The anatomy of a bank robber

“Yes sir,” she replied.

I threw her the keys, and the male teller crumpled to the floor like a wet dish rag, his nerves gone. The female teller calmly opened each drawer and stuffed the notes into my bag. She was methodical, quick, and calm.

I glanced at the Pom. Still no warning signal. We had been in the bank over three minutes - an incredible amount of time for a bank robbery. And the alarm still hadn’t gone up.

My preoccupation was shattered by the female teller.

“That’s all the money from the vault sir,” she said, cramming the notes from the last drawer into my bag. She remained calm and waited for me to order her back onto the floor.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as I headed towards the Pom.

You have to respect courage, and that female teller had it with a capital C. She had the heart of an elephant. Her employers probably wouldn’t appreciate her emptying the vault for me, but as a victim she took control of the situation from her side of the fence.

The Pom and I peeled off our balaclavas as we walked briskly from the bank to a city church where there was a lavatory. As we neared the church, sirens screamed through the streets. The alarm had gone up.

Inside the lavatory we peeled off our boiler-suits. We had pulled off the last big score. Bundles of cash piled into the carry bag attested to that.

The Pom was first dressed and grabbed some money out of the bag before he opened the door. Then he froze. I continued dressing and crammed my boiler-suit into the bag.

Then I noticed the Pom, who was looking at me strangely. He then handed me the pistol to put in the bag.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing this,” he said.