and smiled, one palm up in a friendly wave, a shot of calm raced through her system, allaying enough fear that she pulled into the small dirt lot and killed the engine.

It's impossible to know whether Keith or Denise saw the bearded man first, but he was noticed by each, and quickly. Irregularly tall and thin, his arms and legs appeared fun house-mirror stretched, as if an underweight grasshopper had been given a spider's appendages. Although his gait was slow and methodical, he covered more ground with each step than you or I would sprinting.

Threadbare jeans and a yellow t-shirt sat atop wrap-over sandals that looked worn but sturdy. Long brown hair splashed over squared shoulders and stretched halfway down his back, a yin to the yang of his coarse and wavy beard, which featured thick strands of gray, white, and black that nearly reached his belt line.

Before Denise had a chance to open her car's door, the slim man was approaching Keith. Fearing trouble, she pulled the handle and pushed the door open enough so that she could listen.

"Hey, man," she heard him say to Keith. "You got a light?"

Relief flooded her, and she sighed after a nervous chuckle. She watched as Keith handed him the Zippo and took a step back. Seems I'm not the only one a little creeped out by this guy, she thought.

The tall man puffed a cigarette alive and returned the lighter with a nod before continuing on his way. Denise shook her head at herself and was pushing the door open when the man turned back to Keith and held up a lanky finger, as if he'd just remembered something. "Don't make this sale. It's not the right time. You need to be at the bank."

“What are you talking about?” Keith asked.

But the man insisted, still smiling. “Go to the bank. This can wait.” Then he turned around on impossibly long legs and walked onto the bridge and away.

“Which bank?” Keith called out after the man, who simply waved a spindly arm as he went.

“You’ll know.”

Keith turned to Denise for the first time, assuming by now she was the client, and shrugged. “Well, isn't that something?”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He studied her. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. That was the most out of whack thing that’s happened to me in a long time, lady.”

She smiled, her blue eyes catching the morning sun and turning them into stars that had a twinkle all their own. “It’s Denise.”

Keith returned the smile and introduced himself. “I’m sorry. That was just too weird.”

“No, I get it. But the way he looked... you know what I mean? I wouldn't take what he said lightly. That was more than just weird.”

After a moment he nodded and lit another cigarette. “You're right about that. I think I’m gonna check this out. Wanna come?”

Denise, ever the overly-cautious and nervous Nelly, decided in that moment that she was going to accompany him. Not only wasn't she terrified like she normally might be, she was feeling downright excited. “Let’s do it,” she said before she could change her mind. “We can take my car if you want. Might stick out a little less.”

He looked her car over, smiled, and then stuck his thumb toward his Dodge. “Thanks, but I think we’d better take mine. This thing is built from the ground up as a getaway car. It’s what they call a sleeper. Doesn’t look like much, but it gets down like a redneck on rye whiskey.”

Denise nodded. “What a visual. Yeah, okay. But how will we know which bank?”

Keith shrugged and walked around to the passenger side. “You coming?”

She pressed a button on her car’s key fob, producing three chirps which told her it was locked. Her tone of excitement and her half-smile betrayed words of uncertainty. “I can't believe this. Fine. I’m coming.”

Keith smiled, too, a genuine smile that further calmed Denise.

They got in and Keith turned the key. When the engine fired up it sounded to Denise like an angry bear armed with a chainsaw. Once the initial shock wore off, she laughed nervously. “Oh my gosh! That’s insane. How do you control this thing on the road?”

Keith smiled as he pulled onto the bridge. “Very, very carefully.”

Eight minutes later, they arrived at the Halailee Mutual bank. To Denise's pleasant surprise, Keith had not driven like a maniac, which she admitted to herself she had been expecting. Yet another instance of don’t judge a book, Denise, she thought.

“Do you think this is the one?” she asked as she swung her leg out of the black relic.

“Couldn't say. Doesn’t look like anything is happening, but who knows?”

“Maybe nothing is supposed to happen. Maybe you're just supposed to be here,” she said.

