"Stop!"
I froze. "I need to stop the bleeding. A credit card is good for that since it's small, hard, and if pressed against the wound, it can seal it. You don't want this man to bleed out. That's the same as murder."
"I didn't shoot him," grunted the bank robber.
"It doesn't matter. It's felony murder. You're all liable for murder if you get caught," I said, trying not to stare at him in case he spooked. "May I proceed?"
"Yes."
I plucked two cards from the wallet and tore the bloody shirt further open where the bullet ripped through his shoulder. I pressed the cards over the wound and hoped for the best. I didn't think the cop would die from his injury but since I didn't know how long it would take for him to receive any medical treatment, I had to rely primarily on hope.
"Thanks," whispered the cop, gulping hard, his face still pale.
"Hang in there, buddy," I encouraged him. From my new upright position, I could see more, but I kept my head tucked down. I didn’t want the robbers to notice me obviously watching my surroundings as I clamped my hand over the cop's wound. I took my time observing each one of the remaining three bank robbers. As I initially thought, their clothes were all identical but I spotted something a little different about one of the robbers guarding the door. That one was a little shorter in height, maybe by only three or four inches, and a little less bulky than the others. I had the other two pegged at six feet or a little bit under, with blocky torsos.
My interest returned to the guy walking around the group. From his movement, I wondered if he were ex-military. A glance back at the other two, standing alert and ready, seemed to confirm that. They appeared confident and self-assured. Even the brief gunfight didn't rattle them. I wondered if the two by the doors ever left their guard positions.
Even more curious was knowing where the other three went. I shifted slightly so I could see. They had to pass through an internal security door but there wasn't any movement behind the tellers’ station so they didn't go there to empty the cash registers. Were they committing some kind of cashless crime? I'd heard of hackers who could gain control of banking systems and simply empty all the money into accounts that were then emptied into other accounts just a few moments later. That created a hard-to-follow route, enabling the money to disappear quickly and later get withdrawn as “clean” cash. Could that be the plan in play here? If so, why bring an armed crew of six to take over the bank? Surely, that kind of crime could be committed on a laptop anywhere in the world? Why did they choose to break in?
Someone sneezed, pulling me back to the moment. I checked the cop's wound, thankful that his blood seemed to stop flowing so readily. He was still horribly pale. The sooner he got into capable EMT hands, the better. Just as I thought that, I was reminded again of the lack of any emergency vehicle noises. Even if the tellers didn't activate the emergency buzzers, surely someone outside must have noticed the unusual occurrence of closing the big wooden doors during banking hours? Then I sighed. Of course, they didn't. The bank was only minutes away from closing time when I reached the teller. A casual passerby probably didn't even question the closed doors.
I glanced around, looking for the other half of the gang to return but saw no movement. They were gone for what felt like hours. Surely, they would come storming through any moment to make their escape?
A boom sounded in the bank and the whole floor shook. Several people cried out and I ducked down. The cop yelped as I pressed harder against his wound than I intended to. A second, smaller blast shook the floor again and someone began to cry.
"Let's go," yelled a voice from across the room. The two bank robbers guarding the door ran toward the group, their weapons drawn. The shorter of the trio slipped, his hand hitting the ground near the little boy, only to recover a moment later. I threw my free hand uselessly over my head, preparing for my final moment and mentally saying goodbye to everyone I loved.
Chapter Four
"I think they're gone," whispered the little boy, tugging on my sleeve.
I peeled my head off the floor, noticing his mother did the same as the boy blinked before going wide-eyed. As I looked around cautiously, I knew he was right. The robbers were gone. The door they took the bank manager through was tightly closed behind them. I took a few more cautious glances before I risked sitting up fully.
"They're gone," I called out to everyone before I checked the injured cop. My hand slipped off his shoulder but he managed to cover the wound with one of his pale hands. He was conscious, his breathing somewhat stable, and he gave me a feeble smile.
"Where is everyone?" he asked, a frown spreading across his damp forehead. I knew he meant the emergency services. No sirens wailed, no one yelled through a loudspeaker for the robbers to give themselves up, and no phones rang. No one rushed into the bank with their weapons drawn either.
"That's a good question," I asked. With my free hand, I pulled out my phone, dialing 911 as some of the group darted toward the main entry doors.
"911, what's your emergency?" came the voice on the line.
"This is Lexi Graves. I'm at First Eastern Bank. There's been a robbery."
"A what now?"
"A bank robbery. Send all the first responders! And put a rush on an ambulance. There's an officer down!" I said in disbelief. How could the dispatcher not know? Surely someone must have seen the robbers entering or leaving? I expected someone must have pressed the security buzzer by now. The dispatch control room had to be humming with the news.
"We have no reports of any robbery in progress," said the operator. "I do have confirmation of an alarm test being conducted at the bank with a note not to respond."
"Are you kidding me?" I frowned hard, utterly perplexed. "I'm in the bank now and I'm telling you a robbery was just committed. The robbers just escaped and I fear they took the bank manager as a hostage. Make sure to inform Lieutenant Garrett Graves too. I'm his sister."
"Is this a... okay, I have some other reports coming in now," she said, her voice just as confused as mine. I glanced around. Yes, other people were on their phones and the tellers were starting to rise on the other side of the glass screen. "Help is on the way, ma'am."
I disconnected my call to concentrate on keeping pressure on the cop's wound as his hand began to falter. "You're Lieutenant Graves's sister?" he asked, pushing his head up to get a better look at me.
"I am," I confirmed.
"The Graves are practically a police dynasty in Montgomery."
"Kind of." I shrugged. It was hard to calculate an exact figure of how many relatives were serving members on the force, and even more who were retired, including my father. Not all of us were surnamed Graves — my mom was an O'Shaughnessy prior to marriage — but if you threw a stone at a police function, you were almost certain to hit someone with, or related to, Graves' blood.
"Are you on the force too? You don't look familiar." He squinted like he was trying to place me.
"Nope," I said. "Put your head back on the ground and try to relax."
Within minutes, the wail of sirens reached me. The crowd that ran to the main entry now had the last stragglers joining them before they hammered on the closed glass doors with their fists and pulled on the handles. The doors remained wedged shut. Only me, the cop, the security guard, and the mom and boy were left in the middle of the room, watching the madness expand around us.