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"Damn right I am!" He points the gun.
"There's no need to be that hostile."
Oh God, I think. Marv's gone now. He's about to get shot in the throat.
The gunman looks out the glass doors of the bank, trying to figure out which car belongs to Marv. "Which one is it?" he inquires--politely enough, I must say.
"The light blue Falcon there."
"That piece of shit? I wouldn't piss on it, let alone pay a fine on it."
"Now hang on a second." Marv's getting all offended again. "Since you're holding up the bank, the least you can do is pay my parking fine, don't you think?"
Meanwhile.
The money's ready at the counter and Misha, the poor behind-the-counter girl, calls out. The gunman turns and heads back for it.
"Hurry up, bitch," he barks at her as she hands it over. I assume this is the mandatory tone for a holdup. He's seen the appropriate movies, all right. Soon he's on his way back to us, money in hand.
"You!" he screams at me. He's found new courage now that he's got the money. He's about to hit me with his gun when something catches his attention outside.
He looks closer.
Out the glass doors of the bank.
A slab of sweat falls from his throat.
He breathes hard.
His thoughts churn, and...
He goes off.
"No!"
The police are outside, but they have no idea what's happening in the bank. Word hasn't made it to the street yet. They're telling someone in a gold Torana to stop double-parking outside the bakery across the road. The car moves on and so do the cops, and the useless gunman is left holding the bag of money. His ride's gone.
An idea hits him.
He turns again.
Back to us.
"You," he orders Marv. "Give us your keys."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"It's an antique, that car!"
"It's a piece of shit, Marv," I abuse him. "Now give him the keys or I'll kill you myself!"
With a disgruntled look on his face, Marv reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys.
"Be gentle," he begs.
"Blow me," the gunman replies.
