Chapter 33—The Takeover
Finster shook Mark awake, too bright and early for him. Arnold and Debra had already been thrown into the back of the van, ready for the trip to the bank. Finster handed Mark one of the clown masks, gloves, and a blue jumper. “Don’t put the mask on until we’re ready,” Finster said, flexing his fingers in his own gloves.
The drive to the bank was particularly upsetting to Mark’s stomach. Finster was completely calm, tapping the steering wheel and singing along to the radio. Mark tried to adopt a stoic face, but he could only grimace. Just stay calm. It’ll all be over soon. Repeating that mantra again and again was all that saved him from vomiting all over the van.
Finster pulled into a small parking lot behind the bank. Heather was already there, dressed in a similar blue jumper, in the seat of a van displaying HAWKINS ELECTRIC COMPANY on its sides. She had exchanged her black scarf for a baby-blue one that melded more with her jumper, looking like part of the outfit. She hopped out, heading around to the front of the building. Mark and Finster followed her into the bank, Finster swinging a red toolbox in his hand.
The assistant manager greeted them and quickly showed the way to the malfunctioning lights. “Always a problem around here,” he said, straightening his tie. “Some are flickering, others won’t turn on at all.” He pointed up at the ceiling when they arrived at the troublesome section.
“Looks like an easy fix,” Heather said. “Shouldn’t take too long. But some of your other systems may go down in the meantime. Where’s your fuse box?”
“Down this way,” the manager said.
“Why don’t you go get our other tools?” Heather suggested to Finster. She tossed him a walkie-talkie and clipped one to her outfit as well.
“Righto,” Finster said as she left with the manager. He attached his walkie-talkie, then turned to Mark. “Alright. You and I will go in and confront the guards. Once we have them tied up and the security cameras disabled, you’ll come back and bring those two inside. We’ll handle the security, then the vault.”
“S-Sure,” Mark said.
“Hey,” Finster said, playfully knuckling Mark’s chin. “Buck up. We’re about to have a good time.”
They headed to the bank’s halls near the rear. Finster slipped his mask on, ordering Mark to do the same before he threw open one of the hall doors. Inside, two portly security guards, one holding a walkie-talkie, spun away from the camera monitors covering the wall. One of the monitors was displaying. Finster took a pistol with a silencer out of the toolbox and held the barrel to their faces. Someone on the walkie-talkie was asking what had happened. “Tell them nothing’s wrong,” Finster said.
The guard, his eyes crossed with staring down the barrel, said in to walkie-talkie, “Never mind. The screen was glitchy.” Then he set aside the phone on the table beside him.
Finster handed the gun to Mark, motioning for him to keep it aimed at the guards. He tossed the walkie-talkie to the floor. Then he reached over and unplugged the cameras. He yanked several wires out from the monitors, throwing them aside. “That should take care of them spying on us.” Then he took the gun back from Mark. “Sorry. Bit of routine maintenance. Can’t have you two interfering.”
Mark leapt forward. “Wait! What if someone comes to check the camera and finds them?”
He looked thoughtfully at the security guards for a moment. “Get me a grenade,” he said to Mark.
The fat, apple-sized grenades sat in the corner of the toolbox. Shakily, Mark handed one over. “The tape, too.” He slapped the roll of heavy-duty tape into Finster’s waiting hand. Then Finster handed the gun to Mark. “Watch them.” He immediately set to work, wrapping the two guards together. He covered their mouths with tape, and then, cupping their four hands together, taped the grenade in between their hands. “Haven’t done this in a while. Nasty little thing here.” He clapped their hands. “Hold it tight now.”
Finster pulled a spool of thick string out of the toolbox. He shut the door and strung the grenade’s pin to the doorknob. After making sure the guards couldn’t move around and that the string was taut, he turned to the camera monitors. “Alarms, camera, action!” As he flipped switches on a console before him, the monitors flickered off one by one. “All evidence of our action is now deleted,” Finster said to himself as he leaned over a nearby computer.
