Unit 12 Killing time I knew there was something wrong when I turned around. Wrong, meaning not right. There were two men in the bank now, a big guy just inside the door and a smaller one in the middle of the floor.
Biggie was leafing through the leaflets on the counter, but his eyes were on the door and on Smallie in the middle of the floor; his eyes never stopped moving and his head moved like that of a tennis fan sitting at the net.
Smallie was making a thing of deciding which queue to join, but it was the way he stood that held my attention. His left arm was tight against his body and he was wearing a long coat. Nothing wrong with that, it was Winter.
Still wrong. I knew he was carrying a weapon. On closer examination, Biggie was also sort of leaning against the leaflet counter and I knew in an instant that he was using his weight to jam his gun between him and the counter.
If I attacked the little guy, I'd be easily picked off by Biggie as I struggled to get Smallie's gun. If I walked casually by, and took the big guy, I was leaving Smallie to mow down all the customers around him and take some nice looking teller as a hostage.
Better to walk, to wait, to leave and call for assistance. Assistance? I wasn't exactly 'on the force' any more. Retired, they said. Better to call the police, as normal people do. I could be anonymous then.
As I walked by, Smallie started to move. He swung back his coat and revealed an Uzi Sub-machine gun and started to yell: "Ok everyb….". Smallie was too busy dying to finish the second word. In the instant my mind flashed 'why the big coat for such a small gun', then thought 'Winter' again.
Fortunately for me, it was not I that stopped him but a trigger-happy security guard who'd obviously seen the same signs I had. Fortunate for me, but unfortunate for Security-Man. He hadn't noted that Biggie was an accomplice, so he took a shotgun blast in the back of the head as he walked over to check on the now dead Smallie. His head came almost clean off and I guess he was dead before the rest of his body realised and started to topple. He fell on top of Smallie, blood everywhere.
Biggie stood there, momentarily as if deciding what to do. His eyes were a little wild but not scared. I thought again about rushing him, but the distance was too great. Better to wait. All around me, people were screaming and moaning in shock and some people were already lying on the ground, anticipating Biggie's next instruction. The screaming did not bother him, which was both good and bad. Good because a cool gunman is unlikely to shoot unnecessarily and bad because he would shoot without pausing should the situation require it.
It seemed there was mayhem in the place. The only ones standing silent were him and me. For a split second, our eyes locked. Did he know? How could he? The sound of approaching sirens broke our gaze and Biggie calmly and loudly instructed everybody to lie on the floor. I did as he bade, but taking as many steps forward as I dared before lying down. I was no more than five yards from him.
He said "if everybody does what I say, no-one will get hurt. This is just a robbery gone wrong and I want to use you good people as hostages so that I can get away!". He didn't have to say any more than that and chose not to. We'd all seen what had happened and knew he could kill. The 'hostage' bit of his short speech made it clear that he was saying he would threaten to kill hostages if his demands were not met.
The police arrived and contact was made straight away. He said that he would kill a hostage every ten minutes until he was given a clear passage across the state line to the private Airways strip, where a plane was to take him to Cuba. He would bring hostages along with him as insurance against a double-cross.
Now, threatening to kill someone was one thing, actually doing it was another. Even the killing of Security-man was different, having done it in the heat of the moment. Biggie seemed to sense this, and as the first ten minute deadline approached, he scanned the hostages in front of him. His eyes touched mine, but he moved on, looking for something. "You! Kid!" Everybody looked back and saw a boy, about ten years old, cowering behind his mother. "get over here! Get over here, NOOOW!" shouted Biggie, as the boy cowered further.
I could see he was going for the ultimate gesture. Kill a kid and they know you're serious. I couldn't let this happen. Or could I? Could I hide and wait and hide and wait and let all this happen and walk away? All my training said I could. "Bad things will happen around you", said the Controller. "Terrible things. But if it doesn't happen to you it's not your job to stop them." I had seen terrible things and walked away. But not today.
"Take me" , I said, standing up and stepping forward another vital step. "Leave the kid and take me". Everybody looked at me, some of them taking me for loony who thought it was a movie. This is really happening, their eyes said to me, for Gods sake sit down before he agrees to shoot you.
Too late. "OK, braveheart, come here by the door and kneel in front of it". He said this as I he was a doctor inviting a patient into his surgery. This guy was good, or mad or both. The best ones often are. "You in the army?" he asked casually as I walked towards him. "Nah, just like tight haircuts", I replied. This had to be quick. I would have no chance to take him when I was kneeling at the front door.
"You're saving me the trouble", I said, casually putting him at his ease that he needn't worry about any last-minute breaks for freedom. He was doing me a favour by killing me. It was just the edge I needed. If he was wary of me he would not take his eye and more particularly his gun, off me. In the instant he turned to walk with me towards the door. I had my arm around his neck. It broke like a toothpick and he died instantly.
He didn't even get a shot off. It all happened so eerily and without noise and he slumped to the floor. I turned around to see people looking at me horrified. I think they thought I was going to start taking hostages myself. I knew then that I had killed him too easily, too quickly. They knew they were looking at a freak.
One of the tellers picked up the phone and spoke to the police. Suddenly the place was overrun with uniforms in flakjackets. It was all a bit of a blur, but my trained senses seemed to be scanning and noting details without me being conscious of it. Eventually, we were all shepherded to waiting police vans and moved downtown to the stationhouse.
I was ushered into an interview room. They showed me the close circuit TV coverage of the incident in the bank and I made a statement corroborating what had happened. "You are being charged with murder" said the detective whose name escaped me "but this evidence should show that that it was self-defense". Not technically right, but I was fighting against almost certain death, and it was the same thing. I didn't argue.
"You ex-military?" he asked? He was watching me carefully. I got the impression that the boys in the squad room had seen the tape and were guessing how I could have overpowered Biggie so completely. "No", I replied, not knowing what to say next. I'm just great at killing. Could I say that? I've killed hundreds of people and not got caught. What would they say to that? "Chickens" I said. "Say what?" "Chickens. I've killed lots of chickens on my farm. When they're dying. You get to know where the weak points are. And I've strong hands". These hands have ripped open rib cages and pulled out beating hearts, I wanted to say.
I made bail of ￡50,000 and my husband came and collected me. Next time you go to town, I'm going with you, he said. It's too dangerous for you to travel alone. Too dangerous. Now there's a phrase.
