Get Hit, Hit Back (Fight Card) Read online

  The sound startled me. What was I doing? You’re just keeping the money safe. You’ll turn it in after the hoopla dies down, I thought, wondering who I was trying to convince.

  As I turned and started back toward the bank, a police officer came barreling around the corner, gun drawn. He seemed as startled as I was, and raised the pistol to aim at me. I dropped mine to the ground and raised my hands high in the air.

  "Don't shoot!" I said. "I'm one of the good guys."

  "Where are they?" he asked.

  "One got away and one..." I turned and pointed.

  The officer ran over to the man sprawled in the alley, pressed two fingers to his neck for a moment, then stood up.

  "He's dead," he said. I nodded. "You shoot him?"

  "Yes," I said. "I fired at the other one, but he got away. Brown sedan. An Olds, I think."

  The policeman grabbed a walkie talkie from his belt and keyed the mic.

  "I'm here with the security guard," he said. "We're in the alley between Polk and Jefferson. Send the meat wagon. The kid plunked one, but the other one got away."

  There was rustling sound and then Tess was on the radio. “Griffin, are you alright?” she said. There was more rustling, and then we could hear someone, probably the officer back at the bank, say, "Ma'am, please. This is official police business." Then, to his partner, he said, "You say he got one, but the guy with the money got away?"

  The officer in the alley with me said, "Affirmative."

  I dropped myself in it deep when I decided not to correct him.

  ROUND 3

  The cops had plenty of questions for me, and I spent more than an hour in the break room at the bank answering them, then another couple of hours at the police station answering them again. They wanted to know if I could identify the robbers, why I shot one in the back and why I didn’t get the other one. I had plenty of chances to say I had recovered the money and stuck it in my trunk. I was a hero, chasing down two bank robbers and killing one of them. No one would have questioned me if I would have suddenly remembered where the money was. But I didn’t tumble to it.

  Finally, they seemed satisfied and offered to drive me back to the bank. When I walked back in, everyone stopped to clap and cheer. Tess had been talking with Sandy, but when she saw me she ran over and gave me a hug.

  “Are you OK? What did the police want? Did they find out who did it?”

  I responded briefly, “Yes, answers, and no.” Then I saw Mr. Turner waving me into his office. He hit me with the same questions, though not in the same order, and seemed disappointed when I couldn’t offer much more information than he already knew.

  “I called Andy in to take the rest of the day,” he said. Andy was the long-retired cop who split security guard shifts with me. “Go home and relax."

  I nodded, thanked him, and got up to leave.

  "Griffin, are you sure you're okay?" he said. "It's not every day you, well, you know."

  “I beat guys up for a living, Mr. Turner," I said. "I'll be all right."

  "Throwing punches in the ring isn't the same as shooting someone," Turner said.

  "I know," I said. "Really, I'm fine. In fact, I should ask the same of you."

  "What's that?" he said.

  "Are you okay? I've been here a couple of years and we've never had anyone even raise his voice here. A robbery is a big deal, but you seem pretty cool."

  "Well," he said, "my main concern is that everyone is unhurt. We have insurance to cover the loss. But if you had gotten shot with your foolhardy stunt..."

  "It's my job, sir," I said. "Just doing what I'm supposed to do.

  I turned toward the door.

  “Griffin,” he said, as I grabbed the doorknob. “There will be a reward if they figure out who did this or we recover the money. I’ll run it by the board, but I don’t think I’ll have much trouble convincing them you should split it with whoever gives us the tip that breaks this.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I didn’t do it for the money.”

  Or did I? I hadn’t been thinking about it when I shot the robber with the cash, but it didn’t take long for the possibilities to flood my mind, pushing out logic and reason as I fought with myself over whether I should tell someone I had the cash. I wasn’t worried about getting caught, though. No one saw me, and with one robber on the lam and the other dead, everyone would assume that the one who escaped got the cash. If they caught him, who would believe him when he said he didn’t have the money?

  Even so, I wasn't thinking about spending it. Not yet. I had gotten it away from the robbers, but it didn't feel like my money, either. I just didn't feel right about it, but somehow I couldn’t turn the money in. Until I figured things out, I'd keep the money with me.

  I told Tess I’d call her later about maybe going out that night and then left. I drove home to my apartment in the walkout basement of an old house and parked in my usual spot out back off the alley. Feeling exposed, even though it was early afternoon and there was no one around, I popped the trunk, grabbed the duffel bag with the robbers’ score and carried it inside.

  I hadn't noticed the robber's blood dotted the bag, the spots now dried to a reddish brown. I dropped it on the floor inside the door, threw my keys and wallet on the table and flopped onto my bed. I had no idea what to do with the money or how I would ever explain suddenly having it to throw around. Heck, I didn’t even know how much was there.

  I thought briefly about taking a nap, but knew I’d never sleep with the money sitting a few feet away. I got up, pulled the blinds tight, locked and bolted the door, and then opened the bag on the table. I dumped everything out and was amazed at how many bills there were.

