The Pineville Heist (6 page)

By the time that he reached the school fields, Aaron was running out of steam. The backpack was heavier now. Its contents, and the burden of the bag itself, weighing down on him. He crossed the now empty field, lugging the backpack on his weary shoulders, with the Pineville High School tantalizingly close.

Only one car and a van left in the parking lot. Class was out for the day. Aaron glanced at the side of the van, his eyes stinging with sweat and tears. “Chuck's Environmental Cleaning Services: If You Got A Mess. I'll Clean It Up.”

Aaron reached the door and found it locked, with a notice taped over it. “DANGER: Asbestos Removal In Progress.”

With a desperate fist, he pounded on the doors. Blow after blow. No answer. He lowered his head. Defeated.

Her eyes were one of her cutest features. She checked them out in the mirror and added a sweep of light brown to her left lid. Then, putting down the make-up brush, she closed the compact with a snap–just in time to catch a glimpse of something. A streak of color. Aaron sailing passed the wire-mesh-screened windows. Sweating and agitated.

Amanda frowned. Huh. Glanced at her watch.

“Come on, come on,” Aaron gasped, as he raced around the corner and found himself confronted by the door to the side entrance. Open! He yanked the handle and felt the cool breeze of the shady building–all too welcome after running for so long. But, it was no time to take a break. He had to find someone. Anyone.

The metal detectors sounded his arrival with a shrill 'beep' as he continued down the hall with the backpack. Aaron was breathless now, his voice low and raspy. “Help… someone… shot… ”

Every footstep was heavier than the last. The polished floors, which were so easily soiled by his muddy shoes before, suddenly seemed to have the upper hand over Aaron. They squeaked in triumph as he struggled to lift his weary legs. Their slippery surface even impeded his traction to the point that Aaron just wanted to keel over, press his face against the cold tiles, and succumb to sleep, numbness, exhaustion…

Yet, the throbbing pain emanating behind his eyeballs wouldn't let him quit. The shrieking muscles in his legs
wouldn't let him quit. And most of all, the image of Steve falling down wouldn't let him quit. Just one person, he had to find a single soul, whom he could pass the baton to. Let them run with it. Get help. Save the day. Where the hell was everyone? His sense of time had evaporated. End of the school day he quickly remembered. Classes over, but with cars in the lot someone must still be here.

Aaron arrived at the library. A collection of tools and materials were piled near the heavy wood double doors: rolls of plastic sheeting, a crowbar, scrubbing pads, hand tools, a water tank with a hose attached, and a portable folding-sign -
“DANGER: Asbestos Dust. Do Not Enter”.

Thinking quickly about the cargo on his back, Aaron tucked the backpack behind the rolls of plastic sheeting, carefully stowing it out of sight. It wasn't a canoe, but it would have to do. For starters, it was bloody heavy. And for seconds, it wasn't the right time to explain what he was doing with all this money. His prime concern was the safety of his friends.

Aaron nodded, inhaled another deep breath, and scrambled down the hall. “Is anybody here?”

Aaron stepped into the reception area of the principal's office. The secretary's nameplate read “Penelope Whittaker,” but Penelope was nowhere to be found. Neither was the Principal. Aaron swiftly zipped out of the office and continued down the hall.

Inside the strictly organized and deathly dull confines of Principal Parker's office, the shrouded echoes of Aaron's heavy footsteps were unheard.

Dan Parker, a sixty-something with less than sixty strands of hair perfectly combed across the top of his chrome-domed head (a poor attempt at looking closer to a fifty-year-old loser with a comb-over), was presently pondering Chuck and the
stitched name-tag on Chuck's overalls, which clarified beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was indeed ‘Chuck.’

Dan wheezed as he lifted himself out of his leather chair, strolled past his family portrait of his wife and 2.5 kids, and ushered Chuck out of his office into a smaller outer office with a desk, chair and an old-fashioned switchboard.

“You promised this would be completed over the weekend, Chuck. The students need to study for exams, plus we have the play on Monday.”

At half Dan's age, Chuck was more interested in gleaning a final glimpse of the hallowed Principal's Office. Brought back happy memories of his school days. He never minded being sent to the Principal's Office. More attention than he'd ever received from his own father.

