The Pineville Heist (9 page)

Tremblay pushed past Amanda without a word and set his sights on Aaron, who stood a few steps beyond Amanda, the backpack lying at his side.

“Is that the money?” Tremblay croaked.

“What?” Amanda asked, a crease forming between her eyes.

“Yeah,” Aaron snipped back with a sarcastic tone.

Tremblay's eyes slitted, and the iridescent whites thinned around his pupils, as the lids held the two pinholes implausibly steady on Aaron's face, like chopsticks grasping a pair of jet-black olives.

Aaron perceived something dangerous in the embrace of Tremblay's glare. Then he noticed that Tremblay's hand was moving as he stared at him; it wandered along his belt, feeling its path, until reaching a set of handcuffs.

Clink. The cuffs were unclipped and fell at Tremblay's feet. The same sound clinked inside Aaron's head–the penny had dropped, too. As he looked down, he saw the sheriff's pant cuffs were resting on top of fancy alligator skin boots still caked with mud from the woods–whether it was from returning with Aaron or earlier in the day when he killed Jake, Aaron wasn't sure. However, he was sure that this man, Tremblay, was a killer and a thief, and he planned to do both again–right now.

Tremblay bent down and retrieved the cuffs that slipped from his grasp, finally taking his eyes off Aaron.

Aaron's mouth opened into a small 'o'. “What's the matter, Aaron?” Amanda asked, noticing a transformation in his previous demeanor.

His eyes flashing from the alligator boots, to Tremblay, and back to Amanda; Aaron couldn't find the words quick enough.

Suddenly, Tremblay stood, turned, and snapped the cuffs around the door posts. Locking them all inside the school.

“Run, Miss Becker!” Aaron cried. With a hefty swing, he tossed the backpack's strap over his shoulder and hightailed it down the hallway.

Amanda appeared puzzled and dazed. “Aaron?” She watched Aaron run, and then turned to reconsider the cuffed door. “What are you doing, Sheriff?”

Tremblay was cool… cold. “I want my money.”

Backing away, she too realized what was happening. “Oh my God…”

Taking one large step forward, Tremblay grabbed the collar of Amanda's dress, brusquely pulling her close to him. He held her for a moment and looked deep into her eyes before coldly stating, “Get that kid back here or I'll.”

Before Tremblay could finish his thought, Amanda delivered a devastating kick between his legs, silencing his threat and allowing her to break free from his grasp. Letting out a groaning wheeze, Tremblay crumpled to his knees.

Amanda ran like she hadn't run in a long time. She had trained in track and field when she was a young girl, but she didn't even like the running machine at the gym anymore. Yet, today, she was making an exception. Running for her life.

She felt the chilling rush of air, as the walls of the corridor turned into a gray tunnel, all the framed pictures of tree-planting ceremonies and school teams with their awards, blurring into a single color.

Then she heard it. The gunshot, echoing along the corridor behind her. She reached the end of the hallway and a chunk of concrete exploded from the wall in front of her, narrowly missing her head.

Next, she heard her own scream, as she whipped around the corner, out of reach from Tremblay and his bullets.

Bumping into Aaron, Amanda involuntarily screamed again. Her adrenaline was through the roof, like her heart would never stop beating this hard. Aaron grabbed her arm, and she felt the walls slowing down again and the colors and details returned. “We can hide in here,” Aaron said to her, pointing to the doors to the library.

“We need to call Carl,” Amanda responded, out of breath.

Both Aaron and Amanda suddenly turned toward the sound of Tremblay's boots, pounding up the corridor at a good clip.

Aaron pulled open the door to the library and shoved Amanda inside. “I'll call.”

Before she could argue with him, Aaron was moving. With the backpack on his shoulder, he set off towards Principal Parker's office. Not far away, Aaron could still hear the metronome-like tick-tock of Tremblay's footsteps, getting louder and firmer with every tick and every tock.

Throwing down the backpack, Aaron reached the outer office, the switchboard. Aaron quickly pulled the chair out of
his way and scooped up the telephone receiver. Tapped 9-1-1. He listened intently. Nothing. He tapped 9-1-1 again. “Come on, come on… ” he yelped impatiently.

Aaron started pushing random buttons, flipping a couple of switches. A light illuminated.

“Please, please…” Aaron chanted in prayer.

