Retiring South of the BorderChapter 8
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Retiring South Of The BorderChapter 2 free porn video
Tony- me.
Bob- a trailer park manager with connections.
Gunsmith
Bank manager
Lead Teller
I kept a close eye on my cash flow which was becoming alarming. Despite the addition of the supercharger the bus's appetite for diesel fuel was prodigious. Day by day I became more depressed, convinced that my retirement may be forced to end before it had really begun. I fretted, stewed and second-guessed myself into a funk. I didn't want to spend my declining years in a flea-bitten trailer park eating Chef Boyardee ravioli out of a can
I was in Norman Oklahoma, sipping whiskey at a bar when I realized that I'd have to get money the old fashioned way--steal it. I even had preceden--this was Bonnie and Clyde territory! I wondered what kind of job I could pull off with C-4 and blasting caps? Hmm. Disposable cell phones were cheap and anonymous--commodities, really. They could be found at gas stations, mini-marts and drug stores. Add a plastic box and some tape, and voila! Instant bomb. A quarter-block should take out anything reasonable, like a transformer feeding a bank. I'd want to cut the phone/data line too.
I spent some time thinking through the operation and made notes. I'd need a cut-out so that my bus wouldn't be linked to the theft. A nice big distraction would be wonderful--perhaps blowing the neighborhood step-down transformer instead of the bank's power feed would do it. It would de-localize the attack as well. I set about acquiring a police-band scanner, a cell-phone jammer and a lock picking gun. The military pay cycle kicked off either on the first or the fifteenth of the month. Lawton was just down the road and had a nice, big army base adjoining the town. I had a week and a half until the first of October hit. Mailboxes etc. got me a place to receive my somewhat-illegal purchases. I scoped out a U-Haul place that had small cube trucks--hopefully one that I could hijack. I'd need something to hold the packs of bills together as I left with them, and then some method to transport and keep the end product. I settled on twine, Saran wrap and banker's boxes. The latter somehow seemed fitting.
I bought several 'dollar phones' and rigged the speaker leads on my demonstrator phone to one of the blasting caps so as to find out if the phone's power was enough to set it off. One little 'Bang!' out in the countryside later confirmed that it was. I set about charging the phones. I set aside two bricks to take out the transformer and a two quarter-bricks to take out a secure door and the phone/data feed to the building.
The big day rolled around. I washed my hands in easy-off oven cleaner until they were slippery and a bit sore to get rid of my fingerprints, washed up then took a taxi to a block away from the u-haul place. I paid in cash. After it grew dark I broke into the business with the lock pick gun, found a key that matched one of the vans and left locking the building door behind me. The van started right up.
I changed clothes into something more anonymous. I wore a grey coverall, old-style black military boots and a black billed cap. I forced my way into the power company's compound and used double-stick tape to fasten a gray plastic box to the side of a big, humming transformer. I retreated watching for any tracks that I may have left, covering or dispersing what I could. The bank that I had chosen had an alley behind it with an access door into the bank. That's where I left the van.
I had twine, Saran wrap, a half-roll of pennies, a screwdriver, a hammer, a battery powered scanner and a battery powered cell phone jammer in my pack, along with another remote controlled bomb and the parts to set off another via wire and a detonator.
About five in the morning I placed the remote controlled bomb over the phone line feed to the building and returned to the van. I didn't go to a diner for coffee or breakfast as my face might be remembered and associated with the events of the day. Instead I drank gatorade and peed into an empty jug. Eight thirty soon rolled around despite my impatience and jitters.
Soon after the bank opened I pulled the leg from a pair of panty hose over my face, replaced my cap and strolled in. I kept my head down to keep my face obscured. Just inside the door I casually pulled out my cellphone and dialled two numbers. The lights went out and a 'Bang!' sounded just outside. I smiled. So far, so good. The manager was walking my way with the keys in his hand. As he motioned me to leave I pulled out my inherited .45 pistol and pointed it at him.
"Hello. I'm here to make a rather large withdrawl. Since you're insured to at least 250,000 dollars this shouldn't impact you or your job or your institution. Please don't do anything stupid. Lock the door."
I pulled out the cell phone jammer and put it on a table in the dimly lit lobby. I turned it on. I had about a half hour of power.
"Nobody should touch the jammer. It's booby trapped." It was pure bluff however nobody knew that but me.
"Everyone into the manager's office please." I turned to the manager. "Let's get the head teller and proceed to the day vault, eh?"
