We planned the robbery for Monday, since the bank was closed Saturday and Sunday for Shabbos. While Grandma Bernice was at morning services, Troy came over so we could fully assign roles. I was hoping he’d bring Heidi, but he showed up solo. Probably better off since I would’ve been distracted. Mom and Steph had been clued in on him joining, Steph obviously excited, Mom wary. I heard her and Barry arguing while I tried to sleep on the couch in the living area. It was difficult because of the plastic covering that kept cutting into my skin. Mom wanted to keep our gang small, only Gimmelmans, but Barry said we were expanding. That this was a mid-level bank, and we’d be taking too much of a risk with one less man. Finally, she agreed, but it sounded like she did because she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
Barry woke up early to draw diagrams of the bank. Since I barely slept, I was up with him. On a big sheet of paper, he found, he mapped out the floor plan. I pointed out where I remembered video cameras set up and mentioned spraying them with paint. He thought that was a good idea. While we were drawing, Grandma Bernice woke up, shuffling into the living room with her army of cats. She went right to the TV and watched some local Jewish channel, sitting in her Barcalounger with her feet up and a steaming cup of Nescafe. She turned the volume up louder to drown out our voices, which was fine with us.
“Doing a little early morning father-son bonding,” Barry said, but Grandma Bernice didn’t ask, so she didn’t respond either.
Once all the Gimmelmans were awake and Grandma Bernice was gone, Barry corralled us since we only had a few hours before she returned. Steph, on the couch with Troy, leaning close. Jenny with Seymour in her lap. Mom passing out fresh Pop-Tarts to get our sugar levels going.
“Steph, your job stays the same,” Barry said. He had placed the marker behind his ear like a professor and propped up the bank diagram against Grandma Bernice’s old piano.
“Can I just say how cool your family is?” Troy said, giggling. He seemed high.
Steph gave him an Eskimo kiss. “You’re cool.”
“All right, all right,” Barry said, waving his hands. It sure hadn’t taken Steph long to get over God-boy Kent.
“We know the street where Steph’ll be parked is a direct shot to an off-ramp and a highway,” Barry continued, gnawing at a Pop-Tart.
“Monday morning, that street will be dead,” Troy said.
“Good,” Barry said. “Okay, now we need to maximize our potential. Me, Troy, and your Mom have guns, so we’ll take care of the security guard, the tellers, and the managers with offices down the hallway. The managers will be opening the safe, so I will handle them. Troy, you get the tellers to empty the registers, and Judith, you’ll disarm the security guard like we talked about before. Aaron will make sure the three advisers exit their cubicles without ringing any alarms, and Jenny, you collect wallets and jewelry from the people in line. Does this feel too easy?”
“Too easy?” Mom asked.
“Like, is there anything I’m missing?”
“I got a mask,” Troy said, pulling one out of his waistline. Elvis Presley.
“Not from Woodstock like the rest of us, but should be okay,” Barry said.
“Spraying the cameras?” I asked, glad to contribute.
“Right.” Barry whipped out a bag of spray paint cans from under the couch. “Aaron mentioned that to me this morning, so I picked some up. Judith, that’ll be your job after you disarm the security guard.” He pointed to the three video cameras on the diagram. “These are the ones Aaron noticed during our stakeout, but there may be others.”
The only thing he definitely didn’t mention was how we’d be breaking ties with Troy after the robbery. Steph would throw a fit, but better she did it once we’re on the road with Boca in our rearview.
“What happens if someone causes a problem?” Troy asked. He had his arm around Steph now, pulling her close. He caressed the gun in his inside pocket. Mom’s eyes went alert, the realness of the steel overwhelming.
“We’re not shooting anyone,” Barry said. “The guns are only to get them to fall in line.”
“What if I’m shot at?” Troy asked.
“Yeah!” Jenny shouted. I almost had forgotten she was even there. “What if I’m shot at?”
“No one’s shooting at you,” Mom said, joining Jenny on the loveseat and hugging her close.
“We heard on the news that they thought we were little people,” I said, wanting a real gun. Not this toy bullshit I was forced to pretend with.
“This discussion is over,” Mom said. “There’s no way in hell I will arm my eight-year-old child.”
“What about your twelve-year-old one?” I asked.
Mom made a show of going around and taking everyone’s half-eaten Pop-Tarts. She gathered them all and dumped them in the trash.
Troy caught my gaze, gave me a look that said, I got you. I nodded back, Steve McQueen cool-like.
Barry and Mom started arguing, and Jenny joined that fray while Troy rose and blinked at me to follow him into the kitchen. No one noticed we had gone. Well, Steph did, but I didn’t care about her. Troy opened the fridge, frowned at the options of food, took down some egg matzo from the cupboards, and crunched.
“It tastes like wallpaper.”
“Pretty much,” Steph said, taking it from his hands and kissing him on the mouth.
“I’ll get you a gun,” he said, opening more cupboards.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, easy, man. No sweat. Your parents don’t have to know.”
“Cool.”
I could see Steph wanted to say something, but probably didn’t want to be seen as uncool.
“Ever shot a gun before?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“We can do it tomorrow in my backyard.”
“Yeah, awesome. Uh…will Heidi be there?”
“Will Heidi be in her own house? Yeah, she will, man.”
“It’s a double date,” Steph said, wrapping her arms around him, swallowing each other’s uvulas.
Out the window, I could see Grandma Bernice walking up the stairs.
“Fuck, Grandma Bernice is back,” I said and ran into the living room. “Grandma Bernice is here!”
I got out the last word just as the lock turned, and Grandma Bernice shuffled inside. Barry dove for the diagram, quickly folding it up into squares. Mom yanked the garbage from the can and tied it up—the Pop-Tarts not being Kosher—while Jenny yanked a cat’s tail.
“Vus machs da?” Grandma Bernice asked, suspicious.
“Nothing’s up, Ma. We were playing Pictionary.”
“I don’t know of this potchke.”
“How were services, Bernice?” Barry asked.
“Feh, like any day. Praying for one’s soul and such.”
Troy and Steph came out of the kitchen.
“Oh good, the goy,” Grandma Bernice said, sarcastic as ever.
“Grandma Bernice, this is Troy,” Steph said as Troy extended his hand.
“Very nice to meet you,” he said. “I can see where Steph gets her looks.”
Grandma Bernice’s eyes went to the sky, and she didn’t bother to respond.
“I’m soaking my feet in salt.”
She shuffled to the bathroom, and we heard her turn on the bath.
“We’re all good to go,” Barry mouthed, and we all agreed. “Nine a.m.”
He jutted out his hand.
“Can I get a silent Whoa Gimmelmans?”
We stuck our hands in the circle and mouthed a cheer.
“Fucking aces,” he said, chomping at the air, his teeth sparkling and scary.
A Jack-o’-lantern grin that seemed like it was growing larger and larger, consuming his face.