He turned to Mark. “Okay. You can bring our hostages inside now.”
In the van, Arnold and Debra were tied tight. With his strength, Mark would have no trouble dragging them into the bank if need be. And it looked like that need was already here—the two prisoners were jerking around frantically, unwilling to go peacefully.
One last desperate plea from their muffled cries filtered into Mark’s brain. He could release them, here and now, and run to the police. No one was around. No one could see. There would be no better opportunity to free them.
Whyte, his mind seemed to whisper to him. Mark sighed. I have to do this. He grabbed their bonds and pulled the pair out of the van. Mark dragged the hostages to the door. They fought with Mark for every inch, making a heavy load even heavier. Mark had to tug them along together, since they were tied together by their arms and legs. It was extremely slow going.
Finster held the back door wide open, the same one they had entered when setting up the canisters. He welcomed Mark in and together, they lifted the struggling pair to their feet and pushed them along.
Next Finster radioed Heather. “You’re good.” Then he hurried Mark out of a side door to the room, dragging the struggling Arnold and Debra along with them. From above, Mark heard the reverberating bangs of gunshots.
Finster looked up toward the ceiling. “That’ll be Heather.” He turned to Mark. “Here, I’ll take that.” Finster held out his hand for the gun. Mark slowly handed over the pistol and was given the toolbox in exchange.
Finster released the painkillers into his body and shifted his leg bones to his arms. While Mark was accustomed to many oddities, Finster’s changing was one grotesque sight he’d never be able to grow used to. The large man jerked the doorknob from the side door around, turning and yanking it until it fell off. “There. A hostage-alarm system combo,” Finster said, laughing.
Mark somberly looked at the door. He swallowed hard as he thought about how close the two men inside had come to certain death. Like they won’t die from a grenade, he thought sarcastically. He was more shaken up when an armed security guard came around the corner.
“Hold it!” It was the last thing the man said before Finster shot him dead. The guard collapsed, flat on his back, spread-eagle.
“One witness down. Better hurry up,” Finster said.
Mark felt too shocked to move. Finster shook Mark back to the present. The two of them dragged their hostages away from the dead guard and down the hall to the first security station and the two men guarding the vault. Finster punched one guard, knocking him out. Then he shot the other guard in the arm and the leg. He picked up the wounded guard and lifted a ring of keys from his trousers. “Thank you,” he said. He unlocked the gate to the vault. Finster pushed everyone inside toward the stairs.
Mark saw the guard grab his phone. Backup was no doubt on its way.
“Alright, stay back a bit.” Finster peeked out from around the stairwell corner, then handed Mark his pistol. “Hold this for a moment.”
Careening around the empty hallway corner were three guards, hands on their holsters. Finster lifted his massive arm, clotheslining two of them. He punched the other guard hard in the gut. The man was brought to his knees, sputtering and coughing. The other two guards rose and attacked. Finster socked one in the nose. Then he grabbed the drawn pistol of the other.
“It’s not nice to shoot an unarmed man,” Finster said, wagging his finger. He pointed the gun downward. Then he yanked it out of the guard’s hands and fired two shots to the knees and one in the torso. The guard was down for the count, wailing.
The only guard left, despite a bloody
nose, rushed Finster. He aimed his gun and fired. Finster shifted right to avoid the bullet and, reaching forward, disarmed the guard. Finster threw aside both guns. An elbow to the face sedated the guard. Finster lifted him up and slung each of the guard’s legs over his own shoulders. “And Finster’s going for the powerbomb!” Finster cried, leaping in the air. He slammed the guard’s back onto the floor. Jagged, splintered cracks spread out in the tile from the force of Finster’s throw.
Finster stood up, picked up a pistol, and put his foot onto the broken guard’s chest. “And he’s still undefeated!” He raised his arms, flaunting to an invisible audience.
