Hop on the Bus, Gus
Megan
I punched the gas on my cruiser. Seth looked over from where he hung from the fire truck, a perplexed expression on his face as I sped away from the curb. Of course he knew nothing about the bank robbery. I’d fill him in later—assuming, of course, that the robbers didn’t fill with me lead. In that case he’d just have to read about it in the paper.
The woo-woo-woo of my siren acted like an electronic cheerleader, telling me to Go! Go! Go! before the robbers got away with two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar!
Fueled by adrenaline, I hooked a right on Rosedale, rocketing down the street as drivers pulled to the right to let me by. As much as I hated to admit it, I liked the sense of power my authority gave me. As a child I’d been helpless to stop the bullies who’d teased me about my stutter. But with my badge, weapons, and cruiser, I sure as hell wasn’t powerless now.
I sped past a bus stop where an inordinate number of people seemed to be disembarking. But there was no time to ponder the situation. I had bank robbers to catch. I only hoped the robbers would realize resistance was risky and surrender quickly. On the bright side, if they decided to come out of the bank with guns blazing, at least it was a pleasant day to die.
A quick prayer couldn’t hurt, right?
Less than a minute and a Hail Mary later, my cruiser whipped into the bank parking lot, tires squealing as I braked to a quick stop. Screech!
My pulse thrummed and throbbed, and a sticky, anxious sweat coated my skin. I yanked my gun from my belt and slid out of the car, letting Brigit out of the back and ordering her to stay by my side. Her unique skills could be useful in taking a suspect down or chasing them should they attempt to flee. Still, as always when I deployed her, my heart squeezed a little. Sure, she was a tool, a piece of equipment designed to assist me in my work. But she was also a sentient creature, a living being, not to mention my partner, roommate, and fuzzy-wuzzy buddy. The decisions I made could put her life at risk. If anything happened to her, could I ever forgive myself?
I forced the thought from my head. I couldn’t think about that now. The two of us had a job to do.
With my K-9 partner by my side, I hunkered down and ran as fast as I could to the brick wall next to the front doors, plastering my back flat against it.
What was going on inside?
Had the men who’d held up the bank taken hostages?
Had anyone been hurt?
I pushed the button to call dispatch. “What’s the status at the bank?”
“We don’t know,” the dispatcher said. “We got a quick call from someone on a cell phone two minutes ago but the call dropped.”
Dammit! Brigit and I were working blind here.
A second cruiser pulled into the lot. Officer Spalding. Thank God. Spalding was a stocky black officer with ten years under his belt. Just the man you wanted to have your back.
He slipped from his cruiser, readied his weapon and bullhorn, and crouched down behind the open door of his car. Raising the bullhorn to his mouth, he aimed it at the front doors of the bank and calmly said, “Law enforcement has surrounded the building. Come out with your hands in the air.”
Trembling, I crouched next to Brigit, whispered “good girl” to let her know she was doing well, and aimed my gun at the door in case the robbers decided to come out shooting. Please, please, please, dear Lord! Don’t let that happen! Truth be told, my gun skills sucked. Having been a twirler in my high school marching band, I was much better with my baton. Problem was, a baton was of limited use. It required your target to be within striking distance. While I had a Kevlar vest to stop bullets, Brigit was unprotected. She’d make an easy target. My heart squeezed again, even harder this time. Please don’t let Brigit get hurt!
A moment later, the glass door opened a few inches, then banged shut again.
What was happening?
Were the robbers scrabbling with innocent customers?
If so, it was my job to stop it before anyone got hurt.
Gulping back the cantaloupe-size lump of fear that had formed in my esophagus, I gave Brigit the order to follow me, ran to the door, and yanked it open, dashing inside.
Two screams sounded in stereo. “Aaaah!”
The first scream came from an elderly man who was having trouble opening the door from his electric scooter. The second came from me as I tripped over the scooter and rolled in an inadvertent somersault over the tile floor of the foyer, through the open inner door, and into the main room of the bank, praying all the while that my gun would not accidentally discharge, especially since the barrel was now shoved up under my left boob.
When I stopped rolling, I sat where I’d landed on my ass, pulled my gun up to sight, and scanned the room over it. Everyone I could see had bewildered expressions on their faces and their hands in the air. None wore pantyhose over their heads or held a weapon.
“Where are the robbers?” I hollered as Brigit trotted up next to me.
“They left,” said the old man, backing up with a beep-beep-beep and pulling his scooter up next to me with a zzzzzip. “They ran out the door right after they caught a teller on her phone with 9-1-1. They slapped the phone out of her hand and took off.”
He pointed across the space. I followed his gnarled finger to a young, fair-haired teller who’d gone hysterical, shrieking and crying despite her coworkers’ best attempts to quiet her down.
I looked back to the man. “Did you see which way they went?”
“Sure did.” This time he pointed out the door and to the right. “They ran off that way.”
“How many were there?”
“Three.”
“Were all of them armed?”
“I’m not sure. One of the men stood outside the front doors so I didn’t get a good look at him. The man who waited inside the doors had a rifle. The one who gave the note to the teller never pulled out a weapon as far as I could tell. He had his hand in his pocket, though, and there was something in the shape of a pistol in it.”
I pulled myself off the floor and addressed the startled crowd. “Everyone stay put for now. We’ll need to get your statements.”
Giving Brigit the command to follow me once more, I headed back outside and told Spalding what was going on. “I’m going to see if my partner can track the robbers.”
Spalding nodded. As he walked toward the building, I instructed Brigit to follow the robbers’ trail. She put her nose to the ground and began to sniff and snuffle her way across the lot in the direction the man had pointed. While Brigit was not trained to track a particular person, she was trained to detect where an area had been recently disturbed and to follow that path to the culprits.
Snuffle-snuffle. Snuffle-snuffle.
While she advanced across the lot and onto the sidewalk with her head down, I trailed along directly behind her, acting as her eyes, watching for cars or people who might get in her way or pose a risk. I ordered her to halt at a corner, raised my hand to stop an approaching minivan, then gave my partner the signal to continue tracking.
A block down, the large group of people I’d noticed on my drive to the bank milled about at the bus stop. One of them, a short, skinny thirtyish man, wore a city of Fort Worth bus driver uniform. When he spotted me and Brigit approaching, he waved to get our attention and hollered, “Three men with a rifle just done hijacked my bus!”