Gwen. E. Lippert
was a ledge along the glass for customers to fill out their deposit slips and other forms. The manager’s office was off to his right. The teller counter stretched across the back of the bank and was chest high, except for at each station where it dropped a foot or so. There was a walkway to the far right and a good eight feet between the teller counter and the back of the building.
In addition to the three tellers, there was a guard to Larry’s right, a manager sitting at her desk and one customer, and an elderly lady at the teller station to the far right. He saw the teller look at him, say something to her customer, and then saw the customer walk off with a confused look. The customer then stood beside the “Wait here for next teller” sign.
That same teller then addressed him, “I can help you, sir.”
Larry hesitated, considering one last time whether he should just turn around and leave. “I can help you,” the teller said a little louder.
He took another deep breath and headed her way, taking a quick look at her nameplate—Gwen Marsh. Sizing up Ms. Marsh on his few steps to her station, he at first felt confident. She was just a short, plump, middle-aged woman. Easy prey.
Then he met her eyes, and the way she watched him made him wonder if this was such a good idea. His heart started pounding again, and he broke out in a sweat. He could hear the squeaky sound of his sneakers on the tile floor and could hear the brushing of his pants, one thigh against the other. And above it all, he could hear his heart beating, pulsating in his ears. Every fiber of his being warned him to turn and leave. He kept walking.
When he reached the teller, he put both tightly fisted hands on the counter but remained silent. He tried to control his breathing, reminding himself that as far as anyone here was concerned, he was just a middle-aged man here to make a deposit. There was still time to say, “I forgot my check,” or “Sorry, I left my deposit in the car. Be right back,” and then head out. But that would mean that once again he failed. Once again, he would feel like a loser. I’m tired of losing, he thought to himself.
He looked at the teller.
Gwen didn’t smile a greeting but just raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Well?” Up close, he didn’t look so much like David. They were built alike, but if she was honest, this guy was slightly more handsome. He had thick glasses like David, but more hair, and only two chins rather than three or four. Judging by the pictures she saw on Facebook, David’s wife fed him well. What this new customer didn’t have that David had was a charming smile that would melt her heart. Just as well, she took a deep breath to show her impatience.
He reached out his right hand to her, opening his fist to reveal a tightly folded note.
She took the note, knowing what it would say before she slowly lay it down on the counter, smoothed it out, and silently read, “This is a robbery. I have a gun. Put all the cash you have into an envelope and hand to me.”
Gwen froze for a moment and reread the note. There is a God, she thought, then looked up with an almost pleased look on her face, met his eyes, and whispered, “Let me see the gun.”
Larry pulled his coat back just enough for her to see the butt of the gun tucked in his waistband. Gwen, being a bit short, had to stand up on her toes to get a look.
“Is it real?” she asked in a lowered voice.
“Yes, it’s real. Now get moving.”
This is my chance. Put me out of my misery, dude, Gwen thought with relief. She leaned forward over the counter, getting right up in his face, “You’re not getting anything. Shoot me.”
Larry stared at her in disbelief.
“Shoot me, you worthless son of a bitch.”
He finally blinked. “I’m not bluffing. If you don’t start emptying that drawer, you’re dead,” he hissed.
Gwen pulled her head back, stood up straight, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Go ahead. Do it.”
Larry looked at her, puzzled. She seemed almost eager. “You’re crazy.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head, “yes, I am. Now shoot me.” “Please” was on the tip of her tongue, but that was said silently.
Larry put his hand on the butt of his gun but froze there. This was not how things were supposed to go. In the thousand times he’d gone through this in his mind, not once had he been challenged. The teller was supposed to just do as he asked. They were trained to not make trouble if they were robbed, to just do as asked, and to do what they could to stay safe and ensure the safety of everyone in the bank. This woman was not supposed to challenge him. He didn’t know what to do, and worse, it was clear from the impatience he saw flash in her eyes that she knew that he didn’t know what to do. All the banks in this city, and I pick one with a lunatic teller, he thought.
The bank manager, Karen, was in her office a few yards away. The front of her office was all glass and looked out into the lobby. She could watch her tellers and normally kept one eye on things so that if the tellers couldn’t keep up with the traffic or seemed to be in trouble, she could come out to help. She noticed Gwen leaning over the counter toward the customer. Gwen had only been there two weeks, but there had already been complaints. In the words of one of her coworkers, Gwen was “less than pleasant” to work with. Based on what Karen was seeing here, Gwen was “less than pleasant” with customers as well. She made a mental note to have a conversation with her new teller later that day. For now, though, she would just keep an eye on things.
“Pull out your gun. Point it at me, right about here”—Gwen pointed at her chest and tried to keep her voice low so as not to attract attention—“and pull the trigger. Once I’m down, everyone else here will be scared enough to do whatever you want. And if you’re quick enough, you might even get out of here before the cops arrive.”
Larry started to back away. Gwen held up her hand. “Oh no, we’re not done here. You don’t get to leave now. You need to finish this,” Gwen said, looking him right in the eye. “Shoot me.” Though Gwen’s heart was pounding and her hands shaking a bit, she was not afraid. The shaking was a result of her rising anger. This was taking too long. She hissed. “Shoot me, you son of a bitch.”
Larry froze in place. “Look, lady, I didn’t want anybody to get hurt. Just let me get out of here, okay?” As he said this, he noticed a look of disappointment on the teller’s face, as though she were saddened by this turn of events. They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Gwen sighed.
The other people in the bank were beginning to take notice that something was off at Gwen’s station. Both Larry and Gwen knew that something had to happen soon. Gwen thought for a second and then, with her head, motioned Larry to come closer, which he did.
She leaned back over the counter, just slightly this time, and with a low voice said, “Listen, we both know you’re not getting out of here without a police escort, but I can change that. I’ll help you, but you have to do as I say. I can get you through this. You’ll leave here with about twenty grand. I can make that happen.” She knew she could do that too, but she had no intention of fulfilling the promise. She had her own agenda here. Whatever compassion she felt towards this nervous man was overcome by her desire to just die.
Larry thought for a second. He partially believed her—she wasn’t going to let him get out of here unless he did as she said. How the hell did this happen? He had the gun. He was supposed to be in charge of the situation, but here he stood, fully at the mercy of this woman.
So okay, what was the alternative? She could make a scene now, and he knew he wouldn’t make it out of here. Unless he was willing to use his gun, the guard would stop and hold him until the cops came. Or he could see what this woman proposed and hope she would really help him. She was crazy though; should he trust a crazy person? The worst that could happen in that case was that he ended up in jail. The best was that he got what he came in here for and went home to his sons.
“How much do you want? One minute ago, you said I wasn’t getting anything,” he asked.
“I’ll