Authors: Jason Dean
The Wrong Man (39 page)
Bishop frowned and wondered how anyone could give up before the final whistle. There was still time yet. Lots of time.
Almost anything could happen.
James Bishop put on his sunglasses and got out of the silver Toyota Camry. He didn’t say anything to the driver. There was
no need. He shut the door, adjusted his leather jacket and looked down at his watch. 09.12. He turned and headed north along
Main Street at a steady stroll. Neither fast nor slow. As though he had some specific destination
in mind, but wasn’t in any
rush to get there.
Which was true enough to a point.
It was a warm Tuesday. Warm for early May, anyway. The sun was out, but there was also a cool breeze to take the edge off.
Good spring weather. Even better when you were experiencing it outside of a prison cell. Almost nine months since Bishop had
gotten
out and the novelty of walking around in fresh, pristine air still hadn’t entirely worn off.
Parked vehicles already lined both sides of the street, but Bishop saw little actual traffic. Scratching his beard, he looked
around as he walked and counted six other pedestrians. The town of Louisford, Eastern Pennsylvania, was still in the process
of waking up.
Most of the stores were either still closed or just opening. That was one of the things Bishop liked about small
towns. That casual indifference towards scheduled hours.
But there were also plenty of places that opened on time, day in, day out. Banks. Post offices. Franchise stores. Especially
the franchise stores. They took customer care a little more seriously.
Like the small Starbucks over there. Bishop could already
see a queue of people inside, waiting at the cash register for their morning caffeine fix.
But it was a franchise of a different kind that Bishop was heading towards. The one situated at the end of the street about
two hundred yards away.
Bishop saw an elderly local coming his
way, led by a black Labrador on a leash. The guy nodded a good morning to Bishop, who
smiled and nodded back. Once they’d passed each other, Bishop immediately
lost the smile and carried on walking until he reached his destination seventy-two seconds later.
The check-cashing store was one of hundreds operating under the Standard Star umbrella. Most offered cash advances
too, but
Bishop knew Pennsylvania was one of fifteen states that had either outlawed payday loans or capped the excessive interest
rates to such an extent that there was no profit in it. Which probably made the banks happy, at least.
Bishop stood looking through the windows for two seconds before turning back to the street. Long enough for the interior to
be imprinted on his mind in every detail.
It was still the same.
This branch had a row of four partitioned counters behind bullet-resistant glass and an ATM near the entrance. In the ceiling,
closed circuit cameras covered each counter. A pair of customers – a bald, middle-aged guy and a young, blonde woman – were
being served at two
of the counters. Following a rash of check-cashing store robberies over the past six months, the owners
had obviously felt the need for a uniformed security guard too. He’d been standing next to the ATM. Bishop figured late fifties.
Overweight with a prominent potbelly. Probably a retired cop. Holstering an old service Walther 9mm and clearly bored beyond
belief.
Bishop used a hand to brush his dark hair away from his eyes and checked the street. Empty of traffic now. He checked his
watch again. 09.14. It was time to go to work.
He pocketed his sunglasses, pulled out a pair of thin leather gloves and slipped them on. As he reflected on how it had come
down to this moment, he recalled a lesson that
had been drilled into him more than once in the Marines: anybody’s life can
turn on a single event. It was true. He’d experienced one of those events already, and wondered if he was about to again.
If he did, he’d have nobody to blame but himself.
Well, too late to worry about it now. Besides, I’ve got no other choice
.
Then he walked over to
the entrance, pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Bishop paused just inside the door. The guard watched him and gave a welcoming nod.
Public relations at work. You can wear a gun, but be nice to potential customers or you’re gone
.
Bishop walked over. He put a frown on his face as though he wanted to ask a question, but wasn’t sure who to ask. The guard
watched him approach. Once
he’d closed the distance, Bishop turned so the cashiers couldn’t see, leaned in and pulled the
.357 Smith & Wesson from his waistband. Jamming the five-inch barrel into the guard’s ample mid-section, he said, ‘You know
what this is, so don’t do anything dumb. They don’t pay you enough.’ At the same time, he used his right hand to unlatch the
guard’s holster and pull
out the Walther.
‘Hey,’ the guard said, wheezing. ‘Are you crazy? You can’t do this.’
‘I am doing it,’ Bishop said, sliding the magazine out one-handed and stuffing it in his pants pocket. He also ejected the
chambered round and saw it drop to the carpeted floor. ‘Relax and keep your voice down. A couple of minutes from now, this’ll
all be over.’
After checking to make sure the guard carried no extra ammo, he placed the Walther back in the guy’s holster
and said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘My name?’
‘Yeah, your first name. What is it?’
The guard looked at him like he’d lost his mind, but Bishop noticed he’d stopped wheezing. ‘Randolph,’ he said.
‘Is that Randolph or Randy?’
‘It’s Randy to my friends. To jerks like you, it’s like Randolph.’
Bishop smiled. ‘Okay, Randolph. Now, I figure you’re the one holds the keys to the front door, right?’ Bishop already knew
this was so, but wanted Randolph to get in the habit of answering his questions. Simple psychology, but it made things easier
in the long run.
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. What say we go over and lock it so nobody else walks in? Right now.’
Still keeping his back to the cashiers, Bishop slowly walked with Randolph to the entrance and watched him pull a keychain
from his utility belt. He selected a key, inserted it into the lock and turned it a hundred and eighty degrees clockwise.
‘It’s locked,’
he said.
‘Not that I don’t believe you,’ Bishop said, ‘but try pushing the door for me.’
Randolph pressed a hand against the frame. The door didn’t move.