Chuck cleared his throat, probably early signs of too much asbestos dust in the lungs. “You're already red-flagged by the city,” Chuck said, pointing upwards at the ceiling. “If I find any of it outside the library, the big boys from the Capital will take over and shut you down completely until it's dealt with.”

“Ballpark?”

“Three, maybe four.”

“Days? That's not so bad.”

“Months.”

“What?” Dan choked. “You can't be serious. Pineville can't survive having the school go down.”

Chuck glanced nonchalantly at his hands, dusty and rough. “If what I hear is true about the mill, Pineville's going down the crapper anyway and… ”

“Where did you hear that?” asked Dan, feeling a headache coming on.

Meanwhile, Aaron continued, like a ghost flitting through the empty corridors, casting a reflection of a harried teenager in the windows of the closed classroom doors. “Help. Please…”
At this point, he wasn't even sure if he was speaking the words or just willing them out of his mouth, as mumbled whispers and grunts.

Skidding to a halt, relief swept over his aching body. His heart almost exploding as it beat so hard, his head was starting to hurt so badly, from the pounding in his eardrums. The English classroom. The door was open. Amanda was inside. She stood from her desk, putting her cell phone into her purse.

In an insane flurry, a tornado of tension and craziness, Aaron burst into the room. Amanda almost jumped out of her skin. “We have to call the cops!” Aaron screamed out, simultaneously deflating into a heap, collapsed against her desk.

Amanda's eyes quickly scanned Aaron–a horrified glint in his eyes, mud smeared on his ripped clothes, and scratches across his face.

“I think they killed Steve!” he yelled for an encore.

Amanda dropped her purse–stuff spilling out onto the floor. Aaron groaned as he involuntarily bent over, scooping up a lipstick case, an envelope, and phone, handing them back to her. She was now visibly shaking. “Who did? What's going on, Aaron? You're scaring me.”

“We have to do something!” Aaron urged, suddenly feeling woozy again.

“Come on,” Amanda took him by the arm.

Their footsteps pattered along the corridor, towards the voices of Dan Parker and Chuck, who were surveying the outside of the library. “Well, everything depends on how much crap I find up there once I get going. I tend to find that once I start ripping apart these old buggers, it kind of spreads like a bad case of rectal cancer, know what I mean?”

Dan's face paled, partly nauseated by Chuck's choice of simile, and partly because he knew exactly what he meant. “Just get it done.”

“Mister Parker!”

Dan turned, raising a puzzled eyebrow. Seeing Amanda holding Aaron's arm, he was nonplussed. “What did he do now?”

“I need to call Carl,” Amanda said, deadly serious.

Dan faltered in his assurance, with his normally confident and stoic expression falling to one of nervous anticipation. This was not a case of just catching a bathroom graffiti artist or exam cheater. This was much more serious.

To cover his nervousness, Dan adjusted his fine strands of hair, nodded curtly, and crooked his finger for Aaron and Amanda to follow him. Chuck scratched the back of his ear, then sniffed his fingers, with a bewildered expression and watched them venture down the long hallway.

After about ten minutes, Aaron began to regain awareness of his surroundings. He was sitting on the bench outside Principal Parker's office, and the nuances of the hallway hit him with a welcome force of authority. Cool and dark, the hall was usually intimidating, but today it was calming and welcoming. A cocoon to hide and recompose himself, collect his thoughts, assess the damage. He looked down at the torn knee of his jeans. His mud-caked nails slowly felt the edge of the bench beneath him. It was cool as ice, too. His legs had fallen asleep. Then, Steve popped into his head, falling down… Replaying over and over…

“Aaron.” Amanda sat down, patting him on the leg, breaking his trance. “He's on the way. It'll just be-”

Aaron pulled away from Amanda and pushed up to his feet. Shaky at first, but now feeling refreshed after the peace and quiet of this chilled sanctuary. He rubbed at a scratch on his hand as he looked anxiously down the hallway. “Why are we waiting?”

“Because we need to wait for Carl to.”

“We need to go find Mikey right now!” Aaron snapped, finding his voice at its normal volume again. He shot a determined glare at Amanda. That could be him out there. Running from a killer's bullets.
Do something.

“You can't just go, Aaron,” she said. But, it was too late. Aaron steamed down the hallway. He didn't run all this way to sit on his behind and waste more time. “Aaron, wait,” she called after him, following as he power-walked away. They sped by Chuck as he was hauling a roll of plastic sheeting and dragging it inside the library.

