Chicago Wildlife - 11. Deposit and Withdraw

Chicago Wildlife

Act 8: Deposit and Withdraw

Ugh, this feels like I’m recreating the sloth scene from Zootopia. Why did I do this to myself? International crime lord and dashingly handsome jewel thief over here, and I convince myself that it’s the smartest decision to go to the bank to deposit my check during the busiest day, during the busiest hour. It’s like everyone in the neighborhood was threatened at gunpoint to enroll at this specific bank. Was the Bank Mafia also breaking people’s kneecaps if they didn’t go during this time as well?

“Oh hello there Robin. Such a pleasure to see you here.”

I turn around to see Mabel hobbling up to me. Of course, she is surrounded by the Golden Girls as well. They all feed off the same life force, you see. Whether Jessabelle, Annabelle, or Isabelle have any business at this bank, I don’t know, but Mabel certainly does. Apparently the wiser of the two of us, she already finished whatever her business was here and was walking towards the door with her brat pack in tow before she saw me.

“Oh, it’s always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Cirup,” I respond back, overly formal.

“Bah! When are you going to drop the formal act and start calling me Mabel?!”

I laugh politely.

“Well not all of us age so gracefully and retain our memories like you, Mrs. Cirup.” I explain.

“Oh you flatterer!” she says, flicking a hand at me.

“When are you going to bring a fine young woman to bridge night?” pipes Annabelle. “We won’t bite…much!”

The girls cackle.

“Only three of us are ex-criminals!” adds Isabelle, causing the girls to laugh harder.

‘And one a current criminal,’ I think to myself.

“Well, you see…” I respond, acting all flustered.

“We won’t judge if it’s someone new every night,” chimes in Jessabelle. “It’s not like we remember what we ate that morning!”

Cackling.

“Girls, I’m not…” I try to muster.

“Oh don’t say that you can’t find one, Robin!” says Mabel. “What girl wouldn’t want a fine, strapping young man such as yourself? Why, if I was 180 years younger…!”

They’re about to wet themselves again, this time from laughing so hard. People around us are starting to stare. The Golden Girls are an unruly bunch, trolling me like this. I force myself to think of embarrassing moments to get myself to blush. Hopefully a little sweat might form as well.

“Mabel, I don’t think…”

“Do you need some help, dear?” asks Isabelle. “We can cast our granny net pretty wide, reach a lot of people. Surely we’ll find some sweet young thing…”

“I…don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I stammer.

“Awww, look what a precious red you girls have made him!” Mabel points out helpfully and loudly. “Such a darling boy. Oh, but look at the time! Girls, I think it best we be going. I don’t want to miss Judge Judy! Robin, I’ll expect to see you at bridge night on Thursday.”

“Of course, Mrs. Cirup. Wouldn’t want to miss ladies night for anything.”

“Because if you do, you can expect a whole swarm of spry old ladies banging down your door and dragging you to your doom! Aha ha ha!”

Another polite laugh.

“We wouldn’t want that. I’ll see you all then!” I say, acting as though I’m relieved that they’re leaving for now.

“Goodbye, sweetie!” Mabel says.

And then they walk off. Mabel’s a sweet old coot, dangerous, too. She and the other old ladies in the neighborhood sort of adopted me a couple years ago. I guess they took a shining to me. I allowed it, of course. What better way to throw off the scent of a master jewel thief than to be associated with a bunch of retired women who zealously guard whomever they see as a grandchild-by-proxy? All I have to do is act like I’m just a sweet little boy from next door, completely overwhelmed by their enthusiasm, and they provide the perfect illusion for the entire neighborhood.

With the Golden Girls gone, I realize once again that the line is moving slightly slower than when Mabel sprints with that tennis ball walker of hers. I consider whipping out my phone to play some games on it, but then I remember that I’m a criminally genius thief extraordinaire, so of course I forgot to charge it overnight. I have enough to call 911 in case I go into a boredom-induced coma, but that’s about it. Just as I’m about to yell a bomb threat to get everyone moving, a gun goes off in the distance.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” I hear.

I instinctively crouch down and start surveying my surroundings. A few men in ski masks. Typical. It’s never women who do these sorts of things. Hollywood has lied to me again. And the ski masks? Really? How unoriginal. At least put a tacky, cumbersome costume on and make stupid jokes based on a blatantly obvious theme. That’s what everybody else does.

Now, everyone else is cowering in terror, but for a seasoned pro like me, I got different things in mind. I don’t know about you, but I’m not feeling like sitting around and waiting for an armed gunman to come waltzing up to me and start demanding orders. So, once I see that all prying eyes are off me, I crawl my way towards a blind spot. Once there, I start making my exit plan. There should be an exit at the back of the bank leading to sweet, sweet freedom, assuming the stooges haven’t completely surrounded the building. Some flipping and flopping, and I should be out the door with none the wiser.

But wait! Now that all the staff are preoccupied with saving their sorry hides, maybe now’s a good time as any to help myself to any precious stones kept locked up in that safe of theirs. Now I don’t want to say that I can do a pretty good imitation of the Grinch’s legendary grin, but I’m pretty sure I just got a wonderful, awful idea.

