The Pineville Heist (12 page)

Amanda was thinking of similar things, while strapped to the radiator, a piece of her own dress tied around her mouth as a gag. She pulled as hard as she could, but both the dress fabric and the radiator were holding firm.

“There's nothing to talk about, Jay. Let them go,” Carl's voice trailed in from the corridor.

“I can't do that, Carl.” Tremblay's voice was direct and booming. The sound of his Colt being drawn, unbridled from the leather holster, friction-free and fast like a gunslinger, and then a single shot–BANG!

Amanda snapped straight, every vertebra in her spine on edge, as she screamed, a wet long agonizing cry into her gag.

The smell of gun smoke drifted into the classroom. It was a dizzying scent and overpowered her other senses. Nothing mattered from this point on. There was no going back. The damage was done. Amanda stopped screaming and surrendered to the gag and the radiator.

Parker heard the gunshot, too. Ran from his office, unsure which direction would guarantee his safety.

Meanwhile, a second shot was looming. Tremblay's boots squeaked as they stepped closer to Carl's body; blood oozing from a bullet hole near his chest. He ripped the shotgun, pried from Carl's cold dead hands, and aimed it. A confirmation round, shoot right to the eye. Carl was lifeless. Not even a twitch. Tremblay changed his mind at the last second, rather than soak his boots in any brain matter, and walked off towards the library.

A trembling Principal Parker practically bumped into Tremblay, right outside the library doors. “Wh-wh-what is going on, Sheriff?” he stammered, intimidated by the shotgun raised to head-level. “Why is Carl shooting up half my school?”

Tremblay nodded slickly. “That's what I'm trying to find out.”

“Where are Aaron and Miss Becker? Have you seen Mi--?”

“That little bugger was in on it the whole time,” Tremblay said, conniving and scheming with every word.

“What?” Parker said, caught completely off guard by this fresh twist of events.

“The robbery. He was trying to rip his old man off and now look what he's gotten himself into,” Tremblay explained, weaving a web of deceit, with Aaron trapped right in the middle. “That boy has been spinning a tale all day long. He's already killed at least two people, including my deputy.”

Below their feet, unbeknownst to either of them, Aaron had brought the backpack into the dark confines of the basement, which housed a musty collection of broken black boards, old lockers, filing cabinets and books. Just a single dim bulb suspended from the raftered ceiling. At the very rear, a caged-off section stood a mesh of metal, with an open swing door and a dangling open padlock, containing the majority of the hardback textbooks, stacked on shelves, in rows upon rows, as well as pens, pencils and other supplies. The school's book dispensary.

Aaron glanced at the dusty collection and wondered if Principal Parker knew that the whole lot would easily fit onto his paper-thin iPad device.

Up above him, Amanda was desperately stretching her leg out as far as she could, in an attempt to drag over a desk. Even with her calf muscle at breaking point and her baby toe at its limit, the desk was too far away.

She yelled another muffled scream into her gag in frustration and gave a few more feeble tugs at her restraints.

Amanda knew that even with the adrenaline coursing through her system, she couldn't keep this up all night.

Eventually, it would be curtains for her. She had to think smart, use her last ebbs of energy for maximum effect. Her eyes scanned a room that they had wandered a million times before, during boring show-and-tells, dumb parent-teacher meetings, and bad Shakespearean acting. What had she missed those million times that could help her now?

The window, right beside her! She thought for a second then swung her leg up. Grasping the heel of her shoe in her bound hands, Amanda slipped it off and thwacked it against the glass. Nothing happened. She smacked it again. A slight crack in the glaze. This might just work…

“How could those kids have come up with something like this?” Parker scratched his bulbous head like a pitcher adjusting his jock strap. It was inconceivable to him. Was it because the students at his school were completely dense, or was it because he heard a ring of untruth in the tale?

Tremblay wasn't sure either way, but kept a hawk-like eye on the Principal as he stroked his skull one more time, before giving it a well-earned break.

“I just can't believe they're involved,” Parker concluded.

Mike emerged from the library, and he caught a glimpse of Tremblay slowly leveling the shotgun behind Parker's back. His heart skipped a beat.

“Mister Parker!” Mike yelled in a panicked screech.

Spinning around, Parker caught a gut full of lead, blasting him against the library door. He groaned, holding his bleeding stomach together, as he crumpled in a heap on the floor.

