— Come in, boys. I’m watching the street.
Gilmore told him to check in again every fifteen minutes.
Maurice got into the driver’s seat and backed the van across the parking lot right against the wall of the bank. They turned the ignition off and listened to the scanner for five minutes. Then Gilmore got out. Maurice told Lee to get up behind the steering wheel. Gilmore had the side door open and was digging around in the tool bag. He came out with a can of Styrofoam on a spray gun. Maurice got out and boosted Gilmore up onto the roof of the van. His footsteps thumped above. Lee stuck his head out the window and angled the mended side-view mirror upward so that he could watch.
The bank’s exterior alarm box was fixed to the wall five feet above the back door. Gilmore, standing on top of the van, fed the spray gun’s nozzle through the grill of the box. He emptied the can. This was something he’d done before, Lee could see. When he was finished there was foam bulging out of the grill. The foam would hold the clapper fast so it couldn’t strike the bell if the exterior alarm was tripped. Maurice, meanwhile, had drawn a crowbar out of the tool bag. He helped Gilmore come down and he told Lee to drive five feet forward.
Lee moved the van and put it into park. He turned it off and listened. The door at the back of the bank was directly behind the van and out of sight to him. Gilmore had come up to the passenger window. He stretched his legs as if preparing for a sport. He opened the door.
— How about a smoke, pal?
Lee gave him one. Five minutes later, Maurice came back, holding the crowbar in one hand.
— It’s open.
Gilmore nodded.
— Let’s go, Lee, said Maurice.
Lee got out of the van. The door at the back of the bank was open. It was dead black through the space. Up above he could see ridges of spray Styrofoam swollen out of the alarm box. He found that he was intensely aware of everything, of every sound, of the fabric of his clothes. Lee and Maurice hauled the burning-bar rig out and carried it into the bank. They lifted out the lances and moved them inside. Before they took out the tool bag, Maurice reached into it and dug for something. Gilmore came and leaned on the side of the van. He might have been passing the time of day.
— This is where it gets long. Maurice will work on the interior alarms now. Wait a few minutes and drive up to the corner. All you have to do is watch and listen.
Speedy checked in on the walkie-talkie and told them the street was still quiet.
Then Maurice had the tool bag over one shoulder and was moving away from the van. His big frame was moving with his breathing. He licked at one side of his mouth.
— We’re going in now. Every fifteen minutes on the walkie. Don’t fall asleep.
Lee saw that Maurice also had hold of a shotgun. The barrel had been cut down to just above the pump. Maurice saw Lee looking at it.
— Listen, Lee. Don’t get the idea that me or Gilmore haven’t worked this through. We got everything planned out. That includes you.
They studied each other.
— I’m here to work, said Lee. Make some money. That’s all.
Maurice wordlessly followed Gilmore into the bank.
Lee closed the back doors of the van and got into the driver’s seat. He moved the van back to the poplar trees. He parked it and turned the ignition off. He checked that the scanner was on. He checked the walkie-talkie. He looked at his hands on the steering wheel. The cold was settling into the vehicle. Lee looked out the window again. They’d left nothing in the parking lot and the falling snow had already begun to soften their tracks. The back door was closed. There was nothing to see but the buildings and the blanched night sky. He had a cigarette.
Some time passed and they did a check on the walkie-talkie. Speedy said he could use a cup of coffee. Maurice came back on, with a slight hiss of interference, and told Speedy to shut the fuck up.
A short while later there was some talk on the scanner. From what Lee could tell, a cop was following a drunk driver. Lee listened with some interest and he told the others over the walkie-talkie. It was good to have something to pay attention to. Before long, he interpreted that the drunk had been pulled over and arrested and a tow truck had been summoned. He checked in again on the walkie-talkie. And then he went back to waiting.
The driver’s door opened and Lee sat up. He blinked, unsure of his whereabouts. Cold air swirled into the van. Maurice had the door open. The shotgun was pressed to the side of his leg where it wouldn’t be noticed from a distance. He spoke in a hoarse whisper.
— Go spell off Speedy.
— What?
— I said go spell off Speedy. In the alley. I’m done with the alarm. Speedy’s got to start cutting now.
— The plan was I was up here, said Lee.
— Yeah, well, so far you’re the one getting the easiest ride. Besides, looks like you can’t keep awake anyways.
After a moment Lee climbed down from the seat. Up close he could see the way Maurice’s head was moving side to side. Maurice was gripping the shotgun tightly.
— Radio check when you’re in place. Keep your eyes open.
— Whatever you say, buck.
Lee made his way down the alley beside the bank. The snowfall had eased and the new-fallen snow lay clean, faintly glittering. Close to the street there was a doorway recessed into the building on the other side of the alley. It was here that Lee found Speedy. Speedy’s hands were buried in his pockets. His walkie-talkie was set on top of a garbage can he was sharing the space with.
— You’re to start the cutting now, said Lee.
Speedy shuddered.
— Lee. Okay. I just about froze solid down here.
Speedy pulled his hands out of his pockets. He had his pistol in one hand. Lee kept an eye on it.
— How long will the cutting take?
— Hard to say. Might be two feet right through. A hundred years? I’m only kidding. But you might be here awhile.
— You better get going, said Lee.
— I’ll see you soon.
— Don’t forget your radio.
Speedy took his walkie-talkie and went back up the alley. Lee checked in on his own walkie-talkie. He said he was in place and watching the street.
The lights had been turned off in the tavern up at the Shamrock. Lee looked down the street in the other direction. About two hundred yards away the street ended underneath a pulsing stoplight. He was a ten- or fifteen-minute walk from his apartment.
He hunkered back into the doorway and put his walkie-talkie down on the garbage can.
There was no wind, but it wasn’t long before a chill began settling into Lee’s extremities. His toque was pulled low and his collar was turned up. He moved on his feet. He kicked at the wall. It occurred to him that he could just turn out of the doorway and leave. That simple. But leave to what? To what purpose?
He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke go out before him. It dissolved in the still air.
At four in the morning, a patrol car moved past the alley. Lee lurked in the dark, watching the car stop outside the Shamrock. He was aware of everything again, of the close proximity of the concrete walls on either side of him. He lifted the walkie-talkie from the garbage can and spoke into it.
— I got a bull out here.
Maurice’s voice came back: What do you see?
— One car. Stopped up at the hotel.
Gilmore’s voice: Wait. Just watch them for a minute.
Lee had been fatigued before this. Now he was awake and aware of how cold he was. He turned down the volume on the walkie-talkie so it was just audible.
— There’s nothing on the scanner, said Maurice. What is it, just one car?
— Yes.
— One, two cops, we can take care of if they come around back here.