Bang Bang Bang - The Wheelman

HOLDEN WAS RIGHT UP BLING’S ASS. NO NO NO YOU IDIOT. Hang back. Hang two steps back. But it was too late. The big glass door behind Holden swung shut before Bling had a chance to push open the door in front of him. The hidden ACU—the gunpowder-sniffing gizmo—kicked in. Or maybe someone inside tripped it. Didn’t matter. Both Bling and Holden were sealed inside the bank vestibule. Even from twenty yards away you could read the expression on Bling’s face as his pistol hand smacked against glass: Motherfuck. Trapped, like two gerbils in a Habitrail.

Lennon slid the gearshift into drive, checked the rearview and side mirrors, then punched the car forward and to the left, blocking traffic on Seventeenth Street. He turned around. The strong late March sunshine blazed off the bank’s white stone so fiercely it hurt the eyes. Lennon still had a choice. He could leave them behind. Holden deserved it. Bling was another story. And this whole job was another story still.

Lennon pressed two fingers to his neck, feeling for his carotid artery. He counted quickly.

Everything was normal. His pulse hadn’t jumped much.

Good.

Hooking an arm around the seat, Lennon looked back at Bling. He was watching Lennon very carefully. Lennon gave him the universal “move to the left” sign with his hand. Bling grabbed a hunk of Holden’s windbreaker and yanked him out of the way.

Cars honked and Lennon hammered the gas pedal. He would have given them the finger, but there wasn’t time.

In the rearview, the bank came rushing forward like the view from a cockpit in a plane barreling into the ground. Lennon made tiny adjustments, keeping his gloved hands light on the wheel. A nudge to the left, a tap to the right. He had to hit the glass just right.

He had done enough reading to know that ACUs—access-control-units—were designed to be bulletproof from the inside. That way, the bank nabs a crew of stupid Holden-like bad guys, they can’t go whipping out their Sig Sauers and blasting their way out. Banks don’t like customers getting popped. They do everything in their power to avoid it. In fact, when they first started making ACUs, they forgot to make them bulletproof, and banks got shot to hell when freaked-out heisters panicked. Some models of ACUs even have these little escape holes, so the heisters can go on their merry way without plugging any of the customers.

Not this model, though. This apparently was the Scratch-Your-Nuts-Until-the-Feds-Arrive^TM model. Bulletproof inside and, most likely, out.

But car-proof? Speeding car-proof? Speeding, stolen-Acura-proof?

At the last minute, Lennon saw that he was going to smack into a metal support column. He cut it hard, then felt the glass panes shatter.

He shifted up and tapped forward. Bling grabbed Holden’s windbreaker again and pulled him through the gap.

Lennon reached down and popped the back trunk, then checked his watch. 9:13 A.M. They were still on track. As long as they could make the next couple of blocks, this might work out after all. The Acura rocked on its suspension as Bling climbed in shotgun and again as Holden hit the backseat.

Lennon stomped on the gas. The car rocketed forward, tires screaming on pavement, and Lennon didn’t see her until the last minute.

The woman, pushing a blue baby stroller.