An Easy Score

Clayton sat in the stolen, rust-covered, Bronco across the street from the Osborn Bank & Trust wondering why he was there.
Why did he think that any lead from his ex-cellmate Needles would be worth his time? Needles was a lifer who had gone down for a bank job that ended up with three dead cops. Clayton had never botched a job
“Once you’re out, check out New Benevento,” Needles had said. “There’s this sweet bank, an easy score. It’s run by nothing but women. They don’t even have a security guard.”
“If it’s that easy they probably ain’t got nothing worth the risk.” Clayton didn’t mind risk but it needed to bring a high reward and what Needles had pitched sounded like a low reward venture.
“Trust me,” Needles said. “It’s an artsy community or something but I have it on good authority that there is a shit ton of money in that bank on a regular basis.”
Clayton surveyed the bank through its windows using a small monocular. Two tellers, both female, who couldn’t have been a day under seventy years old waited on a pair of equally elderly women. There was probably a manager somewhere out of sight.
One of the customers slid a tall stack of bills across the counter to be deposited. Clayton whistled. That must have been her entire year’s Social Security, maybe Needles was right about this place having money.
The depositor finished her transaction and tottered to the door, greeting a younger woman coming in. The women smiled like old friends and chatted for a moment before going their separate ways. He watched the younger woman as she filled out paperwork and approached the unoccupied teller. Again a large volume of cash was pushed across the counter.
Where the hell were these women getting that kind of cash? Was this some kind of artist colony and they were selling shit in the city?
New Benevento didn’t appear affluent. Small cottages set amid rolling fields appeared to be where most of the population lived. The main street held the bank, a diner, a small general store, and one of those hippy occult stores like he’d seen in the city. The cash was coming from somewhere but it sure wasn’t from the local businesses.
Needles also appeared to have been right about the number of women. Where were all the men? Maybe they were all in the city working, but it was odd only to see women and not one under the age of forty.
He shrugged. No men meant easy intimidation. Easy intimidation meant big reward with no risk. He grabbed the pistol grip shotgun from under the seat, shouldered a duffel bag, and then pulled on a ski mask. This was going to be an easy score.
He pulled open the door and stepped inside, brandishing the shotgun.
“Nobody move; this is a robbery.”
The four women at the counter stared at him silently. Good, he hated screamers, they always ended up causing problems.
“There’s no need for violence, son.”
Clayton spun to bring his weapon to bear on a woman seated at a desk to the right of the door. She wore a dress that was probably fashionable a hundred years ago and her wispy white hair formed a nimbus around her head.
“You the manager?”
The woman nodded.
“Right then, lady, you hobble your ass over to the counter with the rest and no funny stuff or you won’t get to collect your next check.”
“That’s fine, son. Everyone just do what this nice young man says and I’m sure everything will be fine.”
She walked to the counter and joined the customers. Clayton was surprised to see that she moved like a young woman, not an octagenarian.
Clayton moved to the counter, keeping the shotgun leveled on the old woman, and tossed the duffle bag onto it.
“Fill it. Loose bills only, nothing wrapped, I don’t need no dye pack. This ain’t my first rodeo.”
The tellers looked to the manager, who nodded.
Once their cash drawers were emptied he pushed the muzzle of his weapon against the narrow chest of the manager.
“Now you’re gonna take me to the vault.”
Again, the old woman smiled placidly and nodded.
“Everybody, we’re gonna take a walk to the vault. Just shut up and move and nobody gets hurt.”
Clayton awkwardly herded the five women to the vault at the rear of the bank. The door looked like something from an old movie, thick steel with a large wheel and an honest-to-God combination dial. It was probably older than the manager.
He ushered everyone inside and then whistled as he took in the room. There were stacks of bills on a central table next to a counting machine. It was more money than he had seen in his entire life. Jackpot.
“Everyone against the back wall.” Clayton emphasized his command by pointing the shotgun at each woman in turn.
The women moved to the back of the small vault and stood huddled together. They were strangely calm, probably in shock, he thought.
Keeping his shotgun in his left hand, he stuffed bills into the duffel until it strained its seams, but more money remained on the table.
“Gimme one of those bags,” he ordered.
The last of the cash went into a bank bag, it had to be several million at least. A gleam caught his eye. A thin rod of gold lay next to the counting machine. It was about a foot long and as thick as his finger. He always pictured gold bars as bigger but who was he to argue with what was in front of him?
“Don’t touch that.” The manager’s voice was surprisingly loud in the small space.
Clayton chambered a round.
“You forget who has the gun, lady. Shut up and stay where you are. I’m gonna take this and then get out of here.”
He reached for the rod again and saw the old woman take a step forward.
“No!”
He didn’t think, he reacted to the threat. The shotgun came up and his finger squeezed the trigger. A gout of fire came from the barrel, almost reaching the woman. The blast momentarily deafened him. The old woman slammed back into the wall. Her ancient dress was shredded and a bloody hole, half the size of her chest, let him see right through her for a moment. The sound of the buckshot ricocheting from the wall behind her sounded like angry insects. She slid to the ground, in a pool of her blood.
“God damn it. I told you to stay still. Stupid bitch. Anyone else want to die?”
The survivors shook their heads silently. Again, not one of them screamed. What was wrong with these women?
Clayton shoved the golden rod into his pocket and backed out of the vault. He slammed the door and spun the wheel, locking the four women and the corpse inside.
Shaking his head in disbelief at the woman’s stupidity he crossed the bank to the front door. A glance through the window showed that the coast was clear. He pushed the door but it refused to budge.
Clayton shoved harder and then tried pulling. The door remained stubbornly sealed. A grinding sound and the groan of the heavy metal hinges brought his attention back to the vault.
The enormous door swung open. It slammed into the wall causing plaster to rain from the ceiling.
In the opening stood the old woman he had killed. Her bloody dress hung in tatters but the gaping wound was gone. He could see pink flesh and flaccid breasts all miraculously free of damage. Arrayed behind her were the other four women, forming an arrow with the old manager as its tip.
“You could have had the money, we do not need it, but you were greedy.”
The old woman’s hair crackled with electricity and her eyes glowed like spotlights.
Terrified, Clayton raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The weapon clicked but did not fire. He worked the slide, moving a fresh round to the chamber, and tried again. Once again, the weapon remained impotent.
The old woman gestured with her hand and the shotgun flew from his hands.
“Your kind used to kill women, claiming they were witches.”
She gestured again and the gold rod tore through his jeans and flew across the room to her outstretched hand.
“As if a true witch could be killed by a mere man.”
The four women behind the manager began a low chant. The words were gibberish to Clayton and as he stood, transfixed, the old woman began to glow.
“For your crimes, I condemn you to the abyss. Perhaps the money will bring you comfort while your soul is flayed.”
She pointed the rod at Clayton and a red light sprang from its tip. The light enveloped him and he screamed in terror, and agony, and then was gone.
The light faded from the old woman and she turned to the others with a gleaming smile.
“Well, that was fun.” She looked down at herself,
“I appear to need a new dress. Can I offer you all tea at my house while I change?”

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