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The Shipment
by
Karen Sideris
Fresh snow fell deeper, negating the weatherman's dire claim that the temperature might rise, freezing rain the dismal outcome. "Stay off the roads," he said, as if we had the option, working stiffs at First National Bank on a Tuesday afternoon.
We sat in the branch office and hoped for a customer, one foolish enough to brave the storm. The radio, a forbidden pleasure, played soft rock behind the teller line, with "Doctor My Eyes" wafting across the lobby to my officer's desk. I watched cars with wide-eyed occupants slide down the desolate road. The phone rang, main office calling with instructions to close, but it was cash shipment day, so two of us had to wait. Wells Fargo should have been there already, but they were running late.
"Inevitable delay," the dispatcher said when I called to verify their arrival.
We sent the tellers home and Scott and I remained. Assistant and manager, we'd go down with the ship then risk our limbs on frozen roads while others sat home by the fire.
Scott locked the doors and we waited at our desks that sat side by side. "You know Eve, we could hypothetically take this money, all $500,000 and be out of the country before anyone knew we were gone. We're closed tomorrow. We'd have till Thursday to run. How many people ever get this opportunity?" he said.
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Where
would we go?" I said.
"Mexico, not Canada. It's warm there."
"Yeah, I'm sick of this."
"Dr. Leon told me that he had a house in Cancun, even came with a maid, only twenty five dollars a day."
"Hmm. A house with a maid? How many nights will $500,000 get us?" I punched my calculator.
"Twenty thousand nights, fifty four point seven nine years. Could you put up with me that long?" I said.
"I'll learn to."
We were friends, Scott and I, but I did find him attractive. This of course, was not only secret but also taboo. The rules changed on the run. I glanced in his direction and swore his long eyelashes were batting in my direction. I picked up a pile of memos and pretended to read.
"Whose car would we take?" he said, keeping on with the conversation.
"Not mine, the Camaro slips and slides too much in bad weather. Yours would do, but we ought to switch license plates."
"Good thinking," he said. I caught him staring from the corner of my eye as I gazed out the front window for the red armored car. Did Scott feel the same way? I shook off the thought and focused on a bus that swiveled into another lane and a Chevy that swerved to escape it. My palms were sweaty. I felt flushed. "O-oh look, they're here," I said, damning myself for my nervous stutter. The Wells Fargo truck crushed the ice on the driveway with ease. They pulled up to the bank's side door. Snow stung my face as I opened it.
"It's getting bad out here," the driver said.
"We've been watching," I said. He wheeled the bags of cash and boxes of coin into the vault where he dumped them on the floor. Scott signed the receipt and let the driver out into the night.
Alone, we verified the cash, Scott, $500,000 and me. His eyes met mine as we looked up, soft and wondering. His lips parted.
And then, responsibility kicked in. We stacked the money in the vault, neat little piles. As I spun the wheel on the steel door we locked away adventure. We were, after all, working stiffs. And the snow was piling up...
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