4 Shelter From The Storm by Tony Dunbar Read Free Book Online Page A

is just what we’re doing when we go into the bank today.” Big Top swallowed the last of his pie. “We’ll just roll in our box of tools like we’re the King of Spain and nobody will say a thing.”
    “That’s right,” LaRue said, thinking that Big Top could have been a stand-in for Howdy Doody if he’d had the brains. He prodded the slowly reviving guard with the toe of his lizard skin cowboy boot.
    “And you’re going to walk right in with us, aren’t you, soldier?”
    Corelle licked his lips. He wasn’t ready to communicate just yet.
    * * *
    The big guard was feeling better after an air-conditioned ride downtown in the Astro van. Somewhere in the maze of tall buildings Monk found a space in a freight zone. He pointed out the “Closed for Mardi Gras” sign on the watchmaker’s shop they were in front of. Half a block away was the main entrance of the First Alluvial Bank Building. With Big Top’s help Monk lifted the heavy generator and the tool chest out of the hatchback and placed them carefully on the sidewalk. A light rain was falling. With Corelle and LaRue joined at the elbow and bringing up the rear, they rolled the equipment down the block at a fast clip. All three robbers wore white jump suits over their clothes with Stanley Sanitation stenciled in red thread on their breast pockets. This had been LaRue’s idea, and Monk had lifted them from a laundry truck in Hattiesburg.
    It was shortly after noon, and bankers, anxious to get out of downtown before the day’s first wave of parades hit, were streaming out of the building. A petite black woman was standing on the steps talking to a fat man in a navy-blue suit. “Have you got any big plans for Carnival, Tania?” LaRue heard the man ask. “Pastor Green and I expect to practice our singing at the church,” she replied sweetly. “We’re not much on parties.” LaRue held one of the large glass doors open and asked the citizens to stand aside while, grunting and groaning, Monk and Big Top manipulated the bulky items through. Corelle followed, looking dejectedly at the slowly rotating security camera mounted high on the wall.
    They had to pass through an elevator lobby. At its far end, on the left hand side, were the tall marble portals by which one entered the vast cathedral of the banking lobby. On the right, down wide stone steps, was the vault and the room full of safe-deposit boxes. A small elevator also descended to the basement, for the use of the men from Wells Fargo who picked up sacks of coins and currency, wheelchair-bound customers, and LaRue’s crew.
    LaRue got his men aboard and got Corelle’s attention with a jerk of his thumb. Grudgingly the guard joined them in the small box. His compliance, at least temporarily, had been assured after LaRue went through his wallet, extracted a color photograph of two grinning boys, and promised to sell them into slavery in Mexico if Corelle did not go with the program. He also reminded Corelle that, despite spending the night wrapped in a blanket, his portion of the take was still $50,000. That part was bullshit, of course.
    When the elevator opened in the basement its passengers were facing a glass-encased booth in which the worried face of James could plainly be seen fluttering around inside. He waved them forward and unlocked his cubicle to join them.
    “I’m sure glad you’re with us,” he said warmly to Corelle, who frowned at him.
    “Is everything okay?” James asked.
    “Everything’s just fine though our generator got wet bringing it in,” LaRue said. “What’s with the security camera upstairs in the lobby?”
    “Them and this one here”— James indicated the little black box behind the robbers on top of the elevator door— “display on my monitors in the booth and also back at the company. I turned ’em all off, like I told you I would, right at twelve forty-five. I’m gonna call the company now and tell ’em it’s just a short. They’re always shorting out or