The Pineville Heist (11 page)

On the other side of the building, Aaron and Amanda wandered into the cafeteria. “But, there's no way out in here. Wouldn't the theatre be better?”

“We can hide in the kitchen and wait for Carl,” she said. “There's knives and stuff.”

Aaron shook his head, but followed all the same. Still that teacher-student dynamic. Follow Miss Becker, regardless of whether it's a dumb plan.

They hurried past empty tables on the way to the kitchen. It looked like a spooky old ghost town without any children, sitting and eating. Instead of the clatter of cutlery, there was only the sound of their footsteps.

Aaron walked into the serving area and started scouting for weapons.

“I can't believe this is happening,” Amanda said, turning to stand guard at the kitchen door, gripping the crowbar so tightly that her knuckles were turning shades of snow.

Looking over, Aaron could see Amanda shaking into a sob. “I'm sorry, Miss Becker.”

“Amanda.”

“I'm scared too… Amanda.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, as she lay the crowbar down on a stainless steel counter and rubbed her weary eyes.

“I don't know… But I'm sure not going down without a fight.”

Aaron ripped open a cupboard then a drawer, looking for anything that could stab, clobber or maim. A plastic tub in the drawer marked 'Eating Utensils.' He dumped it out on the counter. Knives and forks. All plastic.

Bending the knife between his finger and thumb, he knew they were screwed. “I'm sorry about all this, Miss Beck… Amanda.”

“It's not your fault,” she said, straining to sound convincing.

“It kind of is though. If I hadn't taken the money, we wouldn't have ended up in this mess.”

“You were just doing the right thing though. For your father.” Amanda moved to put an arm around Aaron. Partly to comfort him, and partly because she needed a hug, too.

“Yeah, my father. He's an asshole, Amanda,” Aaron said, shrugging away from her. “All he cares about is money. Do you know he's not even coming to the play Monday night? After all that bullshit he told me about 'finally seeing me in my element.' He'd rather have another of his stupid meetings. Can you believe it?”

Amanda separated her lips, but had nothing to say. She happened to look up at the glass panels, separating the cafeteria from the hallway; Tremblay was standing there! His hand cupped to the glass, trying to peek inside.

Quickly, she flattened her body against the kitchen wall. “He's here!”

“Oh my God…” Aaron whispered, snatching the crowbar from the counter. “Maybe he didn't see you?”

Then came the sickly sweet tones of Tremblay in, finally, a good mood. “Alright, folks. It's time we wrap this up.”

He saw her.

Standing by the doors to the gym, Carl pumped the shotgun. With a pair of headlights sweeping behind him, Principal Parker had returned, but was oblivious to Carl, or any other shenanigans inside the school. His school.

Ready, aim, fire. BLAM! Carl dispensed the shell and then kicked the blown apart door open and entered. He racked another shell into the chamber and moved down the shadowy hallway.

Amanda slid down the wall, grabbing tightly onto Aaron's arm. They both huddled down near the ground, as Tremblay's vengeful words hovered over the abandoned cafeteria. “If I have to go in there… it's gonna get messy. So, get your asses out here right now!”

“He's going to kill us,” Amanda hissed at Aaron. He looked into her face. Her eyes were beautiful when they were frightened.

“I have an idea,” Aaron suddenly said, slicing through the ominous tension.

Tremblay clunked the bat to the floor beside his leg and wiped away the blood caking his left ear. “I'm going to count to…”

“No need.” Aaron exited the kitchen holding the crowbar, with Amanda right behind him.

Eyes slitted with suspicion, eyebrows raised with shock; Tremblay looked around the glass partition to see Aaron and Amanda coming out. “Lose the crowbar.”

“No.”

Tremblay raised the bat up into both of his hands and took a large step in their direction. Amanda and Aaron stopped in their tracks. Aaron was dying to swallow, but knew the rise and fall of his Adam's apple would tell Tremblay everything he needed to know: Aaron was nervous.

“I don't suppose you have the money with you?” Tremblay said, scanning them for any bags or perceivable bulges.

Aaron shook his head.

“Of course you don't. Well, let's go get it then.”

Aaron looked to Amanda, with an invisible wink. “Ready?” he mumbled.

She sniffed, still fighting back tears. “Don't do this, Aaron. Maybe he'll let us go after…”

Frowning, Aaron looked sternly at Amanda. In a harsh whisper: “We're witnesses, Amanda. He's not going to let us go. This is our only chance.”