We found an older lady with wide eyes and a cell phone in her hand. "Doesn't work, does it?" she shook her head, no. I gently said "That's because there's a cell-phone jammer in the lobby. Now, get your keys and let's go to the vault, eh?" After closing the office door and pennying it shut with my hammer and screwdriver I snagged a cart and followed them. The vault door was open but the cage was locked. I motioned at them with the pistol to get busy. Soon we were within the vault. I left the cart blocking the cage door so that we couldn't be locked in. I didn't want anything to do with the money in the drawers or mini-safes up and down the teller line. That's where the dye packs were usually kept, in an alarmed clip.
"Open the day repository, please." They looked at each other then slowly unlocked the door. Under the illumination from the emergency lights I saw several cubic feet of banded packs of bills as well as several trays of rolled coin.
"Bring the bills larger than five dollars to the counting table please." They silently began stacking packs of money. I checked for dye packs by fanning the ends of the packs of bills.
"Very good, very good. I haven't found any dye packs." I provided a ball of twine and a couple rolls of Saran wrap.
"Please tie the bills into bundles the size of a lunch box or so and wrap the bundles in two wraps of Saran wrap." As they tied and wrapped I filled the cart. When the cart was full I looked at the stacks remaining. Ah, a bit of a hold-out on their part--they had started with the small bills, leaving the largest on the table. "Nice try. Please wrap the hundreds, the fifties and the rest of the twenties. Quickly now."
I evaluated the cart for the lowest denomination bills and set them aside. I exchanged the lower value packets with the higher ones, then filled the rest of the cart with bundles of twenties. Time was getting short.
"Thank you for your cooperation. Now, if you don't mind, please give me your key sets. Then hand me your jacket, sir, and your purse, ma'am." They complied. "Great. Now I'll lock you in the vault. Soon the staff locked into your office will become bold enough to throw a chair through the window. I'll leave your keys before the vault door."
I locked them in, left the jacket and purse outside the vault, found the key to unlock the screamer on the back door and opened the door. Nobody was in the alley. I quickly rolled the cart down the ramp and to the back of the van where I unlocked it and heaved the whole thing into the back to save time. I returned to the bank where I tossed the keys (minus the front door key that I'd seen him use) where I promised, left the building, pennied the bank's back door shut, stripped off the nylon disguise and left. I left the phone jammer in place to stretch my get-away time window. It would keep any cell phones unusable for a bit yet and keep them occupied--I'd told them that it was booby-trapped, hadn't I?
Twenty minutes later I was at the truck stop where I had left the bus. I pulled up next to the bus door. Under the anonymity provided by the professional traffic I boxed the money (still wrapped in Saran wrap) and moved it to the storage shelves within the bus. I grabbed the can of easy-off, locked the bus door behind me and drove the u-haul van over to the restaurant parking lot. There I sprayed the interior with the easy-off to eliminate any partial prints or proteins that could be used to identify me. I was back to wearing a polo shirt and chinos with sneakers. The coverall and cap went into a dumpster after I crossed the state line into Texas. I kept the boots as they were comfortable and the sole pattern was probably the most anonymous one on the face of the earth. I was now a felon, guilty of bank robbery and fleeing across a state line. Imagine that!
The police scanner didn't have anything remarkable to say for about an hour and a quarter at which time all hell broke loose. I shrugged my shoulders. I'd either make it or I wouldn't. Either way I was set for three hots and a cot for the rest of my life. At 62 that's not such a bad thing.
I stopped late at a big truck stop between Ralls and Lubbock Texas. I slept the sleep of the wickedly satisfied.
It was late morning that I rose. I smiled as I thought about the sheer volume of financial comfort stored within those boxes. I resolved to break down the bundles and get a count once I'd hit some place to camp for a while. I retrieved a pack of 20 dollar bills, checked to make sure that the serial numbers were not sequential and filled my wallet. I knew that Rip Griffin truck stops provided dependable services and food despite their street name of 'Ripoff Griffin'. I had a nice shower, changed clothes, did my laundry and browsed around until it was ready. The food was plentiful and hot. If nothing exceptional it wasn't done badly, either. I bought and paid for a CD player, speakers and a CB radio kit which they would install for a fee. No problem! I shopped for CDs and checked out the clothing available while they worked. Tan Dickey's poplin short-sleeved shirts are damned near a trucker's trade mark. I thought that they were comfortable so I picked up a few. I wasn't going to give up baseball hats for nobody, but I did pick up a green one to replace the black one that I sacrificed for the operation.
Near Midland, Texas lay the Midessa Oilpatch RV park. I had arranged for a week's stay while sitting in the restaurant at the Lubbock truck stop. I wanted to ease back down to reality after my little exercise in avarice. It turned out to be a nice, quiet place where I could sit back with a couple beers and grill out to my heart's content.
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