Bank Job by James Heneghan Page B

fist and moved closer.
    His dad made a single powerful effort to speak. “Billy?”
    Billy stared into his father’s eyes. “What is it, Dad?”
    The old man gathered a second breath. “I’m… sorry…Billy.”
    Billy wrapped his arms around his father and hugged him to his chest. He spoke a few words into his dad’s ear. Then he laid him gently back onto the pillow.
    I couldn’t hear what Billy said because of his father’s rattling breath.
    The old man’s eyes closed, and in a second he was asleep, the wrinkles gone and the beginning of a smile on his thin lips.
    Billy decided to stay, so Tom and I made our way home, mainly in silence. Tom stared out the SkyTrain window. When we we got to Patterson and stood by the door, waiting to get off, I caught a glimpse of Tom’s eyes. They were damp and pink, like he’d been crying. He’d been thinking about Billy’s dad, I guessed. Or remembering his own dad—his lost family.
    Billy stayed at the hospice all night and came home the next morning while we were eating breakfast. His face was white. He looked beat.
    Janice jumped up from the table to meet him. “How is he, Billy?”
    Billy said nothing and stood looking at Janice helplessly.
    We all knew.
    Janice flung her arms around Billy. Joseph stood and put his arms around Billy and Janice’s shoulders. Tom, Lisa, and I joined the group, looping our arms around each other in a family hug. For a brief few days, Billy had a bit of family with his dad. Now his dad was gone, and we were back to being his only family again.

NINETEEN
    MAY 4
    We skipped out of school early again and rode the SkyTrain to the big city.
    The Three Musketeers.
    I had a bad feeling about this holdup.
    We were socked in with the usual West Coast— “wet” coast—rain and a cold wind that went right through my wet raincoat and chilled my bones. I was probably getting the flu or mad cow disease or something equally terrible. I had a crushing headache and my nose was running.
    We took our positions, Billy outside the Vancity Savings Bank, me close by and Tom out of sight around the corner.
    This was our seventh bank robbery. Wasn’t seven supposed to be an unlucky number?
    I sniffed and searched my pockets for a tissue. I had none. I wiped my nose on my jacket sleeve like a little kid. The waterproof fabric rejected the mucus, leaving the smear on my face.
    From my lookout under the Shoe Warehouse awning, I could see the bank was busy. It was an end-of-the-month Thursday. Maybe Billy’s planning wasn’t as good as he thought. Or maybe he chose a busy bank day deliberately to raise the bar on his excitement index.
    A guy was hanging out in a beige Honda across the street. He sat behind the wheel, sipping coffee from a plastic cup and watching people going in and out of the shops. He looked across at Billy.
    Was he a detective? Had the police finally caught up with us?
    The man stared at me. Maybe he wasn’t a cop. Maybe he was looking to pick up a street kid. I knew that happened to kids, guys pretending to ask for directions and offering money for sex.
    Sicko.
    I jammed my fists into my pockets and turned my back on the guy.
    I checked my watch. It was 1:22 PM .
    Billy was taking forever. What was going on in that bank? He should have called off the holdup if it was too dangerous.
    The freaky guy in the Honda drove away. That was a relief. I wiped my nose on my sleeve again.
    Finally, at 1:26 PM , Billy gave the signal and I headed over to the bank.
    Billy presented his note, and as the terrified teller was reaching into the drawer for the cash, I left to wait outside.
    Billy came flying out of the bank, flipped off his ball cap, mustache, and glasses, and dropped them into my bag along with the money. Then he took off around the corner, heading for the mall.
    I moved down the street in the other direction, turned the corner and made the hand off to