Page 89 of Goose

Goose

Reno, Tito, Cash and I were relaxed on the sectional with our legs propped on the edge of the coffee table. Ally sat beside us in a chair she’d taken from the clubhouse dining table. It was the first time I’d seen her wearing jeans, and I liked what I saw.

Baker ended his instructions regarding our upcoming bank job, advising Tito to find a small-town bank with transaction accounts in excess of 50 million. Such banks, he said, are required to keep ten percent in cash reserves. Although they could keep the reserves in the Federal Reserve Bank, most typically kept a good portion of cash in the vault.

Ally looked at him as if he was completely bonkers. She then glanced at each of us, seemingly searching for anyone else that agreed. After receiving nothing more than errant looks, she shifted her focus right back to Baker.

“Back to something you said in the middle of your instructions,” she said. “Is there a reason you only use one car? The getaway car?”

Midway through stroking his beard, Baker paused. With his beard clenched in the web of his hand, he lowered his chin and looked right at her. “Is there a logical reason I’d use more?”

Ally was asked to attend a meeting in the clubhouse to plan a bank job. I hoped she’d reveal methods, procedures, and past experiences that would make me proud to have recommended her, not argue the advantages of using a convoy of escape vehicles.

I lowered my head in shame and let out an inaudible sigh.

“See what you think of this suggestion.” She stood and continued, using her hands to assist with her explanation. “Two vehicles are used instead of one. One sits outside the bank, empty. It’s parked in an alley, adjoining parking lot, or at a place of business beside the bank. Not in the main street in front of the bank’s entrance. It’s the getaway car. The other car sits in front of the bank, out at the main street. It has someone in it at all times. The vehicle that’s manned is the rabbit. It’s used as a decoy. If the cops show up, the rabbit takes off, luring the cops away from the bank. Not a high-speed chase, just enough to lure them away along a predetermined route. If the cops don’t show up, the rabbit tails the getaway car until the getaway reaches the highway. If the cops intervene between the bank and the highway, the rabbit lures them away. The rabbit is a legally owned, registered and insured car. Typically, a rental car. If the rabbit gets pulled over—and he hopes he does—all the paperwork’s in order, and everything’s legit. The rabbit is a sacrificial lamb. At worst, the driver of the rabbit may receive a traffic infraction, but it prevents the cops from chasing the real getaway car. The rabbit does not go to the clubhouse. The rabbit goes to a diner, coffee shop, or bar. Then, after an hour passes, the rabbit goes home.”

“So, technically, the rabbit’s not involved in the robbery?” Reno asked.

“Not at all,” Ally responded.

“It’s like a feigned retreat,” Reno said. “We use it in combat. The frontal force fakes a retreat, drawing the enemy in deeper. A reserve force then attacks. The frontal force is what you’re calling the rabbit.”

Ally pointed at him. “Exactly. Small-town banks are patrolled by small-town cops. Small-town cops spend their entire life waiting to get in a car chase with a bank robber. It’s their dream. So, when the rabbit takes off, the cop will chase it, no matter what. In most small towns, there’s only one cop to worry about. If he’s chasing the rabbit, the getaway car’s in the free.”

Baker folded his arms over his chest and gave a sharp nod. “I like it.”

So did I. We’d never done anything like it. I now wondered how we’d gone so long without getting caught. I looked at each of the men, beaming with pride.

“We’ve got six people,” Ally continued. “That’s one rabbit, two lookouts, and three in the bank. Everyone has a throwaway phone. Everyone except the rabbit uses their phones. The rabbit’s phone has one call logged on the call list. To the closest local auto repair shop, which of course, is closed. That’s the rabbit’s excuse if pulled over. The car was overheating. The engine was mis-firing. Something. The rabbit’s phone cannot be linked to the other five phones. All throw-away phones are destroyed and then thrown away at the end of the job. They’re a direct job cost, just like fuel, shoes—”

“Shoes?” Baker gave her a look. “Why would shoes be a job cost?”

She sighed. “Shoes. You can’t wear the shoes to a robbery that you wear on the street. They’re almost as easy to match as DNA. All they need is one shoe scuff on the floor, one shoe print in and out of oil, or for someone to step in a fucking mud puddle, and the FBI will have that exact shoe print. They can match a shoe print to a shoe as easily as they can match a thumbprint to a thumb.”

I was even more impressed. I’d worn the same boots at every bank job we’d done. I now wondered how many FBI agents had impressions of my boot bottoms.

Ally surveyed the group. “Another thing. I’m sure you’ll think I’m nuts but hear me out on this. Costumes.”

Ten eyes stared at her in disbelief.

“I suggest the three who work the bank wear them,” she said. “Most people who rob banks have a preconceived notion that they should wear black pants, black shirts, a black stocking cap. That’s not the case.”

We’d worn disguises on daytime robberies. But, all-black was exactly what we’d worn on each night job we’d done. I waited to see what her “costume” suggestion entailed, and why she thought it was necessary.

“Imagine you’re a cop,” she suggested. “And you roll up on a bank at one in the morning. You see three guys wearing all-black, carrying heavy duffel bags. What are you going to suspect?”

“If we’re wearing all-black, we’re basically invisible,” Cash argued.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “If you’re the same cop, and you see a girl wearing a college cheerleader outfit, followed by two guys in college football jerseys, what would you suspect? Especially if the robbery coincides with a college football game?”

Four of the five heads that were listening nodded in agreement.

Baker looked at each of us. “Sound like she knows her shit, fellas.”

Cash, the odd man out, snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Ally acted like she didn’t hear him, but I suspected she did. Cash’s tone was a difficult thing to dismiss. Although he hadn’t directly opposed Ally’s introduction to the group, he’d made it clear though his actions, comments, and shitty looks that he wasn’t happy about her involvement.