The Bank Robbery (a novel in progress)
Chapter 4: Red Dye #40 (In which your lawyer to be thinks deeply about red dye and other things)
And then, he was gone. Like O.J. Simpson in the white Ford Bronco. I think that was 1994, or was it 1995. He didn’t have a car but I saw him zip past the bank’s drive through window when I saw him ease out the back. The Rev. Jesse Jackson bank robber was on the move.
Ms. Desiree Floyd, the bank branch President, pressed the little button at last telling the world we were being robbed. But we weren’t being robbed. We had been robbed. He was gone.
“Somebody lock the front door,” Ms. Floyd shouted.
But I ignored Ms. Floyd. I busted out the door and saw him running down the street. I was chasing him. He was fast but not that fast. I was motivated. Pissed the hell off. He had robbed us. Humilated us. Now, he thought he was just going to run off like we were nothing? Well, fuck this dude. He didn’t see me running behind him. He was too busy escaping.
Then I saw it. The first dye pack exploding. As they told us in the training, when the dye bank leaves the bank itself, the clock begins ticking. In 30 seconds, they will begin exploding.
“Pop!!” I heard it.
Red dye sprayed everywhere. I saw some of it spray on to him. That meant some of the cash he just stole was ruined. You could not try to pass red dollars. It would be so obvious they were from a robbery. He kept running though, and I kept gaining.
I could swear I heard people cheering me on as if I was a football player trying to score, I was within 15 yards now. This was amazing. If I caught him, and tackled him, I would make the morning newspapers. I would be famous for a few days.
I dug in and get pushing. Then — “Pop!!!” Another dye pack exploded. Red dye went everywhere again. He kept running. He didn’t stop. He didn’t blink. He must have been used to this routine. He probably had the money inside of something, inside the bag to offset some of the dye.
I was right on him now. Five yards. Four…Three…He was tired. He finally slowed down and looked back. I lunged and landed on top of him. Tackled him.
Then I snapped out of it. I had not landed on top of the bank robber who looked like the Rev. Jesse Jackson. I was still in the bank.
It was a daydream. I had drifted mentally. It wasn’t fucking real. None of it. I was still in the damned bank on the ground with everyone else.
He was still robbing us. He still had his gun. He still looked like the Rev. Jesse Jackson.
Damn!!
I put my head down and all of a sudden I wanted some M&Ms. I had some for lunch and suddenly I remembered the taste of those M&Ms. I had a tomato sandwich (yea, a tomato sandwich because i had no bacon or lettuce to make a BLT), an apple, and a bag of M&Ms. I always picked the red M&Ms out and threw them out.
A friend of mine told me once, the red ones caused cancer.
“Red dye #40, fool. You eat one of those you will be a dead man, quick,” he said.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“No shit, dawg. I know a cat who ate them all the time. Dude is dead.”
“I have eaten hundreds of them; I’m still here”
“Man, you fucked, dawg.”
“You really think so.”
“Yea, I am truly sorry.”
I remember laughing at his ass.
Today, at lunch I didn’t pick the red ones out the M&Ms. I ate them. Red M&Ms. I have eaten hundreds. And I am still alive. At least for a few more seconds, I guess.
I wish this guy would get on his way. Why is he still checking around for more cash?
The Bank Robbery is a serial novel in progress.