With eyes the size of dinner plates, Mike gasped and then back-stepped to retreat, looking to Tremblay and the shotgun being directed at him. But this was it. No escape this time. Click!

Mike winced–but the lead never came. Tremblay had already taken his last shot.

In a flash, a brainwave pulsed down Mike's body to his legs, which burst into movement, carrying Mike off down the hallway. Seemingly possessed by an Olympic sprinter, Mike sped away from Tremblay in a dash for his life.

“Come back, you little shit!” Tremblay hollered, stepped forward, and then opted to turn back and trot in the opposite direction–where he'd left his leverage, tied to a radiator.

Mike's legs lost steam outside the Maintenance Room where he noticed the door to the roof. He pushed the door open and, in another surge, he ran up the stairs.

Entering from another stairwell, Aaron slipped back onto the main level, creeping tightly along the wall. Now it was time to make his deal, now that the cash was stashed where Tremblay wouldn't find it easily.

Aaron glanced out the window–still pitch black outside. All he wanted was to see the dawn, a ray of sunlight at the end of this darkness.

Amanda had pinned her hopes of escape on a dagger of glass that had cracked from the window pane. Bloody from her fumblings–when she had sliced her foot on the sharp glass upon picking it up from the ground and cut her hand when using the makeshift knife -- she managed to cut the fabric enough to tear it. Free at last!

She hobbled to the door on her good foot, where Tremblay had returned and was already bending over Carl's body, pulling a couple of shotgun shells out of his pocket. One fell and rolled under a locker. He loaded the other when he looked up–Amanda started moaning behind her gag, seeing Carl's body for the first time.

Tremblay sighed and raised himself to his feet. “Nice try, missy.” He reached for her arm, but she whirled around and slashed Tremblay's hand. A long gash erupted across the back of his knuckles; he dropped the shotgun, howling in pain.

She ran, limping every step of the way. Bloody footprints in her wake. Tremblay bit his lip to suppress the pain, as he snatched the shotgun and aimed it at his fleeing prisoner. She looked back, quickly ducking into the science classroom. A
blast of shotgun pellets obliterated the door frame, right where she was standing a moment before.

Aaron glanced down at Parker's body, with a charred and curdled stomach wound; he jogged past. The school was turning into a war zone. Shrapnel and bullet holes, bodies piling up.

Pulling the Colt from his waistband, Aaron thought, 'It's a good thing that I'm armed.'

Desks were thrown asunder as Tremblay barreled through the science classroom towards Amanda, tossing everything that got in his way.

Amanda pulled down the gag from her mouth and maneuvered behind the large lab counter. Bolted down, not going anywhere.

“Please don't! Please…”

“I'm tired of screwing around!” Tremblay growled, reloading another shell into the shotgun.

She needed to do something. Ducking down behind the counter, she flung open the built-in cabinet doors and started looking for a weapon to aid her defense.

Tremblay angled himself around the lab counter, ready to fire, when Amanda popped up–flinging a beaker of clear fluid into his face.

Stunned, Tremblay backed away, the liquid dripping down onto his uniform. He waited for some kind of hideous chemical reaction, where he would begin clawing at his face and screaming in distress as his skin melted and bubbled. Perhaps that's what would've happened if Amanda was a Science teacher and not an English teacher.

Instead Tremblay wiped the water from his nose and his eyes flickered with anger. Amanda squealed staggering backwards into a shelf of vials and beakers. Gun raised, Tremblay clambered over the lab counter, reaching for her. Just as she started throwing everything at him–an eyewash
bottle, scale, test tube tray, thermometer, protective goggles–all bouncing off.

Finally, with a deep breath, slightly damp, Tremblay looked steely at Amanda and said, “All done? My turn.”

The shotgun lifted to target Amanda as she sobbed.

“Nooooooo!” Aaron yelled, rushing into the lab with the Colt pointed at Tremblay.

Tremblay grinned an all-knowing smile, swinging the shotgun barrel to face Aaron.

CLICK.

Aaron pulled the trigger, but Tremblay didn't collapse with a bullet embedded in his chest. He laughed, tickled by Aaron's confusion, “I'm not stupid enough to fall for that trick twice in a row, kid… Those idiots just needed that one at the bank for show. Now where's my money?”

