The Man in the Business Suit

The Man in the Business Suit

The man grinned as I entered the building. He noted my business suit, said “good morning sir,” kept his head up long enough to appear interested, and then buried his face back into his magazine. I was just a regular businessman to him. The smiling bank teller had the same opinion, so when I slid the note and bag over, she just stared. Then she tilted her head and squinted her eyes; her mouth still turned slightly upward. It seemed the teller couldn’t reconcile what she saw with what was requested in the note.

I could see her problem. People associate criminals with typical street thugs; pants down their rear ends, dirty boxers showing, and wearing colors to “represent”. These guys storm in, wave guns around, and always have something covering their faces. A bandana, a shirt, their mother’s stocking. Hiding your face, that’s a dead giveaway you’re up to no good.

People didn’t really notice me when I walked in. I was just an unassuming bank customer, more likely a victim than a robber. My hair, thick and dark, was cut just above the collar, my suit was a classic gray pin stripe worn with a white shirt, dark tie, and shiny black loafers. A simple gold band on my left hand completed the outfit.

However, the downside of not looking like a bank robber was that sometimes I needed to do a little persuading. I pulled a gun from my jacket and hoped it would help. It usually did.

“Ramona, please give me the money.” I requested as I read her nameplate.

She continued to stare at me with a furrowed brow. I thought my actions were clear, but apparently she still had doubts. I leaned across the counter and looked at the pictures of smiling kids.

“She sure is a pretty one.” I shifted the gun from Ramona to a picture of a chubby cheerleader with big teeth and ponytails.

“You might want to move a little faster. And don’t even think about pressing the alarm button.” I added.

Ramona contemplated the pictures, shook her head, and barely managed a whisper. “My babies. I won’t, sir.”

I would never hurt her or the kids, but she didn’t know that. Sometimes people had a hard time listening. I wasn’t a drug dealer or killer; I was just trying to pay my bills.

Ramona finally understood because the ruddy color drained from her face, beads of water glistened on her forehead, and her fingers fumbled with the keys and lock of the drawer. I couldn’t help but smile when she pulled out the stacks of tens and twenties.

As she packed money in the bag, I looked around to make sure my exit was clear; nothing like a sweet older couple blocking the entrance with their walkers when you are trying to make your getaway. There were a few businessmen immersed in phone conversations and a young woman ran after a toddler. I stared at the woman and our eyes made contact. Something about her was familiar. The usual places crossed my mind, but it still didn’t come. I turned back to Ramona who continued to pack the bag and then glanced at the woman again, careful to not draw attention to myself. Her name remained a mystery, but I felt confident she wouldn’t recognize me.

“Here” Ramona said, but it came out like a gasp of air.

I took the bag and thanked her. “You do have beautiful children.”

Then I walked out of the bank, the security guard nowhere in sight. It was that easy.

I blended in with the downtown foot traffic until I reached my car. Once home, I took off my disguise, the first thing being the tie. They were as uncomfortable as bras, but a small price to pay to avoid going to jail. Next I took off the wig and shook out my long blonde hair. I put on shorts and a tank top, back to my true self: a single, unpublished, female writer.

I added the money to my savings, which now totaled $27,800. Not bad for five robberies. Another couple times out and I would be set until I sold a book; maybe a “how-to” on bank robbing. I wondered if a publisher would be interested in that.

The rest of the afternoon was devoted, unsuccessfully, to my working novel. I abandoned it and went out for a cheeseburger and hot fudge sundae. I am entitled to spend a little of the money on fun.

I got home after dark and found the neighborhood disconcertingly quiet. I thought it was a little early for everyone to be in bed, but that was soon forgotten when the news started.

“There was a bank robbery in the city today. The man shown in this video is believed to be responsible for as many as five robberies. He is described as a White male, approximately 30 years old, with brown hair, and a medium build. In other news, a home invasion…”

A home invasion was another way of saying gang fight or drug deal. At least they focused on the important story first, and more notably, they were looking for a man. I sank into the couch and sat through the rest of the broadcast: feel good stories, weather, and sports, barely paying attention until the anchor became excited about breaking news.

“Sources inside the police department say there have been new developments in the bank robbery investigation. We are waiting for more information and will bring… ”

New developments? What were they? Did that woman recognize me? I didn’t see how when everyone else was sure I was a man. I paced around the room, listened to news on other channels, and peeked out the windows. It was still quiet outside. Every minute I waited for the update made me increasingly nervous. My mind projected images of me caged with immoral losers. Finally I decided it was a good time to take a vacation. Just in case.

I packed a suitcase with the money, enough clothes for a few weeks, the gun and disguise. I looked out the windows again. If the police knew something, it appeared I was still ahead of them.

Once inside the car I felt myself relax and pulled out of the driveway. I thought about heading to the beach, and was so engrossed in my fantasy of typing away with my toes in the sand, that for a moment I was sure the bright light was the sun.

Blinded, I stopped the car. Then came the voice.

“Ms. Danielle Lewis, this is the police. We have a warrant for your arrest for armed robbery. Step out of the car with your hands on your head.”

It seemed I wasn’t far ahead of them at all. My head dropped on the steering wheel. They would take me to jail. Logically, I knew it was a possibility, but now that it was real, I had the urge to throw up.

I opened the door and a sea of blue surrounded me. My body was thrown against the car. I heard the clanking of metal and felt cold around my wrists as the handcuffs were put on.

“I am not a dangerous criminal; I never hurt anyone.” I tried to sound confident.

“You stuck a gun in people’s faces and threatened their children. I think you should be locked away with the worst.” A voice whispered close to my ear. I wasn’t sure if it was in my head.

The words made me want to vomit and this time I couldn’t hold back. I coughed up my dinner, the food mixed with bile. The taste was rotten and the thought of swallowing it made me gag more. It all came out and ran down my chin and over my shirt.

I stood there covered in cheeseburger and chocolate and watched police officers look through my suitcase. They found my money, gun, and the disguise. The officers then peeled me off the car and pushed me into a police car that reeked of body odor and urine. I looked out the window.

The quiet neighborhood had come to life and my neighbors were out to watch the show. Their lips curled and their eyes glared at me. All this time they lived near a lowlife and never knew it.