I peer around the corner. Good, no one’s noticed my absence yet, and the goons haven’t spotted me. I look up to the ceiling. Also good, the dolts at least had the good sense to knock out the security cameras beforehand. The vault is behind me, and the staff is too busy cowering on the floor or handing out free money to the nice men. Time to get to work.

First up, getting into the vault. If I stand up straight, the goons will see me. So, why not just roll to the vault? It’s quicker than crab-walking my way to it, and the thugs will be looking for people crawling, not a contortionist rolling. So I roll up tightly and somersault as quietly as I can to the vault door. My clothes aren’t going to like this. It’s why I tend not to use my power without my special suit on, but when am I going to get such a delicious opportunity like this again? And there goes my dress suit. I can almost hear the rip being born and growing. I sure hope that turquoise turtle I pinched last year can pay for a $4,000 new suit. However am I to survive in this harsh world?

I tumble to the vault door. Next part of the plan, figuring out how to get in. Looks like this is another one of those password protected doors that’s all the rage these days. So fancy. Much defense. And yet powdering the keypad with some face powder that I had on me reveals all four digits to this top of the line state of defense door. Why do I have face powder on me? Trade secret, I’m afraid. Now, how many times is this door going to forgive me for entering the wrong code? I mean, sixteen times seems appropriate in this situation, don’t you think? Do I have enough time to roughshod this without getting blown to smithereens by these tall, burly men (too cowardly to show their face, by the way)? I look over and see that they’re making their way towards me, robbing every teller along the way. Damn, that’s a no. What-

I snap my head around at the sound of the front door slamming open.

“Stop right there, evil doers!” booms a gallant voice.

Oh great. Ted, better known as Villain Vanquisher, is here to save the day. Just what I need.

“It’s the cape!” one of the goons yells.

I see the goons that were heading towards me turn around and jog back to the entrance. Well, I suppose he is good for something.

“Relinquish your weapons and return your ill-gotten gains to the proper authorities and submit to rehabilitation.”

Does he really think anyone talks like this? I’m hiding from armed thugs and even I want to go up to him and slap him. I start entering in possible passcodes while I still have the chance. Let’s see…1379, 1397, 1739, 1793…

“Aim for the head, you idiots! He’s got some sort of bulletproof vest on!”

“I swear I shot him in the head! I thought he wasn’t immune to bullets!”

“Keep firing! Johnson, try stabbing him!”

“Give yourselves up now, fiends! You won’t win!”

“Just shut up already!”

And it’s not 3791, or 3971. Is it really going to be the very last sequence I think of?

Just then, the glass ceiling shatters. What now?!

“License and registration, boys,” comes a very familiar voice.

I stop what I’m doing and peer around the corner. Sure enough, Voted Chicago’s #1 Boy Scout, Blue Fox, is already on the ground floor and slamming his fist in the face of some poor sap. Before the first guy even has time to crumple to the ground, Foxy’s turned around already and delivering a roundhouse kick to the guy next to him. A third guy runs screaming up to him, ready for a brawl. Foxy ducks beneath a highly telegraphed punch and wastes no time throwing a punch at the man’s stomach. As the man bowed over in pain, Foxy elbows the back of his head and the thug goes down hard. It’s all very fun to watch. I remember the last time Foxy threw me into a wall and attempted to knock me out with a blow to the back of the head.

Focus! Focus, Robin! Now that Foxy’s here, you’ve got to contend with two superheroes, and you’re not exactly looking pretty innocent here yourself. I continue to punch more combinations in. Finally…

“9731…got it!” I whisper to myself.

The vault door unlocks, but then that nasty conscious starts butting in. Do I slink in and help myself now, or not risk getting caught by Dudley Do-Right and Foxy? On the one hand, jewels! On the other, if Foxy catches me in the act, he might piece things together. Even if he doesn’t catch on, he’ll either throw me in jail (not a fun time), or I’ll have to fight my way to freedom, which will undoubtedly reveal my power to him, in which case he will DEFINITELY piece things together. Decisions, decisions…

Ah what the hell? It’s as those whippersnappers say nowadays: you only live once! I pry the door open just a sliver, and I swear to God if another superhero announces himself and joins the fray for a simple five-man robbery…

A body flies through a glass window and slams against the vault door, closing and locking it shut. I’m unfazed, as used to up-close danger as I am, but maybe I should’ve “eeped,” if only to make myself look more like a civilian. I’m about to kick the body of the thug out of sheer frustration when…clarity!

‘Crap! Based on the velocity of the body flying, only Foxy could’ve thrown him. And that means he’ll check to make sure no one got hurt in the collateral. Time to put on a show.’

