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"Hey, old man, watch yourself." I held up my fists in mock anger. "I can still take you."
We sparred playfully for a moment, and then I gave him a quick hug. "I'm currently single, so I'll be coming alone, although I might bring Juice along."
‘Juice’ was Justin Thomas, a friend from high school who used to fight at my dad's gym and who now worked for us as a driver. Juice didn’t break arms or legs—maybe a nose or two in a bar fight, but nothing pro.
"I'll go talk to Cath and take the deposit."
"Great," he said and turned back to watch Conor and the new member. "See you and Juice Saturday."
I went to the back of the gym and popped my head in the office, where my stepmother sat at a desk, tallying up the previous day's receipts. When she saw me, she smiled and took off her reading glasses.
"Hunter," she said and stood, opening her arms. "I thought you were in meetings with your finance friends all afternoon. Your father will be so pleased. I know he wanted to talk to you about the fight on Saturday…"
"I already spoke to him," I said and gave her a warm hug.
"You should bring a girl," she said and narrowed her eyes. "Are you going steady with anyone?"
"Don't you start on me, too," I said, my hands on my hips. "Besides, we don't ‘go steady’ anymore. We 'see' each other." I leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"Don’t kiss me," she said and held a hand up over her mouth. "I have a nasty cold."
"I won't," I said and pulled back. When she sat back down, I took the chair beside her desk. "You know I'm swamped with the business, but I'm coming on Saturday."
"Oh, good. Conor w
ill be happy to have you there. Moral support and all."
I nodded. "Dad asked me to do the deposit for you."
"I'm almost done," she said and grabbed a handful of cash and a deposit slip, as well as several rolls of change. She stuffed them into the battered leather zip bag that was used for the deposit.
"I better go," I said and picked up the deposit bag. "See you on Saturday."
"Are you going to mass on Sunday?" she called out and frowned at me over her glasses.
"Always," I said, but it was a bald-faced lie. I stopped going to mass years earlier.
"Good boy," she said and blew me a kiss. Then she turned back to the computer and I left, deposit bag in hand.
I drove the few blocks to the bank and parked across the street, then picked up the bank deposit bag. Although it was rush hour, the bank was on a quiet side street a few blocks off Boylston. Barely any cars drove by as I stood on the street corner, waiting for the light to change. Then a white van drove up and screeched to a halt outside the bank. A man jumped out, assault weapon in hand. When he entered the bank, he pulled a balaclava over his head. Another man got out and stood sentry at the door, his face uncovered. He was dressed in a generic security guard uniform in blue and grey, and held a hand on the weapon on his utility belt, at the ready in case anyone confronted him. He'd try to look as inconspicuous as possible, but would discourage any potential bank customer from entry. I knew the drill. A driver remained in the vehicle, the van's engine idling, at the ready for the getaway.
I thought I'd put my old MMA training and the skills I’d developed in special operations behind me, but at that moment, I realized they'd come in handy despite the fact I was no longer a Marine. Knowing what was about to go down, I tossed the deposit back into the car on the floor, then took out my phone and dialed 911.
"What's your emergency?"
"You got a 10-60 in progress," I said, using the code for a bank robbery. "First National off Boylston. One armed man just entered the building. One armed sentry dressed in a generic security guard outfit is outside. A driver in a white van is parked in front of the bank in the getaway vehicle."
"Are you a cop?" the operator asked, sounding surprised that I seemed so calm.
"No, former Marine," I replied. I was used to this kind of situation from two tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq.
"Please do not intervene," the operator said, her voice firm. "Civilians should remain away from the scene and let police take over. Units are being dispatched."
"Ten-four," I said and hung up before she could take my name and details. I ignored her order to stand down, determined to use my skills for something good. I was licensed to carry a concealed weapon, and had both tactical training and special operations training. I was going to see what I could do to stop this thing, or at least disable their ability to escape the scene. I crossed the street against the light, dodging the few cars that drove down the street. I casually walked up beside the van and when the wide-eyed driver saw me, he opened his mouth and his body stiffened, but I hit him once and then twice before he could call out, knocking him out cold. Then, I reached in over top of him and turned off the vehicle, taking the keys and the weapon on the seat beside him with me.
I ducked down, peering over the hood to see if the sentry saw what happened. He was busy glancing the other direction, so it was my time to act. I checked inside to see if there were any others, and saw that the van was empty. Then, I walked to the bank's entrance, a smile on my face so the sentry thought I was just a customer. When he finally saw me coming, he stood at attention like he was a real guard.
"Bank's closed," he said, jerking his thumb to the door, thinking I was a civilian coming in to do my business.
