Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Betty Kreier-Lubinski

A Good Day's Work

Jimmy sat motionless, scrutinizing the street from the car he'd stolen two days ago, a plain gray 1985 Chevy that no one would notice. He'd been parked in the grocery store lot for about three hours, tracking everyone who went in or out of the Benton Municipal Bank. Nobody paid attention to nondescript cars in a grocery store parking lot.

Jimmy hadn't always been so careful. He'd spent a good number of years in the state prison because he was too impulsive to think his plans through. By now, he had worked out some pretty good rules to follow. He picked small towns with small banks, like this one in Benton, which usually didn't keep large amounts of money on hand. Jimmy didn't need too much for his purposes. He'd never intended to lead the life of a high roller. Sleepy towns this size seldom had much of a police force––maybe one or two officers who often found settling a friendly spat between neighbors their most serious duty. If they weren't in their office, they'd be cruising around town visiting with the townsfolk.

The Interstate Highway, ideal for a quick getaway, was only a half-mile out of town. He had a set of Wyoming license plates to exchange with the California plates on the car the minute he hit the freeway. He'd stolen them from the You-Pull-It Auto Parts Junkyard, so nobody would report them missing.

Last night, he had barely enough money left to stay in the one motel in town, the Bed Down Awhile Motel on Jackson Street. Fortunately it was raining so he'd come in late with his rain hat and slicker tucked up around his face while he registered. He didn't think the night manager could identify him, but just in case he shaved his beard and mustache off when he got up.

He'd decided to skip breakfast because he didn't want anyone in the restaurant to notice he was an out-of-towner. But this morning he'd had to wait a lot longer than he'd wanted to. He'd hoped for a few more bank customers because a good thief could pick up wallets, watches, and jewelry in addition to the bank money. But almost no one had gone in.

Jimmy stretched as much as he could in the cramped car seat and rubbed his sore muscles. He needed a cup of coffee. He kept nodding off. This waiting around would kill him. A dead man couldn't have rested easy on that lumpy mattress at the motel. His stomach kept growling, and he swore he could eat a horse. He finally decided to break down and go over and get a cup of java and maybe some biscuits and gravy at Grannie Annie's. Enough customers were in the restaurant by now so he shouldn't attract too much attention.

A plump gray-haired lady came right over to his table. "I'm Grannie Annie," she said. "What can I get you today, Mister? You look like you could use a cup of coffee."

"Yesiree," Jimmy answered, "with three sugars in it."

"My, my, you like it sweet, don't you?"

"Never can get too much sugar," Jimmy said.

"Anything else?"

"How are the biscuits and gravy?"

"Best in town!" she said.

"Probably the only ones in town."

She grinned. "Right there, stranger. You just passing through?"

"Yes," he said. "Heading out pretty soon. I want to hit Seattle tonight."

"Kind of a long drive."

"I got plenty of time."

She moved off to take another order, and he watched her go. Friendly lady, but probably not too bright. He'd be willing to bet she didn't even know what color his eyes were.

She served his biscuits and gravy in no time. They were really good––milk gravy with big pieces of sausage, and biscuits fluffy enough to float a battleship. "Hey," he said, after taking his first bite, "these are real good biscuits."

"We're famous for them, stranger. Didn't you notice the sign on the door? People come from miles around here to eat my biscuits and gravy. But that's right. You're not from around these parts, are you?"

"Nope. Never been here before in my life."

"What brings you out our way now? We're a little ways off the beaten path."

"Well, I was tired last night and decided to spend the night in a decent motel bed."

"Been traveling for quite awhile?"

"Yeah. Six weeks or so."

"You a traveling salesman?"

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "Well, sort of."

"What do you sell?"

"Little bit of everything."

"Like what?"

Jimmy grinned. "You wouldn't be interested."

Grannie said, "Try me. We sell a lot of things in our gift shop."

"Trust me, you wouldn't be interested."

Grannie's friendliness suddenly dissipated. She leaned over closer and whispered, "You're packing a gun. If you're planning to rob this place, I'd better warn you that I'm packing, too, and I'm a better shot than the sheriff in this county. You'd best be forgetting any thoughts you have about robbing me."

