Ten minutes. I can’t wait.
Angie’s fingers shook, taking her three tries to hit send on the text. She hid the phone between her thighs again and gestured the next customer forward.
“I just need to go to my safety deposit box,” he said.
Angie wiped a few beads of sweat away. “ID, please.”
The name on the license he slid over the counter said Albert Ross Blanchard but the picture didn’t match the one in front of her. He was thinner, and certainly didn’t look 5’7”. She glanced at him, the photo, him, the photo. There was no way this could pass—
Her cell phone vibrated between her thigh and the chair.
“Did you, um, lose weight recently, sir?”
Brown eyes stared at her over the teller desk. The ID said blue. After a few long seconds, a slow smile spread across his face. “Sure did!” He patted his torso cheerfully. “One hundred pounds!” He leaned in and winked. “And I’ve kept it off for nearly three months now.”
She nods. “This way sir.”
As they left the lobby, she heard the bell above the door ring.
Angie ushers Blanchard into the safe deposit room ahead of her, stealing the moment to check her phone.
Almost time :)
She tucked the phone away again and stepped through the door. Blanchard stood in the center of the room, facing the opposite wall.
“OK, sir, do you have your key?” she asks.
Blanchard turns around, gun in hand.
“Sorry, darling,” he says.
Angie hears the gunshots behind her in the lobby, the sounds of people shouting in terror. She stares at the man in horror as he raises it.
He squeezes the trigger and her left shoulder explodes in agony. She sinks down against the wall, clutching her arm.
“So sorry, darling,” he mutters as he walks by her.
It hurts like hell, but she’ll survive.
Just as planned.