The floorboards squeaked. "I heard you playing' Clair de Lune. "Very nicely I might add." Nana was standing in the doorway with a tray in her hands. There were two steaming coffee mugs on it.
She pushed one of them toward me and I took it. She then sat in the old wicker rocker near the piano, quietly sipping her brew.
"This instant?" I kidded her.
"You find any instant coffee in my kitchen, I'll give you this house."
"I own the house," I reminded her.
"So you say, sonny boy. Sunrise Concerto, Alex? What's the occasion?"
The sunrise Concerto. I couldn't sleep. Bad night, bad dreams. Bad morning so far." I sipped the delicious coffee which was laced with chicory. "Good coffee, though."
Nana continued to sip hers. "Mmm-hmmm. Tell me something I don't know. What else?"
"You remember Maria's stepbrother, Enrol? Sampson and I found his body in the First Avenue project last night," I told her.
Nana made a low clucking sound, and she gently shook her head. "That's so sad, such a shame, Alex. They're a good family, nice people."
"I have to go and tell the family this morning. Maybe that's why I'm up so early. Couldn't sleep."
"What else?" Nana asked again. She knew me so well, and in a way that was comforting now. "Talk to me, Alex. Tell your nana."
"It's Christine,” I finally said," I think it's over between us. She doesn't want to see me. She told me, made it official. I don't know where that leaves little Alex. Nana, I have tried everything in my power. I swear I have."
She put down her coffee mug and she slid one skinny arm around me. She still has a lot of strength in her body. She held me tight," Well then, you've done what you can, haven't you? What else can you do?"
"She hasn't gotten over what happened in Bermuda," I whispered. "She doesn't want to be with a homicide detective. She can't do it. She doesn't want to be with me."
Nana whispered back at me, "You're taking too much on your shoulders. You're taking on blame you shouldn't. It's bending you, Alex. You can break. You listen to Nana now."
"I'm listening. I always do."
"Do not."
"Do too."
"Do not, and I can keep this up longer than you," she snapped. "Besides, it proves my point."
Nana always has the last word. She is the best psychologist in the house, or so she tells me constantly.
Chapter Thirteen
The second bank robbery went off like a time bomb early that morning in the town of Falls Church, Virginia, about nine miles outside Washington.
The bank manager's house was a well-maintained Colonial in a sweet neighborhood where people seemed to genuinely like one another. There was evidence of well-loved children everywhere: Tyco toys, bikes, a basketball net, dueling swings, a makeshift lemonade stand. There was a beautiful garden filled with flowered shrubs. Birds perched on a whimsical weathervane a witch on a broom up on the garage roof. That morning you could almost hear the witch's cackle.
The Mastermind had told his new crew what they would find and how they should proceed. Every move was carefully planned and rehearsed.
The new crew was superior to the Parkers. It had taken half of the money from the Citibank job to interest them, but it was worth it. They called one another Mr. Red, Mr. White, Mr. Blue, and Ms Green. They had long hair and looked like a heavy-metal rock band, but they were an efficient team, very high tech.
Mr. Blue was at the First Union branch when it opened in downtown Falls Church. Ms Green went there with him. They both had semiautomatic weapons in shoulder holsters underneath their windbreakers.
Mr. Red and Mr. White went to the manager's house. Katie Bartlett heard the door chimes and thought it was the baby-sitter. When she opened the front door, she turned pale and her legs buckled at the sight of an armed, masked man wearing a headset with a microphone jutting under his chin. Behind him was a second armed man.
"Back inside! Move it!" Red screamed loudly through his mask. He held his gun inches from her face.
Red and White herded the mother and her three small children into the family room on the main floor. The room featured a home entertainment center and a Tae-Bo video was playing. A picture window looked out on a small, still lake, but no one could see them unless they had a boat, and there were no boats on the lake that morning.
"Now, we're going to make a home movie," Mr. Red explained to Mrs. Bartlett and the kids. He talked to them in a matter-of-fact, almost friendly way.
"You don't have to hurt anyone," Katie Bartlett told him. "We'll cooperate with you. Please put the guns away. I beg you."
"I hear you, Katie. But we have to show your husband that we're serious and that I'm actually here in the house with you and the kids."
"They're two, three, and four," the mother said. She started to cry, but then she seemed to will herself to stop. "They're just little babies. My babies."
Mr. Red slid his gun inside his holster. "There, there. I don't want to hurt the kids. I promise I don't."
He was pleased with the job so far. Katie seemed smart and the kids were well behaved. They were a nice family, the Bartletts. Just as the Mastermind had said.
"I want you to be the one to put this duct tape on the kids' mouths," Mr. Red told Katie Bartlett. He handed over a thick roll of tape.
"They won't make any noise. I promise, "she said," They're good kids."
Mr. Red felt sorry for her. She was pretty, and an okay lady. He thought of the couple and the kid in the movie Life is Beautiful Mr. Red spoke directly to the kids. "This is duct tape and we're going to play a game with it. It'll be cool," he said
Two of the kids glared at him, but the three-year-old grinned. "Duck tape?"
"That's right. Duck tape. Quack, quack, quack, quack. Now Mommy's going to put the duck tape on everybody's mouth. Then we make a home movie for Daddy to see how you look."
"Then what?" asked Dennis, the four-year-old, who now seemed interested in the game," We quack up Daddy."
Mr. Red laughed. Even Mr. White managed a smirk. The kids were cute. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill them in a few minutes.