CHAPTER 1

Beads of sweat dripped down Michael David Syrnyk’s face as his running shoes pounded the pavement in rhythmic motion. His shaggy brown hair flopped in his eyes. Left, right, left, right, left, right. Syrnyk counted the paces in his head, trying not to let his heavy breathing throw him off. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t slowing down.

Syrnyk had been running for at least an hour. Or maybe two? He didn’t really care about the time. It was his energy level that mattered, and Syrnyk felt like there was still gas in his tank. He picked up the pace. Syrnyk’s steps became louder, harder, faster. He started feeling a burn in his legs. It was muggy and dark, and the streets of St. James were relatively quiet on this late summer night. Just the way he liked it. Most would view this as exercise. For Syrnyk, it was survival.

He would be 26 years old in a few days, and Syrnyk felt physically stronger and healthier than ever. Many people who run regularly speak of a “runner’s high,” the onslaught of endorphins and an almost obsessive need to keep furthering one’s goals, often to the brink of exhaustion. For Syrnyk, it was much more. He first felt the high when he was about 12, running as fast and as far as he could, not wanting to stop. Now, 14 years later, he actually felt guilty on days he didn’t run. Syrnyk yearned for the challenge running presented, and loved pushing himself to new heights. In his teens, Syrnyk ran a handful of races at school track meets, but didn’t like the idea of competing against others. So he began competing with himself.

For extra motivation, Syrnyk often leaned on Odin, his canine companion and devoted best friend. The pair was inseparable. Until they began running. It usually wasn’t long before Odin, a little black terrier, was leading the way, enjoying his off-leash freedom and shooting back a few “Are YOU coming?” looks at his owner. Syrnyk would push himself harder because of Odin, who seemed to have no limits.

Syrnyk had been obsessed with his health for many years, always keeping in good shape but never thinking he was fit enough. So he would push on, raising the bar higher and setting goals which seemed unreachable, but always were. At times, he’d cut his food intake down to almost nothing. Other times, he would purge, then force himself to vomit. Syrnyk always managed to keep his weight steady around 170 pounds – barely enough to fill out his 5’9 frame. While most people would describe his stature as average, Syrnyk was convinced others saw him as weak and unworthy. That motivated him to the point of dangerous obsession.

Syrnyk was experiencing a new high on this particular night, one that seemed to parallel running in many ways. In his own mind, he had emotionally pushed himself to the limit and succeeded. He had faced his fears and conquered. Syrnyk, the former choirboy, had just become a criminal.

The previous day – August 15, 1995

The lunch rush was nearly over inside the Bank of Montreal. As the clock neared 1 p.m., only a few customers remained inside the Marion Street branch, located just south of Winnipeg’s downtown. People didn’t seem in much of a hurry to get their business done today, their red, sweaty faces showing relief as they walked in to be greeted with a blast of air-conditioning. Maureen and Margaret were the only tellers working the floor but had managed to keep the wait to a minimum. Maureen, 26, was handling customer service issues while Margaret, 41, took care of withdrawals and deposits. They were a smooth, efficient team. As traffic inside the bank began to thin out, a strange sight caught Maureen’s eye.

Near the teller counter, just beside a couple of waiting customers, stood a man wearing a woman’s wig. It was auburn. Maureen did a double-take; the shoulder-length straight hair was so obviously fake that fear began creeping through her body. Just above the man’s lip sat a moustache, similar in colour to the wig. Maureen had no doubt it was also fake. Sunglasses covered the man’s eyes. He was holding a brown envelope in his hand, and Maureen thought she saw a bulge in his jacket.

Banking 101 tells you that someone walking into your branch wearing a disguise is never a good thing. Maureen knew they were in trouble. She quickly looked towards Margaret, who was tied up with a customer and hadn’t seemed to notice the stranger standing near her. Maureen couldn’t take her eyes off the man, who appeared calm as he stood, glancing at the few people around him. He had taken a service number and seemed to be waiting until his turn was called. She tried to study his facial features closer, trying to remember every detail in the event she had to describe him to police. Maureen‘s heart jumped when the man looked directly at her, as if he noticed how suspiciously she was staring at him. He immediately moved behind a display case, now partially out of Maureen’s sight. Maureen knew she had to act fast.

“I have to get something,” she nervously told her customer, whose back was turned to the man. Maureen quickly walked towards the vault, stopping briefly to motion to Margaret, who seemed to pick up on her concerns. Maureen didn’t stop, heading directly for the vault to call police. Margaret looked at the man in the wig, who was walking towards them but then stopped abruptly, only to turn back towards the entrance of the bank. Suddenly, he was moving fast. She noticed the man was wearing some kind of earpiece. “Do you need any help?” Margaret asked nervously. The man ignored her, and was out the front door in seconds. Margaret studied the man as he turned east, glancing back over his shoulder as if to check whether someone was following him. He walked towards the rear parking lot, then broke into a full run and disappeared between two large buildings.

Police were in the area within five minutes, as suspicious calls at banks always receive the highest priority. With an average of 75 bank jobs a year in Winnipeg, there was no such thing as being over-cautious. Two general patrol officers took a brief drive around the neighbourhood, looking for the strange man as described by dispatch. No one jumped out at the pair, who continued on to the bank to speak with the two shaken tellers. Police learned a surveillance camera had snapped a picture of the mysterious cross-dresser. A city-wide message was broadcast over the police radio that a bank robbery may have just been thwarted.

******

The veteran teller immediately sensed trouble when the stranger walked into the Assiniboine Credit Union just after 1:30 p.m. on August 15. Marilyn, 45, had never seen this man before in the members-only branch on St. Mary’s Road. He stood in line, swaying back and forth on his feet as if impatient or nervous. He kept staring down at his moving shoes. Marilyn called the customer to her window, noticing his auburn wig and moustache as he approached. He silently passed her a large brown envelope, turning it so a card taped to the outside was exposed. There was a handwritten message attached. “I WANT $4,000 IN CASH.”

Several other female tellers in the bank had noticed the man but weren’t close enough to see what he was doing. Sherri looked over at Jennifer, mouthing the words “Do you know him?” Jennifer shook her head and Sheri mouthed, “We are being robbed”. Another teller whispered, “that guy has a disguise on” to a co-worker. Jennifer quietly moved towards a phone and dialled 911 as Marilyn continued to deal with the man. “Don’t press any alarms or hidden buttons, cause I’m hooked up to the police bands and you’ll be sorry,” he said in a strong voice. Marilyn noticed he was wearing an earpiece. Then she saw a second message written on the envelope. “I WILL MAKE A HECK OF A MESS.”

Marilyn tried to remain calm, telling the man she didn’t have $4,000 readily available. “Give me what you have,” he said. Marilyn opened her cash drawer, emptying all the bills into his envelope. The total was $2,847. “Did you give me all the small bills?” the man asked in a firm, demanding voice. Marilyn nodded. The man grabbed the package, turned and walked towards the exit. A young woman who’d been cashing a cheque held open the door for the man, unaware a robbery had just occurred.

Several credit union employees rushed to the front window of the bank as the man hurried away. Jennifer started pounding on the glass, trying in vain to catch the attention of a middle-aged woman sitting at a picnic table across the street, right where the man was passing. She hoped the woman could keep a look out for where he was going. Police rushed to the scene, quickly linking this call to the one just 30 minutes earlier on nearby Marion Street. It appeared the bank robber was living by the motto “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”