He punched a number into the keypad. Waiting. Listening. Finally, Aaron smacked the receiver down onto the switchboard, and then put it back to his ear.

“Somebody answer!” he cursed.

Aaron gave up, dropped the receiver and ran for the door, with the first fresh beads of perspiration appearing on his forehead.

Inside the library, now the sun had set and made the space a shadowy cavern. The reflection of moon beams from the corner skylight on the plastic-covered book shelves offered the only semblance of light to navigate the room. Amanda shuffled in, partially scared of her own shadow, and with her trust in tatters. She passed a water tank, almost knocking it over, and ducked around a sheet of hanging plastic. Arriving at the circulation desk, she stumbled over Chuck's tools making a racket as they clattered together.
Shhhh.
She pleaded with the tools, but they weren't cooperating with her.

Noticing a crowbar in the pile, Amanda bent over to pick it up–completely oblivious to Chuck, who poked his helmeted-head from the gap in the ceiling beside the ladder, to see what made all the noise. Not noticing any movement, he retreated back into the hole, like a whack-a-mole.

Amanda, entrenched into her position behind the circulation desk, clutched the crowbar tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Then a soft rustle came from somewhere in the library. Amanda's neck snapped straight, her eyebrows rose, and her
muscles tensed.
What the hell was that?
She raised her head slowly to look above the desk. A hanging sheet of plastic was swaying from a light breeze.

She sniffed at her tension, and opened her purse, rummaging through it for another weapon. The only thing she found was a pack of cigarettes. Might calm the nerves. Amanda shook the pack, and the silence of the empty pack rattled her nerves even more. “Damnit,” she whispered to herself. Then she noticed it–a shape, tall and dark, behind a sheet of plastic. Her hand clapped over her mouth, stifling a gasp.

On the other side of the sheet, Tremblay was equipped with his Colt raised, and his ears pricked up at her gasp. Found her.

Tremblay cocked the gun's hammer with his thumb and the loud click sent Amanda into a wave of panic. She held her breath, turning toward the shape with the crowbar in her hand. Do or die. Then it happened–Chuck dropped a tool in the ceiling cavity.

Tremblay sprung like a viper, whirling around and fanning the trigger as he fired into the ceiling tiles at three different spots. The bullets ventilated the roof above them, in a flurry of dust and crumbs.

Aaron arrived at the library doors just in time to hear the shooting. He threw his arms over his head, ducking for cover. The shots were so piercing and deafening, sending a shock-wave through Aaron's body–and his mind. Bringing him back to the woods… Steve… Mike… And now Miss Becker.

Two more shots rang out. Aaron crinkled his eyes. “Oh, God, no… ”

Tremblay looked up into the smoking holes he'd made in the ceiling and he waited for another noise. The silence seemed to confirm his kill. That little punk Aaron was a goner. And now he'd take care of Amanda. Leaning towards the circulation
desk, Tremblay angled his gun. But Amanda had other plans for Tremblay.
Thwack!

His nose took the brunt of the impact from the crowbar. Dropping the Colt, it bounced under some of Chuck's materials, falling over a roll of plastic sheeting. Stumbling backwards, blood spurting down his face, Tremblay was reeling from this surprise-attack.

Amanda hit him again and again, until he went down for good. She snatched up her purse, in exchange for the crowbar, and ran out of the library. Leaving Tremblay spread-eagled on the floor, unconscious.

The doors burst open as Aaron started to run again. “Aaron, wait!”

He slammed on the brakes and turned with a smile, relieved to see Amanda rushing toward him, and not Tremblay's imposing frame.

“Holy shit, I thought you were him… I thought he killed you, too.”

Amanda hugged Aaron, just as happy to find him in one piece. “I knocked him out.”

“You did?” Aaron said, shaking his head, astonished.

Amanda quickly grabbed Aaron's hand and tugged him along with her. “Hurry. Before he wakes up.”

Tremblay's eyelids flickered -- then unzipped. Damage report. Blood staining his lip and chin. Pounding headache. Nothing broken, except maybe the nose. Wouldn't be the first time though.

Finding the crowbar at his fingertips, Tremblay used it as a crutch to push himself to his feet. He staggered off balance until he gained his bearings again. Wiped his sore, bloody nose on the back of his sleeve. Then he smashed the crowbar against the desk, in one furious sweep of the arm, letting out an almighty roar. He was pissed as hell. Now they were gonna suffer.

