Remembering Me

Remembering Me
by Christopher L. Vaughn

“Clunk,” that was the sound that signed my fate; “clunk” and I was left to die; “clunk” and I was alone with only my thoughts. It was supposed to be so simple, and it had been until that god awful sound. It all started two weeks ago on a Tuesday afternoon. Mac had come over for a beer and he started talking about one final score; the type of score where you’d move to Mexico afterwards. He said that he knew a guy on the inside; he had all of the codes, plans, amounts, and even the staff schedules. I had no reason to doubt Mac, he had never gone wrong before and we had done several jobs together; fifty to be exact. Scams, robberies, thefts, you name it; we cashed in on it. In fact, according to the Seattle police we were a regular two man crime spree.
Of course it hadn’t always been like that, I was an innocent kid at one time too, just like everyone else. Funny how death knocks and a man will think of himself as a kid again. I don’t know if it’s fear of judgment or regrets from my past—but I wish I was innocent again. It was so long ago, what had happened to me? Where did my innocents go? Did it start as a child when I refused to share my toys? Or was it the adrenaline I felt as a teen when I lifted my first CD? I was thirteen when I stole my first CD, I was so scared and then excited when I realized that I had gotten away with it. By the time I was fifteen I was a regular kleptomaniac and CD’s, clothes, what ever I wanted was mine for the taking. But it wasn’t enough was it Tony? Now look at your self you fool, what have you done?
No it wasn’t enough. And when I got my license it opened a whole new world to me and I wanted things for my car. Why work like everyone else when I could just take it? And so I took, and took, and took. Finally I was caught at the age of eighteen stealing a car, I wasn’t going to keep it, just use it for parts. The judge only gave me four months because it was my first offence and I was out in two. Then a few months later I was caught again in a stolen car, only this time the judge gave me eight months. Of course it didn’t help that I had a trunk full of stolen items from a house I had broken into. That’s when I met Mac, in the King County Jail, he knew so much about making money. Mac knew what to take and where to sell it. He still had four months to go when my time was up and he gave me his number, said to call him when he was out, “we can cash in,” were his words.
I guess that was my chance to change, my fork in the road. God I wish I would have taken the other road. Stopped the stealing and went back to New Mexico, lived near my family and gotten a job like everyone else—just lived like a normal person. But no, you couldn’t do that Tony, could you? Nope I called Mac looking for the next dose of adrenaline and the fame of a big score. Mac and I got together when he got out of the KCJ and he took me out drinking, and a little partying. He had me in such a trance, everyone respected him; he had the money, the drugs, and the girls. That first night out with Mac was when I was given another chance to get out, “you wanna part of this?” he asked. I should have walked.
I wonder what life would have been like if I had walked, if I never stole my first CD? I’m thirty seven now, old enough to be married and have kids of my own. It was to late now, I should have walked—I wanted kids. Why didn’t I see that then? Death sure can bring to light what you really want in life. Now look at me, alone and stuck in this man made tomb.

Tomb…oh god, it’s getting harder to breath! Thoughts are racing.

What’s my favorite color? Blue. I’m going to miss the taste of warm apple pie. I hope Mac gets caught for this. Wait, I have a pen! I can leave a note on the wall; what was his last name? Bordin, Mac Bordin. Maybe I should leave a note for the cops who find me in the morning? Would they care? Does anyone care about the last words of a dieing criminal? Please just one more chance—I don’t want to die yet.

It’s harder to breath, I’m getting lightheaded.

One last score, it’s always one last score. Mac and I broke into the vault and without a hitch. It was like clock work, three million dollars for the taking, just sitting there in neatly stacked rows, ones, fives, tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds. Mac and I loaded every last dollar, except for a bag of quarters. That’s when he turned on me, pointed his gun at me and said “three mill is a lot of cash Tony, and I aint share’n it with no body.” I was stunned, Mac was my friend or so I thought. I couldn’t think of what to say. I just stared at him in disbelief then asked about the guy he knew on the inside. “Don’t worry—he’s already buried,” was Mac’s response. Then he closed the door and sealed me off from the world, air and all. That was an hour ago and now my air was almost out.

Getting tired, might blackout, I should right my note…say goodbye.

“Good morning, this is channel four news and I’m Christine Chindo. In a bizarre case of revenge the Seattle Police Department and Federal officers from the FBI and ATF arrested a wanted felon by the name of Mac Bordin earlier this morning. It all started when the employees of the Americash Bank located on the corner of fifth and James discovered the body of Tony Hillcourt locked in their safe. Mac Bordin and Tony Hillcourt were wanted in over fifty separate crimes that ranged from theft to drug trafficking. A police spokesman stated that the contents of the safe had been removed and that Hillcourt had written a note on the wall with a sharpie after Bordin, his partner in crime, forced him into the safe at gunpoint. Police also stated that the note implicated Bordin in the death of a bank employee, who at this time still remains missing, the exact amount that was stolen has not been released. The police spokesman also stated that Hillcourt left a personal apology saying, “To those I have victimized, I am so sorry. I hope that you find it in you hearts to forgive me. Please remember me by who I was, not what I’ve done. I’m sorry, God save me.”
“In other news, Microsoft…”