I get into a comfy fetal position and start trembling. I really should have been in theater as a kid, but nooooo, I had to be on the track team. My talent was wasted there. Sure enough, Foxy comes leaping over and sees poor helpless little old me cowering in the corner next to a big, scawy-wooking bwute who, oh would you look at that, is completely unarmed. Gee, however could that have happened? Silly butterfingers, he must have dropped his gun along the way. I decide to throw in a good “instinctive” flinch as Foxy comes onto the scene, for good measure. Make it seem like I can’t recognize anyone in all the ruckus. I reconsider tearing up. Might be too obvious. I’m not exactly a feminine looking guy, after all.

“Sir, are you going to be alright? I didn’t hurt you with that throw, right? I mean, hurt…physically,” he asks.

I look him square in the nipples.

“Y-you’re Blue Fox, right?” I say, remembering to put on a more nasally version of my real voice. “You’re Light Devil’s guy?”

Sorry, Foxy, I just had to. Really! I can see just the slightest hint of a pained reaction in his face before he replaced it with something a little more “talking to a scared hostage in the middle of a brawl.”

“Yeah, I’m his graduated sidekick. You know how much ass we kicked before I looked this sweet? Well, all that’s going towards kicking these guys straight to prison. Literally, if I can help it.”

I look at him with a little more awe than I personally would have.

“Uh…y-yeah! Go get them, Blue Fox!”

…Look, I can’t be expected to whip up snarky, golden one-liners all the time.

He beams a smile at me (and me alone!) and grabs the unconscious thug and leaps back out into the fray. I crawl over to a vantage point to check him out…you know, just to make sure that he hasn’t suspected a thing and see how the situation is turning out. Crap, the goons are almost all rounded up. If I’m gonna steal something priceless today, I better do it soon! I crawl over to the vault door again and enter the secret passcode. The door recognizes it and unlocks. I open it just a sliver again and wait a moment, listening for any signs of the battle having ended and the heroes making the rounds with the hostages. Much less gun firing. I’m going to have to be quick. I slip in.

Inside there are countless locked doors, all containing something no one’s going to miss. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I, purely by coincidence, happen to steal something from Mabel or the other girls? Knowing Mabel, it would probably be some heavily perfumed china elephant or something kitschy like that.

I don’t have time to plan this out. I need to just pick a box, unlock it, and take what’s inside, provided I can smuggle it out. I spot one of the compartments nearest me. Box 102, perfect. Small enough to probably only contain some diamonds or fat stacks of paper. I loosen my trusty lockpicking needle from within my sleeve (because you never can know when you’ll need to pick a lock), and get to work.

In one and three quarters of a jiffy, I pick the lock and open the box. Ooh la la, come to papa. I pull out a sparkling diamond necklace. Oh if only I had a special someone to give these to. Oh well, I’m not going to wear them. Guess I’d better “donate” these to the next available buyer. I stash the necklace into my pocket, close and lock the box, and peek out the vault door. No one’s spotted me just yet, but there’s no sound of a fight happening either. The last goon must’ve been subdued. Dumb and Dumber will be making the rounds any second now. I creep out the door, close it as tenderly as I can, and assume the position. Curled, that is. Seconds later, Ted walks into view, scanning the area for survivors. Damn, I was really hoping it would be Foxy. Oh well. At least now I can make a clean getaway. I put on a frightened face. Ted, of course, falls for it completely.

“Don’t worry, citizen! The robbers have all been apprehended. It is safe to leave now. May I assist you to the door? Do you need a ride back to your residence?”

“Oh thank you ever so much for taking care of those awful, despicable men!” I say in a Southern Belle accent. I can’t help myself from putting on a dramatic act. It’s so easy to do in front of him. “I thought for sure that I was to perish! I was ever so scared!”

“Think nothing of it, sir. All I care about is the safety of you and this fair city’s. Now please, follow me to the entrance.”

I stand up and follow him back to the bank’s entrance. The place is a mess. Damn, and it was so convenient for me to bank here as well. Now I’m going to have to find a new bank, and honestly I just don’t want to bother. I make sure to keep up the scared shitless act, darting my eyes here and there, bringing my arms and hands close to my chest, flinching at every noise, the works. Then I see Foxy at the door, ushering people out. What a Boy Scout. His eyes greet mine. I hold it for a second, and then consciously make the decision to move them somewhere else. I have to remind myself to continue with the scared act.

‘Don’t let him know, Robin. Don’t even give him a hint. Don’t do it. Now’s not the time to play cat and mouse.’

“Hey, sir!” he says.

Now me jumping three feet out of my skin, that wasn’t a conscious decision. How did this jock piece everything together from just one meaningful glance?!

“You’ll be okay now. I suggest just going home and binging on Netflix for the rest of the day. Sounds like a plan, huh?” he continues.

Crap, which accent did I use for him?!

“U-uh, s-sure! Y-yeah, sounds like a plan!” I squeak, hoping my voice was as nasally as I had made it before.

He smiles at me as I exit the door and I can’t help but to smile back. You poor, simple fool. Thanks for letting me try a sampler from the back vault, Foxy. Bonsoir. I exit the building and immediately book it back to my place. Time to put my new bling in a safe place and visit a much frequented website. I’m one of their best clients after all.