Aaron stared blankly at the dummy gun. Still shell-shocked, until Tremblay repositioned the shotgun back on Amanda.

“Okay, okay. I'll take you to it.”

“Where. Is. It?”

“The basement.”

“We're going on a field trip, Miss Becker. Come on–move your ass.” Tremblay gestured with the shotgun and followed behind Aaron and Amanda.

Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he'd never amount to nothing. Never be successful like him. Couldn't even shoot a gun when it counted. Or have the smarts to make sure the gun was even loaded.

In the hallway, Amanda whimpered to see Carl, just lying there. “Oh, Carl…”

Tremblay brutishly rammed the shotgun barrel into Aaron's kidney. “Keep moving!”

Aaron released all the air from his lungs, dropping to his knees, keeling over. His cheek slapped against the cool tile
floor. It felt reassuring in its chill. Like a shower on a hot summer's day. He felt alive, even though he was so close to death.

“Get up! No more games!”

Amanda reached for Aaron's hand to help him up. As Aaron rose to his feet, he spotted the shotgun shell under the locker.

“Now keep moving.” Tremblay muttered, as Aaron and Amanda continued down the hallway at a snail's pace. With Amanda's injured foot, and Aaron's exhaustion, they were quite a pair. Leaning on each other just to keep walking in a straight line.

Amanda saw Parker's body ahead of them; they had to step around it. “Oh my God… You bastard!” cried Amanda.

“Okay, that's it. I've had enough out of you,” Tremblay snapped, adjusting the shotgun in his hands.

“No! Please…” Aaron pleaded.

Wrenching Amanda from Aaron's side, Tremblay took her over to the library door and pushed her inside.

Amanda deflated, realizing this is probably it for her. She gave Aaron a fleeting teary look of goodbye and entered, resigned to her fate. But Tremblay didn't follow behind her. He jammed the shotgun through the dual door handles, barricading her inside.

Turning back to Aaron, unsheathing his Colt, Tremblay signaled with a flick of his wrist that it was just the two of them now. “Let's go.”

Behind him, Aaron could hear Amanda, openly weeping.

“I'll tell you right now, kid, if the money's not there, I'm just going to shoot you both and look for it myself.”

Aaron nodded. “It's there.”

Opening the door to the stairwell, Tremblay leaned over the edge of the railing and glanced down, before following
Aaron into the bowels of the building. “Just out of curiosity, what possessed you to take my money in the first place?”

“It's not yours,” Aaron said surely, as he turned the handle, opening the next door into the basement. Stale air wafted into their faces. They entered.

“The hell it ain't,” Tremblay said, getting his britches in a knot. “Do you have any idea how much bullshit I've had to take from people like your father who thinks I'm just some sort of glorified slave whose only job it is to kiss his ass while he sells us all down the river?”

Aaron glanced over his shoulder briefly, leading Tremblay past the old lockers and black boards, stopping a few feet from the open cage door. He looked over to Tremblay, making eye contact, trying to read his next move. “Before I tell you where it is, will you promise me one thing?” Aaron asked. “Will you let Miss Becker go? I'm sure if you gave her some of the money she wouldn't say anything and…”

Tremblay's eyes trailed away from Aaron's; he noticed something on the floor behind Aaron. A $100 bill… and behind that by the cage door is another. He doesn't need this stupid kid any more. “The only thing I'm going to promise is to make sure they spell your names right in the obit--”

Just like Aaron thought–he dived behind a stack of filing cabinets as Tremblay fired. A ricocheting bullet bounced off the cabinets and disappeared, like Aaron, into the basement's shadows.

Then, silence. Tremblay aimed into the dark and pulled the trigger–it disappeared like the other–but that was his last bullet.

CLICK. Empty.

The trap was set. A $100 bill was the cheese, attracting the rat towards the cage.

Tremblay narrowed his eyes and crinkled his nose. Then he saw the rest of the loot, just resting on the table, the bulging backpack. He rushed into the caged area of the basement and scrambled over to the table, like an amorous lover about to embrace a much-missed beau at the airport.

The teeth of the zipper unpeeled in a second and Tremblay was confronted with something worse than stinking cheese–a stack of dusty textbooks. And he just fell for the oldest trick in one of them. A case of bait and switch.