A Casual Bank Robbery Ch. 2

Abraham Woodliff
5 min readJul 20, 2019

“Either you’re going to complain to someone about a bad day or you’re never going to complain again.” said Adrian as he pressed the barrel of a gun against the security guard’s forehead. Mike’s hands were shaking. The assault rifle felt foreign to him. He was scared. He didn’t want to do this. But something inside of him knew that Adrian wasn’t lying. He knew that if he tried to run, Adrian would shoot him. When Michael looked into Adrian’s eyes, something about him was off. Something sinister had consumed the friend he knew and produced, at least in the moment, a psychopath.

The guard froze. He stammered, “Don’t, don’t do anything crazy, man.”

“Turn around. Slowly. And open. The door.”

As the guard opened the door, Adrian bashed the butt of the gun into the back of the guard’s head. The guard hit the ground, Adrian placed his right foot on the guard’s back and forced most of his weight on him to limit his movement. Michael stood frozen. He wanted to run, but he didn’t. A shot was fired. “THIS IS A ROBBERY! NOT A GAME! I’LL KILL YOU PEOPLE! EMPTY THE DRAWERS AND THE SAFE. OR PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DIE! Mike ran into the bank. He waved the empty assault rifle around like he was playing an FPS with a broken joystick. He didn’t know what to do, but after hearing the shot, he didn’t want Adrian to kill him. The warmth of the blood that flowed from his nose through the material of the ski mask was a reminder that Adrian wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him.

Aside from a few tellers, the bank was practically empty. East Vallejo Credit Union appeared to be a small community bank that primarily served a Filipino clientele. The dusty counters and dated advertisements in English and Tagalog looked like they came directly out of the 1980s. The bank looked worn. The bead chains that connected pens to the desks scattered around the dimly lit building were coated with rust.

“You, yes you, get up,” demanded Adrian of an elderly female bank teller. “You look like you’ve worked here awhile. You have the safe code, don’t you?” The teller didn’t respond. “HEY! BITCH!” yelled Adrian as he fired off another shot. “Stop shooting, you fuckin’ retard! Her English isn’t good and you’re scaring her!” blurted out a male employee. “I can unlock the safe, just stop shooting!” Silence filled the room. The man stood up, visibly shaken, but also annoyed. He had a look in his eye that is most commonly seen when someone has been standing in line at the DMV for two hours, after driving two hour to a remote location with the thought that a far-flung DMV would lead to a shorter wait time, only to be dismayed that everyone had the same idea. “Follow me,” the male bank employee said to Adrian in a defiant tone that would lead one to believe he wasn’t the one with a gun pointed at him. He was short and stocky. The lining of his muscles were visible in his dress shirt. Adrian followed the bank employee to a solid looking metal door which stood out due to its relative newness in contrast with everything else in the bank. “Is that where the money is?” Said Adraian as he physically shifted his body toward the door. The employee slowly turned his head toward Adrian and stared at him with palpable rage and said in a slow, sarcastic tone “no, I just really like this door and thought you might enjoy it…” You could feel Adrian’s embarrassment. Everyone could. The term ‘power bottom’ generally refers to an aggressive taker in gay sex. However, like anything, the term can be used metaphorically. This guy. This short, stocky and visibly annoyed Flilpino bank employee is a total bottom. A powerful one. A power bottom, if you will.

Adrian stared nervously at the bank employee, despite the fact he was the one armed with an assault rifle and demanded in a faux-assertive tone to “open the fucking door.” The employee opened the door. Inside there was a safe, several filing cabinets and lockers holding safety deposit boxes. Adrian knew the real money was in the safety deposit boxes. That’s where people stash their jewelry and all the other things of value that is passed down from generation-to-generation. “Open the lockers,” demanded Adrian. “Listen, I’m not doing that. You want money? You can have money, but some of the things in those boxes are priceless. Entire family histories, heirlooms passed for generations. I ain’t letting that shit go down.” Adrian stared blankly at him. “I don’t care. Open them.” The bank employee turned around and slowly entered the code for the safe. “There’s like fifty grand in here. Take it, but you ain’t taking the safety deposit boxes.” The employee grabbed a small white trash bag and began filling the bag with cash from the safe. “You ain’t a killer. You should be happy I’m not fuckin’ your ass up right now. I’m from North Vallejo, College Park, right next door to The Crest. This ain’t the first time I’ve had some shit pointed at me.” The employee tossed the cash filled trash bag at Adrian. “There you go. You hit a lick, gangsta. Now go bump some Mozzy and stare at yourself in the mirror, white boy.” Adrian raised the gun and placed the barrel directly on the bank employee’s forehead. “Open the safety deposit boxes.” “You a killer? Are ya? I said I ain’t opening a motha’ fuckin’ thing. Take the money or murder me.” Adrian gripped the pistol and swung as hard as he could at the bank employee’s head. The swing was dodged. Adrian’s ribs were met with a swift punch that sent pain radiating into his chest. “You coulda had the money!” screamed the employee as he grabbed for Adrian’s wrist. Adrian tightened his grip around the gun. The bank employee slammed Adrian’s right hand against the wall, as he continued to smash his fist into Adrian’s ribs. In an act of desperation, Adrian lunged his face forward and bit the employee’s cheek as hard as he could. Adrian gnawed on his flesh as he wildly jerked his head side to side. Both screamed in unison. Their audible expressions of mutually shared agony put them on an even playing field. Adrian felt his ribs shatter behind the force of a punch delivered by a man whose flesh was between his teeth. Adrian jerked his head back and a small amount of the bank employee’s cheek meat came off of his swollen face. The pain was immense. Adrian was able to break the bank teller’s grip on his wrist. In an act of foolishness fueled by adrenaline, Adrian swung the gun in the bank teller’s direction.

A shot was fired…



Abraham Woodliff

Bay Area native, Hip Hop nerd, literature and poetry enthusiast, freelance writer, gamer, caffeine addict. Follow me on Twitter.