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I kept moving until I was right in front of him.
He frowned and straightened to stand even taller, trying to look more authoritative. "I said the bank's closed, asshole."
When I didn't stop, he pulled out his weapon and pointed it at me, trying to intimidate me into standing down, but I didn't comply.
He grimaced. I was definitely not part of the plan. "Stop or I'll have to arrest you."
First I kicked his hand away, which sent his weapon flying. Next, I took him out with a quick punch to the jaw that he didn't expect or see coming. A lifetime of boxing and mixed martial arts helped.
Startled by the sheer speed of my attack, he was unable to defend himself. When he straightened back up, I hit him directly in the throat and he fell to his knees, his hands around his throat. I honestly hoped I hadn’t killed him.
While he choked and gasped for air, I retrieved his weapon from where it had fallen from the ground and removed his two-way from his belt so he couldn't alert his partner inside to my presence. Then, I went inside.
I entered the bank without anyone noticing, slipping inside while keeping low, and went to my knees, surveying the scene to get my bearings. As I watched, the thug got the attention of the bank customers by shouting and waving his weapon in the air.
"Get down, get the fuck down!"
In response, several customers and tellers screamed and ducked, falling to the floor like dominoes knocked over by some malevolent force. Seizing my opportunity, I slipped further inside the bank and hid behind a column, keeping the gunman in my sights.
I crept along the line of tables where people filled out their deposit slips, watching for an opportunity to intervene. Maybe it was foolish of me to do so, but these thugs were amateurs. I'd seen worse on the streets of Afghanistan—men who knew what they were doing and why, and would let nothing get in their way.
The robber corralled the customers into one corner of the bank and forced one of the tellers to take his burlap bag and empty the tills, dumping wads of money into the bag. He kept waving his weapon towards the cowering bank customers, and from where I crouched, I could tell he was an amateur. He needed at least one more man to really take control of the bank. As it was, he was trying to do two jobs at once, and was doing neither very well.
While he had his back to me, I crouched behind a desk, watching, waiting to make my move. He grabbed the bag of money and walked backwards, his weapon still pointed at the customers and employees huddling against one wall. When he turned to run, I easily jumped him, knocking him to the floor. We struggled, but I had the upper hand due to the element of surprise. I wrestled his weapon free and threw it skidding across the floor. Taller and heavier than him, I easily grabbed him, pinning his arms behind his back, pointing my gun to his head, the tip pressing against his temple.
"Quit fighting or I'll fucking take off the side of your head, " I hissed into his ear. He stiffened in response, perhaps thinking he could still fight his way out of it. “I've already alerted the police,” I said, my voice low but loud enough for them all to hear. "By my count, they'll be driving up in about two minutes, if not sooner."
“Where's Johnson?" the thug said, his voice sounding surprised.
"Your sentry's incapacitated," I replied. My gun was pressed to his head and when he moved, I pressed it a bit harder. "Your driver as well. Now, I'm going to restrain you until the police arrive. You'll be cooling your heels in lockup in no time. Put your hands in front of you."
When he hesitated, I pressed the gun more firmly into the side of his head. "I killed worse scum than you in Iraq," I said menacingly. "I have no qualms killing you in self-defense."
He remained on his stomach, and dutifully stretched his arms out in front of him. Then, I tucked my sidearm back into my holster and removed my belt. I pulled his hands behind his back and fastened them using the belt.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked as I finished looping the belt around his wrists. "I didn't hear of any undercover cops working this bank."
"I'm not an undercover cop. I'm just some lucky former special ops motherfucker you idiots didn't expect. Let's just say this was my lucky day and your very unlucky one."
I glanced around. "Which one of you is the bank manager?" I asked, checking the people who
were cowering on the floor.
A tall slim man wearing a slate grey suit and blue tie stood up from where he crouched.
"I'm the manager," he said hesitantly. "George McCall."
"I need something to tie his feet," I said and pointed to his belt. "Care to make a donation?"
He nodded in understanding. "I think we have duct tape," he said and turned to one of the tellers. She nodded and ran to the back of the bank, returning with a roll in her hand.
"I remembered we had a roll in the supply room." She handed it to me and I smiled at her.
"Thanks," I said and gave the roll to McCall. "Can you?"
He nodded and proceeded to wrap his ankles together. Once we had him restrained, I went outside. The sentry had recovered and was gone. I kicked myself mentally. I should have dragged him inside but at least I had a good look at him. The guy in the van was gone as well, so I went back into the bank, wishing I had been able to restrain them all.
I checked with the other customers to make sure they were all okay.
