6
The desert gets quiet when it wants to. Like it knows something’s coming.
“One more job,” Cole said. “Then we ride off into the sunset.” Nobody cheered. Just nods and silence.
“This one’s different,” he continued. “We’re not talking about some rural credit union with a hundred grand in the safe. This is a downtown cash vault, the largest bank in the largest city in Central California.”
That perked everyone’s interest.
“It’s a dirty bank. They’re known for delaying payment processing to skim interest off the top of their customers’ money, and then repoing land from customers who fall behind. So fuck ’em. It’s time they get the message.”
“I mean. I’m all for the cause and all,” Jules started. “But. Uh. How much?”
“North of six million. Maybe closer to ten.”
“. . . That’s a good split,” Ricky said, eyeing everyone else.
“Where’s the bank?” asked Sónia.
“Fresno. Downtown, where the vault is located, has been stuck with construction for months. People can’t even remember the last time it wasn’t congested with traffic.
On top of that the city is big enough that it has an actual morning rush hour.
That’s when we hit them. The double layer of traffic will stop the police response, but it won’t stop us on bikes, and once we get to the edge of town, no matter which direction you’re heading there’s an open highway to hit top speed, and miles of farmland to disappear and lay low. ”
“One million dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills weighs twenty-two pounds,” Emily said, the cold voice of reason. “One million dollars in twenty-dollar bills weighs a hundred and ten pounds. How the hell are we supposed to escape with all that on a bike?”
Cole nodded to Dusty, who opened a large cardboard box to reveal sleek new bike moldings.
“I’m glad you asked. Emily, I was hoping you could help with the install after this meeting.
” Cole began passing out the moldings to all the riders.
“Fresh from a ghost factory. These new saddlebags attach to all our bikes with some simple mods. They also detach to allow us entry with them. Strong enough to survive an explosion, not that your bike will, but at least the money will survive even if you don’t. ”
“What’s the catch?” Chief asked. “If Fresno’s such a big city, shouldn’t their police have air support?”
Cole cracked a grim smile. “Well, that’s why the time is now.
Fresno PD’s got air support—normally. But their bird’s grounded for maintenance due to budget issues.
Big news piece just came out about how the mayor and the police chief are politicking with each other, and the mayor is purposefully using the maintenance delays as bargaining chips. Guess whose family owns the bank . . .”
“. . . The mayor?” Sónia smiled.
“It’s too perfect.” Cole smiled back. “It’s up to us not to wait around until they figure their shit out. This is our only window to hit a bank this large that doesn’t have police air support. It’s now or never.”
“Breach job?” Chief muttered.
Cole nodded. “Could be. Or we just go in the old-fashioned way and force the manager to open the vault. Either way, we got one shot.”
“Get in, get out before a chopper would even know where to look,” said Dusty.
“Even if there was a helicopter, if we all went in different directions . . . Who they gonna follow?” pondered Sónia.
“No casualties . . .” Emily whispered.
“No arrests . . .” Jules said a little louder.
“Fast money . . .” came out of my mouth.
Cole paused.
“Everything we’ve done leads to this.”
Cole motioned for me to follow him. We’d already spent a week on the outskirts of Fresno, prepping in an old packing shed, every day casing the bank and the nearby construction sites.
Multiple escape routes charted, potential diversions identified.
We had the perfect plan, but Cole kept pushing off the date.
“There’s a rat in the crew,” he said.
My gut tightened, as we stared out at the downtown skyline. His indecision finally made sense.
“You sure?”
He casually stepped closer, as if to play this off as a normal conversation.
“I’m only telling you . . . If things go sideways, it’s me and you. Like it’s always been.” I nodded.
“There’s a private airport, ten miles from here, on the north edge of town.
There will be a plane ready to take off an hour after the heist. The pilot’s an old friend.
There’s only room for two passengers, and he’s willing to keep them out of his flight logs.
I’m done after this, and I ain’t looking back.
And, I want you to come with me. You’re all that I got. ”
Cole left me to check the saddlebag installations on the bikes. Crickets chirped. The highway lights glowed faintly in the distance. I followed: I wasn’t ready to end the conversation.
“You ever think about Dad?” I asked hesitantly.
He didn’t respond right away, just kept working on a bolt.
“I mean—really think about him,” I continued. “Not just the bullshit stories. The yelling. The pills. What he left behind.”
“Why now?” he asked. Cold, distant.
“Because I’m tired of pretending we’re not both running from the same thing.”
“I’m not running from anything.”
“Then why the plane?”
He turned to face me. “The plane’s for you. You decide you want out . . . it’s all yours. No strings.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you stayed. You took care of him. I didn’t. You deserve a way out.” There was a long beat between us.
“You know what he used to say to me when you weren’t around? Careful never wins. Like I was wasting his time.”
“He was wrong,” Cole replied. “Careful gets you through the crash. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
I thought about it, melting in the guilt I always associated with being careful.
“This job . . . after it’s done. I’m out.”
He nodded, quietly. “You were always gonna be. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“I’m not you.”
Cole half smiled. “Not yet.”
We sat in silence awhile, nothing but the hum of faraway traffic.
“You remember what he said about luck?”
“No such thing.” I smirked. “Just timing.”
“Then let’s time this right.”
That night, Emily caught me outside the motel, smoking next to the ice machine.
“You good?” she asked.
“Not really.”
We stood in silence, the hum of cheap bulbs overhead.
“Billy, what’s going on?”
I looked at her, and the words came out before I could stop them. “Cole thinks one of us is an informant.” She froze. “Yeah. Told me not to tell anybody.”
“Did he say who? We need to tell the rest of the crew!”
“No. He said keep it quiet. Please, I’m trusting you.”
She stepped closer, voice low. “Billy, if there’s a rat, we need to know who it is. Otherwise, Cole’s gonna start turning on us. Why else wouldn’t he call it off if he thinks one of us is dirty?”
I shook my head. “Cole wouldn’t do that . . .”
She looked hurt. Or scared. Maybe both. “You don’t know Cole like I do.”
“Well, he’s my brother. He’s the only family I got.”
“What am I?” she asked softly.
I stubbed out the cigarette. “Stick with me when we leave the bank. There’s a private airport north of the city. Cole arranged a pilot to smuggle us out. I’m gonna get you on it.”
Lennox stood outside the RV, leaning against the dusty grill with a manila folder tucked under one arm. The desert wind pulled at his sleeves as he stared toward the west.
“They’re going for it,” a junior analyst said as he approached him. “The Fresno job. They’re counting on traffic to delay response and on air support being grounded—our insider is adamant it’s going to happen soon.”
Lennox led the pair inside the RV, where the rest of his team crowded around their dry-erase board. The red string had converged. Patterns, timelines, and grainy security stills all pointed to the same thing.
“Are we alerting Fresno PD?” one of them asked.
“We loop them in, but we don’t trust them. We run the show. No leaks. Just coordination. I want unmarked units positioned at key arteries by seven a.m. every morning until we get over there to assess further.”
Another agent gestured to the map. “You want us to pre-position on the Highway 99 corridor or closer to the city center?”
Lennox took a beat. “Both. I want containment rings. Inner and outer. If they make it to farmland, we lose them, so get the bird prepped. We’re not missing this one.”
One of his agents raised an eyebrow. “I thought Fresno’s chopper was still down?”
Lennox’s eyes narrowed. “Ours isn’t.”