Keith enjoyed the way she thought outside the box. And she was cute as a button? Keith pushed aside those thoughts for the moment. “I don’t know. We’ll give it a whirl. I know where one other bank is, and that’s because I bank there, and if nothing happens there I’m gonna call this a strange prank and move on.”

Denise liked that. Practical. But, what if it wasn't a prank? Familiar pangs of panic began tugging at her, whispering things like maybe she should stay in the car; maybe she shouldn’t embark on adventure with a drug dealer; and maybe she shouldn’t listen to freakishly tall hippies who walked across bridges. But she was there and, strange as it seemed even to her, she trusted Keith. There was something about him that soothed the terrified little girl inside her.

Unlike Denise, who was meek and mild and quiet, Keith was confident, smooth, and charismatic. He moved differently than other people, seemed to flow in a reality visible only to him. A world where he was king and everyone else simply fell into line.

As she followed him across the parking lot to the bank, Denise caught herself gazing at his posterior for longer than he’d be comfortable with had he known. She silently scolded herself and sped up so they walked side-by-side until they reached the bank doors, where he held up a hand and peered through the glass. “Better safe than sorry,” he said. She nodded and laughed nervously. “Yeah, for sure.”

Keith hadn't been looking through the window but a couple seconds when he turned to Denise. “We’re definitely at the right bank.”

Keith had seen three men in clown masks and black overalls standing at the counter, waving guns and shouting orders, although their voices couldn’t be heard through the thick glass. He drew his own pistol, sleek and black, and apologized to Denise. “Don't be scared. I have to go in there. Go back to the car and wait.”

“What’s happening? Is it being robbed?” she asked.

“Yes. Right now. Go to the car.”

“Where’s the security guard?” Denise asked.

“No idea. I didn’t see one, but I didn’t look long. Go. Now!”

“Oh my God I can't believe this,” she said, shaking her head. “How many are there?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Three. In masks. Go! There's no time.”

“You're just going to shoot three people in a bank? Just like that?”

Keith shrugged. “Maybe I won't have to. But I need to get in there.”

“But what if you don’t?” asked Denise. “There has to be another way!”

Keith grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward his car. “Please,” he began, but stopped short. The car. The Dodge. It was built to outrun anything. If it could outrun anything, Keith mused, it could catch anything, as well. He let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Let’s go,” he said, and grabbed her hand. “Walk to the car like nothing is happening.”

Together, they strolled back to his car and got inside. Once the doors were closed, Denise asked Keith what they were going to do. “Put on your seat belt,”he said. “We’re going to get them.”

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

“No. But I’m sure that it’ll be better than being chased, which is what I’m used to. Buckle up.”

Denise fastened her belt and jumped in her seat when he started the engine. “I don’t think I could ever get used to that,” she said. Visions of her tiny convertible kept her mind occupied; at the end of this, she reasoned, she’ll be winding on that interstate toward home with the top down and with one heck of a story to tell the girls. But for now, there was a situation to deal with.

The car idled angrily while they watched the three men in clown masks exit the bank with several duffle bags and run to a big blue van, where they slid open the cargo door, threw in the bags, and jumped inside. Seconds later, they were screeching out of the parking lot. Keith revved the engine twice and the put the big Dodge into gear. “Well, here we go,” he said, and slowly made his way to the street and turned right, after the van, which was now a half-block down.

Once the wheels were straight and he was in the lane, he stomped on the gas and the car roared to life, wheels spinning as the rear end swung back and forth until it finally grabbed hold and propelled them forward like a jet. Moments later, they were directly behind the blue van.

“They are going to notice you,” Denise told Keith. “This thing is way too loud, sticks out too much.” She thought back to her earlier offer of taking her car.

Keith nodded and eased up on the accelerator, allowing ample space between them and the van. “Hey do you have a cell phone on you? Take a picture of the plates.”

Denise took the picture and they fell back even more, allowing a small beige car to change lanes and fill the space. “What if we lose them?” she asked.

Keith shook his head. “We won't. I’m going to wait until they are in the country, then we’ll pour it on.”