Tremblay took another large step. It was now or never.

“Hey, let me out!”

Principal Parker heard the muffled yell, as he passed by Carl's cruiser outside the school. Then came the soft thud of a thumping fist against glass. Greasy fingerprints smeared together.

Opening the door, Parker frowned and said, “What's going on here, Michael?”

Mike–who was looking ruffled and hot under the collar after being locked in the rear of a cop-car and then losing the cop to a random 'I'll be back'–clambered out and glanced around.

“Those assholes tried to kill me and Aaron and Steve!”

Parker screwed up his face at the curse word, but let it go for the sake of expediency. “What 'assholes'? What are you talking about?”

“The bank robbers! Are Aaron and Steve okay?”

“Aaron? Yes, he's all right.”

“Oh, good, they got away,” Mike said, sighing as he followed Parker in the direction of the school.

Attempting to glean information from any source, even if it was a boy previously locked inside a car, with seemingly less wherewithal than himself.

Parker asked, “Did that have anything to do with what's going on here?”

“How the heck should I know?” Mike shrugged, his mind onto more pressing things, such as the contents of the school's vending machine.

Neither Parker nor Mike had a clue what was going on, especially at that exact second in the cafeteria.

Aaron knew this was his last chance. Summoning up every ounce of strength and courage, he took a deep breath and did the unthinkable–he charged at Tremblay with a war cry. “Arrrhhhhh!” Crowbar coiled back in his hand, ready to strike.

Although it wouldn't normally be a fair fight–a grizzled Sheriff versus high-school rich kid–it seemed better to die trying, than just die. Still, Tremblay didn't anticipate such guts; maybe they were teaching these kids something in school after all. As a result, he was caught completely by surprise as Aaron swung the bar at him.

Quickly, Tremblay reacted, raising the baseball bat, blocking the crowbar with a clang. Aaron countermoved like a swordsman and poked Tremblay in the ribs. There was a light crack, hopefully he broke a bone. Tremblay grunted and struck back at Aaron with a swipe of the bat, but Aaron was nimble, ducking out of the way. He had the upper hand.

Aaron jousted forward with a mighty thrust, disarming Tremblay. The bat clattered to the ground.

Yet, while holding his aching ribs with his left hand, Tremblay swiftly found the handle of his Colt with his right hand.

Aaron looked back, to see Amanda slinking along the far wall toward the exit. “Run, Amanda!”

Tremblay's gun was released from the holster, its mouth angry and ready to fire. Amanda was suddenly frozen against the wall. Couldn't move another inch. Then, Tremblay aimed towards Aaron.

Running. About to make it. Tremblay squeezed the trigger, blowing apart a glass panel just a few feet in front of Aaron.

Undeterred, Aaron leapt onto a table and jumped–headfirst–breaking through the remaining shards of glass, accidentally dropping the crowbar as he rolled to the floor outside the cafeteria.

The tinkling sound of broken glass continued to ring out around him. He looked up, starry eyed, still dazed, but no time to sleep now. He put down his hand and nicked his palm on a sliver. This woke him up. Pain. Don't want any more of that, thank you.

Aaron twisted his body around and rose to his feet. He hustled away from the cafeteria, slipping on the blanket of shards at his feet, before finding enough traction to run down the hallway. Empty-handed. Without the crowbar. Or, Amanda.

“Hey kid! You forgot your girlfriend,” Tremblay shouted, echoing down the hall.

Looking back, Amanda tip-toed onto the glass carpet, with a Colt fixed to her temple, Tremblay's hand followed, then his arm, then his cold stare and sneering face. Aaron slowed in front of the main doors. Head spinning. What to do? Go back into the lion's den or get out by the skin of his teeth…

Suddenly, the rattle of doors–Principal Parker with his key in the lock! “What's wrong with this thing?” he mumbled, shaking the jammed door handles. It was the best damn thing Aaron heard all night.

“Help me, help me!” Aaron cried out, rushing to the locked doors.

“Aaron?” Mike said.

“What's going on in there, Aaron? Why is the door locked?”

“The Sheriff locked it. Get help. Get Carl. Hurry!” Aaron cried, abandoning the door, as Tremblay made a beeline for
him, with a clump of Amanda's hair anchored to his hand, dragging her along.

