John Avery - Three Days To Die

"No, really," Aaron said. "I like you. You and Beeks are my friends. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm part of a team. I don't care if I ever go home."

"You make me want to puke," Needles said, lowering his head in disbelief. "One afternoon of text book heists and you conclude that the life of a goddamn bank robber is all glamour and excitement. We had fun, right? Every job was duck soup, right? Well, guess what? Tomorrow Johnny Souther will be in charge, and boy are you in for a surprise — one huge fucking surprise."

He slammed a cupboard shut and started for the door. "I need some sleep," he said. "We leave here at 9 a.m. sharp."

Then he walked out of the room.

Avery, John

Jumpsuits

The gang met as planned at 9 a.m. in the cannery's main warehouse. They gathered their gear together and loaded up the black van.

Aaron could feel the tension in the air; he and Needles had barely spoken. He started to have second thoughts, but he kept telling himself why he was doing this: for his mom and the money that would rebuild their lives.

Beeks pulled some white painter's jumpsuits and some thin black-leather gloves out of a duffel bag and handed each of them a set.

Aaron's jumpsuit was three sizes to big; it bagged around his shoes, and it took a minute for him to locate his hands so that he could roll up the cuffs enough to walk.

Everyone climbed into the van, with Beeks at the wheel and Johnny Souther at shotgun. Needles and Aaron sat in back with the gear, and as they drove away from the cannery, Aaron was unable to see the tungsten silver Aston Martin pulling up in front of the cannery.

Michael parked the Aston near the big roll-up door.

"This car is incredible!" Willy said as they got out. He placed his hand on a roof so low that even he could see over the top.

"You know what?" Michael said. "You're a bright young man. I'll bet someday you'll own one just like it."

Willy smiled. He thought that sounded just fine. "It's over here," he said, then walked over and pulled aside the sheet metal covering the secret entrance.

Michael checked the street then followed him inside.

– Pinstripes of dusty sunlight wrapped the high interior walls. The quiet was complete.

"I don't think anyone's here," Willy whispered, unnerved. The air was very warm, and as he tugged off his sweatshirt he saw that Aaron's BMX bike still leaned against the same wooden post where he had left it. He walked to it and draped his jacket over the seat.

There was a plain white van parked in the warehouse; they checked it, but it was empty.

They searched the rest of the main floor and then outside in the shipping yard and the boiler house, but Aaron was nowhere to be found. They went back inside and climbed the rough stairs to the cannery's second floor.

They checked the maintenance room, but it was empty.

They tried the office, and Michael found a soft drink cup with a ring of condensation around its bottom edge. He thumbed off the lid and saw a few small pieces of ice floating in the bottom.

"Someone was here," he said, "and not too long ago."

Willy looked at Michael with fear growing in his spectacled eyes. "Do you think they have Aaron?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"Do you think they'll come back?"

"Yes, Willy, they'll most certainly be back."

They left the cannery and agreed to meet again later in the day.

Michael dropped Willy off at his home and drove off in search of Aaron — hoping he might get lucky this time.

The black van circled the block under cover of heavy rains and fog that darkened the downtown neighborhood of Community Plaza Bank. When Souther was satisfied, he directed Beeks to park just down the street from the front entrance. Beeks pulled up to the curb and killed the engine.

Souther glanced at the bank's large clock. 9:25 a.m.

Aaron listened to the rain pattering on the roof of the van, his heart in his mouth. Random thoughts bounced around in his head like bingo balls, and whenever he managed to grab one, it was either too depressing to contemplate, or it made no sense whatsoever. One by one he tossed them back in the hopper with the others.

His eyes went wide, as Souther opened the glove box and pulled out a fifth of whiskey.

Great, Aaron thought, I get to rob a bank with a bunch of drunks.

"To a successful heist," Souther said, unscrewing the cap. He took a huge swig and passed the bottle to Beeks. Beeks took an even bigger drink and passed the bottle to Aaron.

Aaron passed the bottle to Needles without drinking.

"Wait a minute," Souther said. "Let the kid have a drink."

"Oh, no thanks," Aaron said, blushing. "I've never drank alcohol before."

Souther laughed. "Go ahead," he insisted. "You're a tough guy, right?"

Aaron hadn't ever thought of himself as a tough guy, and his experience with Tom had soured him on whiskey. But he was certainly curious, and the thought of drinking with the men excited him. Besides, it was a welcome distraction.

"I guess one small drink won't hurt," he said.

He took the bottle in both hands, raised it to his lips, and tried to take a small sip. But as he tilted his head back, the whiskey sloshed forward in the bottle and about four shots flushed down his throat and up his nose. He lurched forward, nearly dropping the bottle, and coughed so deeply his eyes nearly blew out of their sockets.

His world grew dark as colorful paisley patterns flashed about in a sea of black tea. The gang could only laugh while he coughed and snorted, his ears glowing bright red as the fiery spirits ignited his sinuses. He had never snorted gasoline through a straw and held a match to it before, but now he knew how it would feel.

Finally a flood of tears signaled the end of the worst, and Aaron looked up at the others. "Holy crap," he croaked, trying to catch a breath. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and the drool from his chin as a burning warmth welled in his stomach and heated the back of his head.

"What do you think, kid?" Souther asked, still laughing. "Smooth, right?"

"Right," Aaron wheezed.

The bottle went around again, but this time when the whiskey came to him, Aaron passed it on.

Souther put the bottle back in the glove box then stepped out onto the sidewalk and rolled the van's side door open.

Needles climbed out, then leaned in and dragged a particularly bulky duffel bag toward him and pulled out three assault rifles, a 9mm pistol, two smoke bombs, and a small, old-fashioned kitchen timer. He handed Souther and Beeks each a rifle and took the third rifle and the two smoke bombs for himself.

Souther laid his rifle on the front passenger seat and picked up the 9mm. He released the magazine into his gloved palm, topped it off with bullets and clicked it back into the handle. He set the pistol on the floor of the van and went through the same routine with the assault rifle.

Aaron watched all of this with interest and blurred vision. He had seen Needles and Beeks carrying guns with them into the banks they robbed, but he hadn't been inside to see how they used them.

"Why do we need guns, anyway?" he asked, thinking about it.

Souther picked up the kitchen timer and slipped it into one of his pockets. "You can't rob a bank with nothing but a smile, kid," he said, then added, "but don't get any ideas about carrying one yourself."

Beeks handed out Aaron's colorful ski masks. Souther removed his fedora, pulled on his blue vertical stripes and replaced the hat. Needles donned the green horizontal stripes and Aaron his familiar pink polka-dots. Black circles again, Beeks stayed at his assigned post in the driver's seat. He clicked on his radio and made himself comfortable.