“How do you know they are going to the country?”

“I don’t, but it makes sense. Fewer cops, open roads, and lots of places to hide.”

Denise nodded silently and prayed Keith knew what he was doing. He was smart, that was for sure. And a heartthrob, too, if she were being honest. She chased away thoughts of fear and focused on the van, on Keith.

A few minutes later, they passed their rendezvous spot at the end of the bridge and exited the city with the van two cars ahead. “Told ya,” Keith said, and winked. Once again, Denise found herself impressed with him. The car rumbled as it followed an SUV which was following the small car which was following the van.

After a mile or so, the interstate widened to allow a passing lane. “Right here. This is it,” Keith said, and sat forward in his seat, gripping the wheel tight with his left while his right went to the floor-mounted gear shifter. When he reached the extra lane, he pulled on the gear shift and stomped on the pedal and the car thundered ahead of the SUV and the small car until it was almost touching the bumper of the blue van. Keith momentarily let off the gas. “Hang on!” he yelled.

He floored the Dodge and turned the wheel toward the van. There was a bang when they connected and the van skidded out, running off the road. It finally stopped its spin cycle in the weeds beside the asphalt, nose of the van facing oncoming traffic.

The Dodge roared again and the world spun as Keith flipped a static u-turn so that his side of the car was closest to the van. In an instant he had his gun out, pointed at the van, and the people in clown masks held their hands up in surrender.

Keith threw his door open and sprang out of the car. “Don't move! Don’t any of you move!”

The man in the passenger seat of the van lifted off his mask so that it sat atop his head. “Keith? Jesus, Keith! It’s me! Frank! Calm down! Don’t shoot! We’ll cut you in! Just let us get the fuck outta here!”

Keith's head cocked, confusion on his face. When it registered that the bank robbers were friends of his, he lowered the gun and ran to the van. “What the hell are you doing, man? Who else is here?” The other two men lifted their masks. “Ricky? Matt? You idiots robbed a fucking bank?”

Frank the driver answered. “Yeah, we did! You get by on the street sales because you’ve… you've got something, and it’s something people like. They like you and you're good at what you do. We don’t have that thing, so we went a little bigger this time. And now we’re facing the wrong way in a fuckin' ditch! We can talk later but we’ve gotta go, kid. Like, now.”

Keith backed away a couple steps as the driver restarted the van. “What’s my cut, then?” he yelled into the window.

The driver rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to count it now. Here,” he said, and reached behind him into his bag. He came out with three stacks of wrapped, one-hundred-dollar bills. “The rest later. A quarter of the haul.” Keith took the cash and stood there while the driver slammed the van into gear. The wheels spun as he skid-turned back onto the interstate.

A couple minutes later, Keith and Denise parked the Dodge at the lot by the bridge. Her little red car looked to Denise like Christmas morning. She had never been happier to see it parked somewhere so dangerous, its white top begging to sink into the trunk as she zipped along the interstate home. Home. A place she frankly wasn't sure she’d see again.

“How much did he give you?” she asked Keith when they were out of the car.

“Thirty-thousand,” he said. “But way more to come, I guess.” He smiled, then, and reached into the pocket of his jacket. He came out with five red and round pills in a small baggie. “Here. Have 'em. On me.”

Denise took the baggie and put it in her pocket. She smiled back. “Thanks.” There was a moment of silence before she continued. “And, thanks for today, as odd as that probably sounds. It’s exactly what I needed.”

“You got it,” he replied. “All in a day’s work.” He reached into his other pocket and produced one of the money wraps. “Here. This is yours, too. You earned it.”

She took the money, eyes saucer-wide, and threw her arms around Keith. After their hug, she put the money in her car and turned back to Keith. “Won’t they be looking for it?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “But not at your house.”

Once Denise had disappeared down the road, Keith walked to the bridge and looked out over the Halailee, a confident grin plastered across his smooth face. There were three things in his jacket pocket he had not started the day with: two stacks of hundreds and Denise’s phone number, neatly hand-written on a napkin.