Aaron and Amanda had arrived at the backpack, left outside of Principal Parker's office. “We should give him the money,” Aaron said, finally considering surrender.

“What the hell for?” Amanda snipped.

“So he won't slaughter us–what do you think?”

Amanda tapped the weighty backpack with her shoe. “Until Carl gets here, this is the only thing keeping us alive.”

With a big swallow, Aaron looked hard at Amanda. “I didn't call him.”

“What?” she screeched at a higher pitch than originally intended.

“The phone didn't work.”

Amanda couldn't hide the swirling whirlpool of panic in her eyes. She rushed to the switchboard, flipped a switch, picked up the receiver and listened. She then dialed a number,
throwing Aaron a look of “what the hell?” It was working. Aaron shrugged. Stupid switchboard. Old quirky technology.

A hobbling Tremblay composed himself, dusted off his clothes, and straightened to his usual gait. Walking tall, he made his way along the corridor. He passed a maintenance room on his left and pushed open the door: empty. He kept walking and then stopped in his tracks. He doubled back.

His eyes scanned the interior of the maintenance room. Some cobwebs in the corner. A mop and bucket. Three electrical junction boxes on the wall. Above the boxes hung a huge map of the school's layout, showing its hallways, two main floors, basement and the two main entrance/exits.

Meanwhile, Amanda anxiously bounced her leg as she sat, talking on the phone. “Please hurry, Carl. We're locked inside the school and Tremblay is after us… ”

But her call was being routed from the school to Carl's cell phone voicemail. On the passenger seat of his cruiser, the LCD display of the cell phone was brightly lit, with Amanda's missed call. Just feet away, Carl was interviewing a kid, one of Steve's younger brothers–another wild goose chase.

Amanda sighed as she recorded the last of the most hopeless message she'd ever left in her life. “He wants the money and.”

The lights went out across the whole school building. Pitch black.

The phone was dead, too. Amanda shrieked.

Aaron knew it would only get darker.

In a crackle and flash of sparks, Tremblay bashed at the last of the three electrical junction boxes on the wall, snuffing out every light bulb in the building, including the one above his head.

Enveloped in shadows, apart from the last spark's glimmer on his large mouthful of teeth, a slowly widening grin of victory covered his face as Tremblay turned about-face on his cowboy-booted heels and left the room. Hunting for his prey. Hiding somewhere in the inky corridors of the school.

Tremblay's smile was short-lived, however; he accidentally bumped into a large garbage pail of old broken bats and deflated basketballs. With a loud clatter, he toppled over onto all fours before wheezing back onto his feet. A dim emergency light flickered on above him. Just enough of a glow to see the dust on his knees, brush it off, and then keep moving up the hallway, kicking a shriveled basketball out of his path. He passed a door marked ‘ROOF’ with a sign below it: “WARNING: Door locks from outside.”

In the darkness, hands suddenly become lifelines, guiding, feeling every edge and wall. Reaching for the corner of the desk, Amanda's fingers found it and she followed the trail of the desk's ledge, until she saw ahead of her the stuttering glare of emergency lights outside Principal Parker's Office. She moved towards the hazy glow and blinked with relief–until she realized that Aaron was gone, along with the backpack.

“Shit,” she cursed, looking up the hallway just as Aaron was about to round the corner into the next hallway. “Aaron? Where are you going?” she hissed, quietly but firmly.

“I have to stash it,” he replied, without turning back.

Aaron's eyes darted back and forth, looking high and low for any nooks and crannies that could conceal the backpack. Never before had he noticed how streamlined the old corridors were. No out-of-reach shadows, at a time when darkness could be his only friend.

Suddenly, a shrieking metallic crash came from somewhere in the school. Aaron spun around, still walking, to see Amanda lurching back inside the office. He then looked forward just in time to see the row of lockers–within inches of his eyes. Unable to stop in time, he body-checked the locker door, denting more than his pride, and simultaneously splitting the seam of the backpack in his hands.

Several bundles of cold, hard cash spilled out onto the floor. They seemed to thud loudly as the heavy wads somersaulted to a halt, or at least in Aaron's mind they were as loud as the crash which distracted him in the first place.