  When I was done counting, I had thirty-five thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven dollars in stacks. I was surprised how little space it took up when it was assembled. Nothing but five piles, each a few inches high, but it felt like a giant lump radiating light and heat sitting there on my table.

  I looked around trying to figure out where to hide it. I thought of cabinets or under a floorboard or above a ceiling tile, but I figured if those were the first places I considered, they’d be the first someone else would, too.

  There weren’t many places from which to choose. My home was basically an unfinished basement, with exposed beams everywhere save for the cheap drop ceiling over my what served as my living room, a couple of plaster-board walls to demarcate a bedroom and bathroom, and a painted concrete floor. I gave up and started loading the cash back in the duffel.

  Then my eyes landed on my heavy bag. It was in the back corner of the room, hanging from a hook screwed into one of the ceiling beams. It was a second- or third-hand, beat up, old thing I had rescued from the dumpster down at the gym. Silver duct tape was wrapped around it, holding it together through the body. The top was coming apart, again. The girl I’d been seeing before Tess had sewn it shut, but she had used weak thread and it only took a couple of long sessions before it started to rip apart, the stuffing erupting from the fissure.

  I grabbed the bag around the middle, lifted it off the hook and carried it to my bed. I laid it down and examined the rip. I could easily pull out a few of the torn pieces of cloth that filled that part of the bag, which was probably weighted with a load of sand in the bottom. I kept removing the stuffing until I was about midway down. I got some waxed paper, went to my table and wrapped the bills with it. I pulled the paper tight, then took a roll of packing tape and sealed the package shut, looping the tape around until it resembled a large, silver brick. I stuffed it into the heavy bag, then filled it back up with all the stuffing I’d removed.

  I had ripped the top further in my efforts, and realized I would need to sew it up. I had originally thought I could just leave it as it was, figuring no one would suspect a ripped-open bag to hold the riches. However, I realized it was so ripped the bag might not hold.

  I didn’t want to use new thread for fear someone would notice, so I found an old pair of boots and painstakingl
y removed the stitching that held the upper to the sole. I found a big needle my ex had probably used the last time and carefully stitched the thread, making sure to make no new holes and to keep the dirtiest parts of the string visible. When I was done, I took some dirt and rubbed it into the thread to darken it still more. Finished, I hung the bag up and stood back to check it out. If you didn’t know it was filled with money, it would be hard to suspect it.

  Without thinking much about it, I stripped down, threw on some shorts, laced up my boxing shoes and taped my hands. After a few jumping jacks and about 10 minutes with the jump rope, I slipped on my heavy-bag gloves and began to jab slowly at the bag. As I found a rhythm, I drifted into a mindless place where nothing existed but my fists and the bag.

  It felt right, and when I snapped out of the reverie twenty minutes later, I was slick with sweat and my shoulders were sore. After toweling off, I looked at the top of the bag. It had withstood the test I didn’t realize I had been giving it. Satisfied, I hopped in the shower stall in the opposite corner of the basement and let the hot water from the old, corroded head pound my back.

  When I got out, I dressed, grabbed the robber's bag, and then headed out to my car for a drive across town. I figured I’d either catch Tess at the bank before she left or at her place. Either way, I had to get away from my apartment and away from the money. My hands still stung from the workout, my knuckles glowing red as I gripped the steering wheel.

  I drove out to a park on the western edge of town. That's probably the direction the robbers had headed, so it seemed like a good place to dump the duffel. I checked to make sure there was no one around, then pushed it to the bottom of a garbage can. I got back in my car and drove into town toward the bank.

  I could see through the front door that Tess was still there, so I drove around the block and stopped just down from the bank and waited. When she and Sandy came out, they stopped to light cigarettes, then Sandy elbowed Tess and nodded in my direction. They parted ways and Tess came over to my car.

  “Spooked to see a killer stalking you?” I said as she slid into the passenger seat.

  “Oh, stop it. I just didn’t expect to see you here is all. And quit calling yourself a killer. You were justified, didn’t the police say so?”

  “They told me they didn’t think I’d face legal troubles."

  “Did they say anything more about the guy, or the one who got away with the money?”

  “Nope. If they know something, they’re being awfully cagey about it.” I looked over at her and she turned and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “So, what do you want to do?"

  "Let's go out," she said.

  "Really?" Tess hadn't wanted to tell people we were dating. She had been at the bank only a month or so, and we started seeing each other pretty much right away. She said she didn’t want to be treated differently by the other tellers or by the manager. Sandy, who had started about the same time as Tess, knew about us because the girls were friends and roommates, but no one else. I told her it shouldn’t matter, but she won out, which meant we spent our few dates so far at her apartment or up in Oskaloosa for a sandwich and a picture show.

  “I still think we should keep our relationship to ourselves," she said. "But I think one of your co-workers can take you out for a burger after the day you've had, don't you?"

  "Co-worker," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "Sure."

  I put the car in gear and headed over to Duff's, a burger place out on the north side of town close to her apartment.

  On the drive over, I debated with myself about telling her. I felt like I had to let someone know or I’d burst, but bringing Tess in would make her an accomplice, and I didn’t want to hurt her. Finally, during a lull in the conversation at Duff's, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I leaned in and whispered.