‘Good,’ Bishop said. He took the keys from the guard’s hand while he studied the street outside. Still empty except for the
occasional vehicle passing by. ‘Okay, Randolph. Let’s go over
to the counters now.’
Randolph turned and Bishop stayed at his back as they walked towards the rear of the store. Bishop quickly stooped down to
pick up the extra round he’d dropped as he passed. He didn’t want Randolph getting any ideas. When they were a couple of feet
away from the counters, Bishop said, ‘Walk over to the first counter and just stand there.’
He waited as Randolph did as he was told, watching the two cashiers’ faces. The woman serving the bald guy was the first to
notice something was wrong. The eyes behind her glasses grew wide when she saw Bishop. She said something to her male colleague,
who was in conversation with the woman customer. The man immediately stopped talking and stared at Bishop
with his mouth open.
‘Okay, everybody,’ Bishop said. ‘Hands where I can see them. I’m here for the company’s money, not yours. So no heroics.’
The two customers jumped at his voice and turned round. The blonde woman saw the cannon in his hand and took a sharp intake
of breath. The bald guy said, ‘What? Hey, wait a minute. I ain’t even . . .’
‘Everybody relax,’ Bishop said, cutting him off. ‘This’ll soon be over and then you can all go back to your normal lives.
But right now, I want you and you,’ he pointed the gun briefly at the two customers, ‘to stand over there with Randolph and
just be quiet. I’m calm right now, but if you play up I’ll get angry and you really don’t want that. And keep your cell
phones
in your pockets. They make me angry, too.’
Bishop watched the woman nudge the man. Then they both shuffled to the left and stood next to Randolph a few feet away.
‘Don’t worry,’ Randolph said. ‘Everything’ll be fine. Just do what he says.’
The bald guy snorted and just looked at him. ‘You kidding me?’
‘No, he’s
not,’ Bishop said. ‘Now shut up.’
He stepped forward and faced the male cashier at the third window. Placing the revolver in plain sight on the counter, he
glanced at his name badge and said, ‘You stay right there, John. Don’t move.’ He turned to the bespectacled woman, checked
her name and said, ‘Leanne, I want every note in the place except singles. You’ll place
them in a bag fast as you can and
when you’re done you’ll pass it through to me. Got that?’
Neither cashier moved. Neither of them said anything. Bishop knew they probably felt safe as houses behind the thick wall
of glass. And that the only reason they weren’t running out the back was because of the two customers on this side. He also
knew one of
them had already triggered a silent alarm somewhere, but he’d already planned for that.
Bishop tapped the gun barrel against the glass. ‘Leanne, the only thing separating us right now is a three-quarter-inch thick
layer of polycarbonate. You know why they call this glass bullet-resistant and not bullet-proof?’
Leanne’s eyes were orbs. She swallowed
and gave a small shake of her head.
‘It’s because they don’t want to get sued for false advertising.’ He tapped the glass with the barrel again. ‘And this is
a .357 Magnum loaded with light grain, one hundred and twenty-five-gram hollow-points. The main advantage of using a light-grain
round is that it travels a lot faster than a normal bullet. Fast enough to zip
right through this glass like it was rice paper.
I’ve seen it happen. Which means there really isn’t anything separating us at all. Randolph, I’m guessing you were a cop once.
Convince Leanne I’m not making this up. I don’t want to have to give John here an extra eye to prove my point.’
Randolph said, ‘He’s not making it up. Get the money.’
Neither cashier moved. They were probably still in shock. Bishop needed to get things moving. He tapped the barrel against
the glass again. ‘Three,’ he said.
He paused. Tapped again. ‘Two.’
Pause. Tap. ‘One.’
John suddenly came out of his trance and said, ‘No, wait. Please.’ He turned to Leanne. ‘Quick. Get him the money.’
Bishop watched Leanne jump off her stool and look around the room.
Then she knelt down and picked a small canvas sack off the floor. Then she started rummaging around under the counter and
sorting through notes.
‘When you finish here, Leanne, don’t forget to get the rest from the manager’s office out back. I’m sure he’ll help once you
fill him in.’
Leanne nodded as she worked and Bishop turned to look at the three people in the corner. He ignored their stares and checked
his watch as it changed to 09.18. Then he heard the sound of sirens. Two vehicles, it sounded like. And not far away. Maybe
three or four blocks at most.
‘Faster, Leanne,’ he said, and then heard the sound of a horn out
front. He turned and saw the silver Toyota right outside
where it was supposed to be, Sayles behind the wheel looking back at him, moving his head back and forth like a rooster. As
the sirens got louder, Sayles beeped the horn once more. He looked at Bishop for a long moment. Then he shook his head, revved
the engine and just took off.
Without expression,
Bishop watched him disappear. He allowed a long breath to escape from his lips.
The sirens were getting much louder now. Probably already at the next block. Looked like from here on in, he was on his own.
Bishop stared at a spot on the floor for a moment and then at the three people in the corner.
Well, not alone, exactly.
He focused on
the woman. Early twenties. Very pretty, if pale. Five-six, slim, with straight blond hair down to her shoulders
and large blue eyes. Wearing a long-sleeved baseball shirt and jeans. Gold band on the third finger of her left hand.
She must have felt his gaze on her. She turned her face from the direction of the sirens and stared at him. Bishop thought
she
looked plenty scared.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
She paused. Swallowed. ‘Sonja Addison.’
Bishop heard the screeching of tires in the street outside and then the sirens cut out entirely. He turned and saw flashing
red lights in the reflections of the stores opposite, but that was all. Turning back to the girl, Bishop reached into his
back pocket. He pulled out a set of nylon flex cuffs and said, ‘Okay, Sonja. Step over here.’