Mark felt stunned by the brutality but was distracted by Lydia’s parents, who were still struggling for freedom. Finster jerked his head, taking back his gun from Mark. They went down the stairs, Mark pulling Lydia’s parents. They passed by the safety deposit box room, lined with rows upon rows of metal shelves that stretched the length of the building. They passed by the other security station at the end of the room. Finster easily handled the guard with a blow to the head.
The vault was beside the station. The door was almost how Mark had pictured it: round, metal, but lacking any means of being opened manually.
Finster looked down at the floor and lifted up the still-conscious guard. He shoved his pistol against the guard’s cheek. “Were you trying to get to the phone?” he asked. “Thinking about calling the police?”
“No, no, I—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Finster said, smiling. “I don’t like liars.”
“No, no. I wasn’t. Honest.”
“Hm.” Finster glanced at Mark. “What do you think?”
“Er, I believe him?” Mark said. Finster was holding the guard by the neck. Mark hoped the larger man would leave him alone.
“You know what? So do I,” Finster said. “He also seems like a guy who could help us out.” He radioed Heather on his walkie-talkie. “Yo, Heather?”
“Kind of busy,” she said. “Get down!” Gunshots followed. “The next one who tries that will be dead!”
“You got the manager?” Finster asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be right down. Going to have to gas these people.”
“Okay. I’ll call the cops.” He dropped the guard and nodded at the phone. “Go ahead, call them.” The guard gaped at the phone. Finster rolled his eyes and pushed the phone closer. “Go ahead. It’s alright.” The guard stayed frozen until Finster pointed the pistol at his temple. “Call. The. Cops.”
The guard slowly phoned the police. Finster lifted his gun away and listened in to the call. “H-Hello?” the guard said, his eyes darting back and forth between Finster and Mark. “Thi-This is Martin Gough at the Evergreen Bank. There—there’s people robbing us!”
“Ask for the BEP agent,” Finster said.
“Uh, can I speak to the BEP agent?” Martin asked. There was a pause. “Hello? Martin Gough. Hello, Sylvia.”
Finster smiled, hopping up and down with childlike vigor. He picked up the guard and caught him in a choke hold. He shifted his bones to his legs, keeping the guard high above the floor. “Tell her exactly what I say,” he said.
The guard’s feet thrashed about in the air. Mark turned away as soon as he heard the man’s gasps for breath. Finster relayed the message through the guard. “They’re at the Evergreen Bank. They have hostages and enough firepower to cover several blocks. So come into the bank alone, and they’ll negotiate for the hostages’ lives. They won’t wait for long. Don’t try anything. They won’t hesitate to kill anyone.”
“Good boy,” Finster said. He hung up the phone. The guard made a strange sound, like choking and gargling at the same time.
Firepower to cover several blocks? Like a bomb? Since when had they had bombs? Then it hit Mark. The canisters. No wonder Finster had rushed to steady them. They were surrounded by bombs, up and down the floors. His knees trembled and his throat felt dry.
When the choking noises had died down and a heavy weight hit the floor, Mark dared to look at Finster. The large man was staring down at the body behind the security station. Mark could only see the dead guard’s shoes poking out.
“Tip of the day: always take out the brave ones,” Finster said, turning to Mark. “They’re the people who will cause the most trouble.”
Mark knees clacked together. His stomach churned, wanting to empty its contents onto the floor. He leaned over, managing to stay standing.
“You okay?” Finster asked.
“Fine,” he said. He spit on the floor, preparing for the bubbling acid rising in his throat. “Fine.” He was jerked closer to the vault door.
“Stay here and sit tight until Heather comes, alright?” Finster patted him on the back and pointed at Arnold and Debra. “Keep on an eye on them.”
“Okay,” Mark said. He stared at the floor. He closed his eyes. It’ll all be over soon. He saw the dead bodies in his mind’s eye. It’ll all be over soon. The lights above shut off.