  “I have the money.”

  ROUND 4

  Tess sat with a ketchup-drenched French fry held in midair. The ketchup slid down the fry and a big, red drop slipped off and hit the table. That seemed to pull her out of a daze.

  “What do you mean? The money from the bank? But how?”

  "Shhh!" I said, looking around to see if anyone had heard “Look, let’s just say I have it, and the less you know about it, the better. If they figure out the robbers don’t have it, they’re going to wonder if it was an inside job, and that means plenty of questions for everyone. You can’t tell them what you don’t know.”

  She nodded. “OK, but, I mean, how?” I started to shake my head, so she changed tack. “Fine. Then how much? Did you count it?”

  “No,” I lied. “I hid it someplace secure without even opening it.”

  She bit her lip and swirled the last swallow of soda around the bottom of her glass.

  "When are you going to give it back?"

  “I'm not sure I am," I said.

  She looked at me, wide-eyed with surprise.

  "Straight arrow Griffin McCann? Pride of the St. Vincent Asylum for Boys? I don't believe it."

  "Look, the bank is insured, right? And for all they know, the robbers got away with the money. It's like it doesn't even exist," I said, trying to convince myself as I said it.

  "Still, that doesn't seem like you," she said.

  "You're right," I said. "It doesn't feel right. To have the money, I mean. But something doesn't feel right about this whole thing anyway. I mean, who were those guys? And why did they rob the place now?"

  "What are you trying to say?" she said.

  "I don't know," I admitted. "It just seems strange that after never having anything happen, we get guys with guns robbing us on payday. It's like they knew something."

  "Griffin, of course they did," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's the first day of the month," she said. "That's payday for everybody. The packing plant, John Deere, the Coca-Cola plant. It's payday for us. Doesn't take a genius to know the bank would have a lot of money that day."

  “I suppose."

  “Are you scared?”

  “Of what? The cops? They think the robbers have it. For all they know, the one who got away and his driver have split it and are headed out of state by now.”

  “I didn’t mean the cops,” she said. “I meant the robbers. Won’t they come back for it?”

  I hadn't thought about that. She had a point. But that seemed unlikely.

  “They’ll assume the cops got it and aren’t releasing details, if I had to guess. Even if they saw me take it, which I doubt, how will they even know who I am?”

  “Griffin, haven't you been listening to the radio? I can see the headline in the afternoon paper right now. ‘Hero bank guard McCann in gun battle with robbers.’ I'm sure the operators have spun up a wild tale even better than the real thing, burning up the lines from here to Des Moines. By this time tomorrow, there won’t be anyone in town who doesn’t know you.”

  As she said those words, I looked up and realized everyone in the restaurant was staring at me. As my gaze swept the room, head after head ducked down to stare at the plate in front of it. She was right. Still, wouldn’t publicity make me untouchable? If I turned up beaten, or dead, people would put pressure on the cops. The robbers would know how things worked. Then again, they could just break into my place and destroy everything until they found the money. I needed to move the package. Maybe I should make things easy and go to the police.

  We paid the check and drove back to Tess's in silence. I dropped her off and headed home. I locked the door, made sure there was no way someone could look in my windows, and pulled the money out of my heavy bag. I sewed the bag and rehung it, then put the package inside my workout bag and headed out to the gym. It was late, and while there were guys who worked out all hours, I figured I might get lucky and be left alone long enough to stash the cash there.

  When I pulled up, Harry's rusty pick-up was the only thing in the lot. I grabbed my bag and went inside. He was at his desk, working on his old ledger with a ground-down pencil stub. He lo
oked up.

  “How you doing?”

  “I’m OK," I said. "Long day.”

  “So I hear. What are you doing at the gym, then?” he asked. He put down the pencil and leaned back in his chair.

  “I’m tense. I just need to hit the bag for a while. Loosen up and wear myself out so I’ll be able to sleep.” I’d only told him half of my goal, nonetheless, it was true.

  “All right. Do you want someone to hold the bag, or do you just want to be left alone?”

  “If it’s all right, Harry, I think I’d like to be by myself. Haven't had much of that today.”

  “Sure, kid. You got that comin’ to you, no doubt. I’m just going to finish tallying up some things and then head out. If no one else comes in before you go, just make sure to lock up.”

  Knowing what I had in my bag, and what I planned to leave behind, I could assure him I would very carefully lock the door.

  “I will, Harry. Thanks.”

  I went into the locker room to change, but brought my bag out with me instead of stashing it in a locker. I usually started with the heavy bag, but my arms and shoulders still ached from my workout at home. I went instead to the speed bag. My hands were sore, but once I slipped into a rhythm, I didn’t think about it anymore. I was startled when I caught Harry out of the corner of my eye as he walked by on his way out. I stopped.

  “Kid, if you need anything, just to talk, or whatever, you let me know, okay? It was no small thing you went through today. Even if it hasn’t hit you yet, it will. Don't think you can punch it away in one night, all right?”