"No, no," he stuttered. "It's just for protection when I'm on the road. You never know who you're going to run into."

"Well, just so's you know where I stand."

"Is the Sheriff the only law enforcement officer in town?"

"Yep," she said. "But I keep an eye out for things, too, a little. I'm not as old and decrepit as I look. Pretty spry for sixty."

"I'll bet you are."

"Well, I'd just as soon you finished up and got the heck out of here," she said. "Them guns make me nervous, unless they're mine."

"Sure," he said. He should've stuck to his original plan and skipped breakfast. Now, this old crow could pick him out of a lineup. He stood up and fished out a few dollars to pay for the biscuits and gravy. "I'm out of here," he told Grannie.

After that, he decided there wasn't another moment to waste. He unlocked his car at the grocery parking lot for an easy getaway, and then he walked across the street to the bank. There weren't many people in the lobby, but he decided it would have to do.

He shouted, "Bank robbery! Don't anyone move, and you won't get hurt."

He could hear a big inhalation of air as people gasped when they saw his gun and realized he meant what he said.

Brandishing the pistol, he lined the four customers along one wall and demanded they put their jewelry, watches, and billfolds in the paper sack. "Then, get down and lay your nose flat on the floor. Do what I say, and you won't get hurt."

There were two bank tellers. He handed them each a paper sack. "Put the paper money from your cash drawers in there," he demanded. "Don't bother with the change."

He stood quietly, watchful, alert, waving the gun back and forth between the tellers and the customers. He felt calm and confident, as though he had all the time in the world. He'd noted the Sheriff's car heading west out of town about ten minutes ago in the exact opposite direction he intended to go, so he was pretty sure no one would be bothering him.

When the tellers got through putting the bills into the sacks, he ordered them down on the floor, too. Then he gathered up the sacks and backed out of the bank. Outside the doors, he took his time and ambled across the street, so as not to draw attention.

When he reached the car, though, he threw the sacks in, gunned the motor and got the heck out of there. Half a mile to the junction, and then wheeling free on the Interstate. Not one glitch to his plan. He stopped about a mile out on the freeway to switch the license plates.

While he was kneeling there, busy with his screwdriver, he heard a car roar up behind him and screech to a stop.

"Hands up," a woman growled as she jumped out of her car. "I guess you didn't believe me when I told you I keep an eye on things."

He gave Grannie Annie a dirty look. "Nosy old crow," he mumbled.

"Shut up," she said. "Just keep those hands up over your head. One false move, and I'll plug you. We don't like bank robbers around here."

She reached over and removed the gun from his waistband. Then she pulled his hands down and deftly handcuffed him behind his back. "Get in my car," she said, prodding him in the back with her gun on the way. He was surprised to find it was a real police car. Now, where had she stashed it before so he hadn't noticed it? She opened the back door and, as he started to get in, she pushed his head down so it wouldn't bump the car door. As his eyes came level with Grannie Annie's ample bosom, he saw the Deputy Sheriff's badge pinned on her chest.

She noticed him looking at her badge and snorted, "I'm the Sheriff's wife. I warned you, but you wouldn't listen." She stared at him for a moment, and then added, "What on earth have you got to grin about?"

He didn't try to explain, but just relaxed and grinned some more. This was the most successful bank robbery yet, he decided. Boy, did he have it down to a science, or what? Only six weeks since he last got out of jail. Already he was tired of going hungry, stealing for a living, sleeping in flophouses, wearing dirty clothes, and looking over his shoulder for the cops. At least, jail provided three meals a day, a warm place to sleep, a television set, some books to read, and someone to talk to. He closed his eyes for a short nap, satisfied that this time he really had done a good day's work.

© Copyright 2003 Betty Kreier-Lubinski

About the Author:

Betty Kreier-Lubinski has written short stories and articles, which have appeared in T-Zero and RSVP ezines, as well as Futures Mysterious Anthology, Science of Mind, Sunshine, Staff, The Christian Mother, and romance magazines. She is currently working on an ebook of short stories. Betty is a lifetime member of WVU.