Amanda caught hold of Aaron's forearm, slowing him down. “You don't know who or what's out there, Aaron.”

“I don't care. He could be dying!” Aaron wrenched his arm free and kept walking. “I can't believe I just left them out there. Did nothing.”

Ahead of them, Dan was pushing open the main doors to greet Carl. “Did you find them?”

With a shake of the head, Carl replied, “Not yet.”

Aaron, incensed, sliced between Carl and Dan, shoving the door open to leave.

“Hey, I need to take you down to the station for a full statement.”

The door slammed shut. Aaron was gone.

Frustration constricting his chest and pulsing at his temples, Aaron was about ready to run again. Where? Who knows. He'd just rather be doing something. Anything. Not sitting around talking about what happened, what he saw.

Carl's hand clamped like a vice onto Aaron's shoulder, turning Aaron around to face him, Amanda, and the school. Aaron cringed to be looking at that stupid building again. This was supposed to be his oasis. But, after chasing it, turned out it was more of a mirage. He needed help, not concerned adults with all their questions.

“Where do you think you're going?” Carl barked. He didn't like to chase kids, and Aaron was no exception.

“The robbers shot Steve and maybe Mike by now, too. If you're not going to do your job then.”

“How do you know it was them?”

“I saw him shoot his partner and then he shot Steve and… and…” Suddenly overcome with emotion, Aaron swallowed hard and looked down at his shuffling feet. Eyes stinging, the heat of tears on his cheek. Amanda quickly moved to Aaron and put a comforting arm around him before he completely lost it.

“It's okay, Aaron. Calm down. Carl's not the enemy here,” said Amanda, flashing a meaningful look at Carl, then back to Aaron. “How about we all go out there and have a look around together? Would that be alright?”

“Amanda…” Carl's voice had a chastising tone.

Amanda retaliated in kind with a firm “Carl.”

Carl sighed and pointed to his cruiser. He opened the back seat. Aaron and Amanda slid inside.

Principal Parker emerged from the school, looking from the cruiser to Carl. He flapped his arms. “Officer, should I call the parents?”

“That's not necessary, Mister Parker. The station will handle all that. Just go on back inside… We've got it covered. Just stay put in case the missing boy comes over here. Okay?”

Inside the cruiser, Aaron felt like a perp. The seats were worn and a corner was ripped with pieces of foam pecked out. He looked out the window at the tree-laden parking lot, as the radio crackled to life.

Carl opened the driver's door and sidled in. Tremblay's voice blazed over the radio speaker: “Your ears on, Carl?”

“I got you, Sheriff,” Carl said, pulling the microphone to his lips. He twisted the key in the ignition and the cruiser roared to life.

“Where you at?”

“Leaving the school now. I'm bringing the kid. And…” Carl glanced over at Amanda, “company.” She poked her tongue out and crinkled her nose at his label.

The cruiser rolled out of the high school parking lot. Aaron felt a knot raveling in his stomach as he knew they were heading back to where he had escaped, where Steve was gunned down, and where Mike was probably wounded–or dead.

They sped past the vast football field and bleachers surrounding the school, as Aaron pondered what they would find at their destination. The ride out of town seemed interminably long, in complete silence, and made all the more unbearable by the uncomfortable seating, compared to the cushy limousine that Aaron was accustomed to traveling in. He blinked heavy eyelids and watched as they left behind the last row of
porched houses, each candy-colored house a carbon copy of the one before, reaching the end of the paved road.

“Turn here,” Aaron said.

Carl looked into the rear-view; Aaron was tense. He steered down the wooded path, and after a few bends; they pulled in just a few strides from the hood of Tremblay's cruiser, which was parked in the opposite direction, facing up the hill. Aaron swallowed as he glanced out the window, thinking of the white van that was once here, starting this whole goddamn mess in the first place.

Suddenly, the door opened and Aaron lost his arm rest, his elbow slipping. He almost fell, exhausted, from the cruiser, but Carl suddenly gripped his upper arm, holding Aaron in place with a rough grip. Aaron looked up at Carl, who was signaling for him to get out while pulling on his arm. Aaron looked at Carl and looked at his arm pointedly. Carl released his tight grip, and Aaron and Amanda stepped out of the cruiser, both showing signs of anticipation.