The Promise by Dan Walsh Page A

reasoned, that was how greed had sunk them. If they had continued robbing banks at the pace they had started with and been content with that, they’d still have each cleared over $10,000 per month. And they’d still be free, able to live their lives as they pleased.
    Now their lives were ruined.
    But Tom wouldn’t get greedy. And he wouldn’t have to split the money with a partner. He’d only need to rob one bank. Not one bank a month, either. Just one bank. And he could take a whole month to plan it out. That was when his unemployment checks would run out, in one month. Then he’d rob the bank. After he’d worked out every last detail. If he got even $10,000 for his efforts, with his food stamps kicking in, he and Jean could live on that for three months.
    By then he’d be able to finish all these online courses for his IT certification. With that certification in hand, and with his bachelor’s degree and his five years of IT experience, there’d be no reason for an employer to turn him down.
    It was a perfect plan. Except for the robbing-a-bank part.
    Who was he kidding? He could never rob a bank.
    But desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Thatwas the saying. These were certainly desperate times. For Tom, as desperate as they could get.
    But God would never let him get away with something like this. It was stealing. He’d be breaking one of the Ten Commandments.
    But all the money would be insured by the FDIC. It wasn’t like the bank customers themselves would be out anything.
    â€œTom? Your name is Tom, right?”
    Tom turned around. He instantly recognized the man standing over his shoulder. It was Alvin, the manager of the Java Stop. Or maybe he was the owner. “Yeah, my name is Tom. How can I help you?”
    â€œI was hoping you’d come in today,” Alvin said. “Last night my assistant manager had to quit suddenly. Well, actually, I had to fire him for stealing. I’m kind of in a bind. None of my other workers are assistant manager material. My guess is you’re probably overqualified for this. But you’ve been out of work for a while, haven’t you?”
    â€œYeah,” Tom said.
    â€œWould you consider working for me for a month or so? Till I can hire someone on a permanent basis? If you get a job in your field, you can quit right away. No hard feelings. But it would help me close the gap I have right now, and I’m sure I can pay you more than what you’re getting on unemployment. So, whatta you say? Can we talk about it?”
    â€œSure,” Tom said. “Pull up a chair.”

 17 
    T he sun was up, starting to make its presence known. Minutes ago, its rays began to highlight the treetops in Henry Anderson’s backyard. Henry lived in an older but well-kept section of cottage homes and bungalows in New Smyrna Beach, between the river and US 1.
    The temperature outside was perfect. A slight breeze had found its way over Henry’s wooden privacy fence. Sitting in his wicker chair, he could see houses in every direction, but because the neighborhood was so old, most were completely obscured by large, shady trees. Made it feel like he had the place all to himself, like a place out in the country. There weren’t any children living in the homes nearby, hadn’t been for well over ten years, so it was always real quiet in the morning. Truth was, it was quiet most of the time. He almost never saw any of his neighbors in their backyards . . . morning, noon, or night.
    As Henry closed his Bible, a snowy egret glided across the sky from east to west, on the way to its first tasks of the day. Henry’s day wasn’t firmed up completely yet. That was part of the reason why he took this time each morning—to get his heart and mind in sync with God, renew the sense that he was the follower andnot the one in charge. Beside his wicker chair on a matching wicker table sat a