Parker scratched his head. “I don't understand. Carl's already here.”

But Aaron was gone. With Tremblay hot on his heels.

Carl walked out of the library, his eyes struggling to make out shadows of objects and silhouettes in the dim light of the hallway. A flickering exit sign illuminating his path. He turned, hefting the shotgun in both hands, and started down the corridor. Took the next corner, and Aaron ran right into him, his forehead knocking into Carl's chin.

The shotgun fired, accidentally, BLAM! The shrapnel bit a gaping hole in a locker door. Aaron fell backwards, holding his ears, deaf from the blast. “Christ, Aaron, what the hell are you doing? I almost killed you,” Carl barked in shock, looking at the torn metal of the locker, and then back to Aaron.

“Oh my God, Carl, I'm so glad to see you,” Aaron shouted, unable to hear the true volume of his own voice. “The Sheriff's trying to kill us. He wants the money and he killed Chuck and now he has Amanda and he wants…”

Carl blinked. “He has Amanda? Where is he?”

Thumbing back in the direction from where he came, Carl ran off, as Aaron then wiggled his thumb inside his ear. The elongated tinnitus was slowly getting quieter as volumes returned back to normal.

“Sounds like the cavalry's here, so I don't have much time,” hissed Tremblay, still clutching Amanda's hair. They were hiding in her English classroom. He finally released his grip, only to grab hold of the sleeve of her dress–ripping it.

“What are you doing?!” Amanda croaked, trying to back away. Tremblay clung to the fabric, tearing a longer strip off
her dress, leaving it shredded on one side–exposing a strip of pale flesh and the hint of a bra strap.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

Amanda shook her head, until Tremblay cocked the trigger of the Colt, its mouth poised to shoot again.

“You can go now or you can go later,” he reminded her.

She got the point, lowering herself to her bruised and scraped knees, unsure of what Tremblay had in mind for her.

“Give me your hands” was his next command. She lifted her palms into the air in front of her. Tremblay holstered his Colt, took her wrists and wrapped the torn fabric around them. He made a knot and then pulled the makeshift cuffs tight with his teeth.

“Maybe we can get Mohammed to come to the mountain,” Tremblay whispered in Amanda's ear as she quivered, turning her cheek from his repugnant breath.

Outside in the hallway came Carl's voice: “Sheriff? Where are you?”

Amanda's heart lurched in her chest. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to Tremblay standing over her. “Don't say a word, or I'll kill you now,” he whispered sharply.

With a finger to his lips, he hauled Amanda upwards onto her own feet and forced her with him across the room to the windows. Looking down at the heavy iron radiator, Tremblay smiled as he fastened Amanda to it.

“Now stay put,” he said.

Carl could feel the shotgun getting heavier and more slippery in his sweaty hands. “Don't hurt her, Jay. Please?” he called out, hoping that Tremblay was close enough to overhear. “She has nothing to do with this.”

With dramatic effect, Tremblay side-stepped out of Amanda's classroom, Colt holstered, hands outstretched in front of him, palms up in a 'don't shoot' mime. “We need to talk.”

Outside, crickets chirping, Principal Parker swallowed a large gulp, upon finding the side entrance to the school was not only unlocked but obliterated. “I think you should wait outside,” he murmured to Mike, who wasn't about to let anyone stand in the way of his curiosity.

Mike shoved past Parker and bolted into the darkness of the school.

“Michael! Get back here!” Parker called under his breath, scared he might alert any nearby intruders. Then he glanced over his shoulder, in case of attack from behind, and cautiously entered the school building, unsure of where he would be safer–in or out.

Trying a light switch, Parker made his way to the Maintenance Room, where he saw the smashed electrical boxes. “This is unbelievable… Damn vandals in my school. What is this world coming to?”

Mike knew better. He had found Chuck's bullet-riddled body in the library. This wasn't the work of intruders or vandals. The Pineville Heist was still happening, it wasn't over; the robbers were here to finish the job.

On the other side of the school, in a stairwell, Aaron was snatching the handle to the backpack and scooping up the haul from the robbery. This was the only ticket out of this nightmare, give Tremblay what he wants, in a way that somehow lets him and Amanda escape without so much as a scratch. Try to make some kind of trade that doesn't end with a bullet in each of their backs.