Private Drive: Do Not Enter
It Was Going Nicely Until I Ignored That Sign
Yep, I saw the sign - PRIVATE DRIVE: DO NOT ENTER. But so what? I needed to use that driveway to get away from the cops. So I ignored the sign, leaving the street behind.
I could hear the sirens. They were still distant. I motored up the driveway. It was all trees, tall evergreens on both sides, hiding my car very nicely, thank you. Then suddenly the trees were gone and the landscape opened up to reveal a pretty nice spread, not a mansion, but a big house, with a three car garage, fish pond, manicured flower beds, and a wooden porch like a farmhouse would have.
In the driveway the family was surprised to see my car approaching. It's an older model, a little rust here and there, and peeling paint on the hood from being kept outdoors all the time. Plus I was coming up that driveway a lot faster than they were accustomed to.
The man of the family immediately stepped forward. It looked like they were packing for a vacation - luggage sitting next to the sport utility; two bicycles strapped to the roof; the tailgate opened. I didn't stop when I got to the man, just veered out onto the lawn and made a circle to the rear of the house, stopping in a grassy skid right in front of the
built-in pool.
The man was the first to come around the corner. Having just robbed a bank, I had my .357 magnum handy and drew a bead on his chest. He stopped, seemed breathless, but finally demanded, "What are you up to?"
The woman and two teenage daughters then appeared, all seemingly concerned, probably because I was aiming a very large handgun at the man of the house.
"You all are going to be okay. I just need your vehicle," I told them.
"We're going on vacation," the woman stammered, kind of indignant.
"You've got another car in the garage," I said.
Gun still aimed, I motioned for the four of them to go into the garage. One of the girls started crying. I told her to get the roll of duct tape off the workbench and tie up the rest of her family.
"You're not going to hurt us, are you?" the father said.
"I just need your family vehicle," I said.
The police sirens were circling the area though they had not pinpointed my location. The family seemed to take notice.
"Yea, they're after me. I just robbed a bank."
The father looked at the clock on the garage wall. Nine forty seven in the morning. He seemed astonished.
"Look, sir," I said, answering his wonderment, "I did some research. It's best to rob a bank as soon as it opens. That is when they least expect it."
I heard myself bragging and I stopped.
"Tie your family up," I told the girl. "Use that duct tape. Hands and feet, and across the mouth."
I kept the .357 magnum pointed at the father, and the rest obliged to be bound hands and feet. Then I bound the teenage girl. They were all sitting against the wall, nice and tidy.
It would take them hours to unwind and call the police. By that time I would have their vacation-mobile well down the road to safety.
"I'm going to close this garage door, and then I am going to drive off in your vehicle," I told the family. I backed out of the garage, gun pointed at the father, got the two money bags out of my car, then moved the luggage away from the sport utility, closed it up, and got in. Just so you know, you should never leave the keys in your vehicle, even in your own driveway. It makes it so easy. I reached up and pressed the button to close the garage door, and as I was driving out I saw the bound and gagged family watch it go down. It felt reassuring to see the garage door close.
It was a long drive coming in the driveway and it seemed longer on the way out, but I wasn't going fast. I did not want to appear suspicious. I was just about to enter the wooded end of the driveway when a gunshot sounded from a distance sending a rifle bullet through the roof of the sport utility and into my skull.
Clinically dead, I dropped my head onto the steering wheel with my arms falling limp to the floor. The vehicle crashed into a stand of the trees but the engine kept running. I know this because now my only being was a ghostly soul removed from the physical body. My soul was completely mobile, so I hovered above the scene to see what had gone wrong.
A young man, maybe 20, was running toward the vehicle carrying a military-issued sniper rifle with a huge scope. Just my luck. If I wasn't just a wispy ghost now I would kick myself for not checking the house for additional family members.
The young military man reached across my dead body and turned off the ignition. He left the door open, and there I was, a one-time-only bank robber as lifeless as a chunk of kitchen granite. He ran back to the house, entered the garage, and pretty soon his father came running back with him. They both seemed like they had just bagged a deer; the son stood with his rifle across his chest; the father his hand on his son's shoulder.
Soon the police arrived. Statements were taken, and I might say they were accurate. This is an honest family. A tow truck and an ambulance arrived. My body was carted away. The car was winched onto the flatbed and driven to the police impound lot as evidence.
My ghostly soul was feeling bad. I didn't mean to ruin their vacation, but that is what I did. If I could have cried I would have. I had to reflect on what I had done: No, I didn't really want to rob a bank. I would rather have had a full-time job with benefits, but that was taken away when the company I worked for merged with another. With no luck finding work, my mind wandered into the bank robbing idea.
In case you want to try it, it is best to do it in the morning, Don't enter the bank looking like you are going to rob it. I wore the same clothes I wore as a photocopier technician - shirt, tie, slacks, dress shoes. Only after I had been in the bank two minutes and felt comfortable did I put on a ski mask so the bank staff could not get a really detailed look at me. I drew my .357 magnum and announced my intent. The bank manager froze, and soon I knew why. She was having a bad day with a head cold and forgot to close the vault. All that money was at my disposal. I filled two canvas bags and then backed out of the bank with my gun pointed at a customer, a very nice looking one. The ski mask came off and I jumped in my old car and drove off. A tip: keep the engine idling so you don't have to fumble with keys.
After I was shot, I hung around in my ghostly soul existence waiting to be called into the afterlife. When the detectives took the two money bags back to the bank I floated above the table watching the tellers count it all.
One of them said, "I feel like we're being watched." They both looked about. One pointed to a security camera in the ceiling, and they went back to counting. When a teller handed the detective a piece of paper it read: $240,000.
Wow! What a haul! I just wish I was still around to spend that money.
It was going so nicely.
Until I ignored the sign - PRIVATE DRIVE: DO NOT ENTER.
I could hear the sirens. They were still distant. I motored up the driveway. It was all trees, tall evergreens on both sides, hiding my car very nicely, thank you. Then suddenly the trees were gone and the landscape opened up to reveal a pretty nice spread, not a mansion, but a big house, with a three car garage, fish pond, manicured flower beds, and a wooden porch like a farmhouse would have.
In the driveway the family was surprised to see my car approaching. It's an older model, a little rust here and there, and peeling paint on the hood from being kept outdoors all the time. Plus I was coming up that driveway a lot faster than they were accustomed to.
The man of the family immediately stepped forward. It looked like they were packing for a vacation - luggage sitting next to the sport utility; two bicycles strapped to the roof; the tailgate opened. I didn't stop when I got to the man, just veered out onto the lawn and made a circle to the rear of the house, stopping in a grassy skid right in front of the
built-in pool.
The man was the first to come around the corner. Having just robbed a bank, I had my .357 magnum handy and drew a bead on his chest. He stopped, seemed breathless, but finally demanded, "What are you up to?"
The woman and two teenage daughters then appeared, all seemingly concerned, probably because I was aiming a very large handgun at the man of the house.
"You all are going to be okay. I just need your vehicle," I told them.
"We're going on vacation," the woman stammered, kind of indignant.
"You've got another car in the garage," I said.
Gun still aimed, I motioned for the four of them to go into the garage. One of the girls started crying. I told her to get the roll of duct tape off the workbench and tie up the rest of her family.
"You're not going to hurt us, are you?" the father said.
"I just need your family vehicle," I said.
The police sirens were circling the area though they had not pinpointed my location. The family seemed to take notice.
"Yea, they're after me. I just robbed a bank."
The father looked at the clock on the garage wall. Nine forty seven in the morning. He seemed astonished.
"Look, sir," I said, answering his wonderment, "I did some research. It's best to rob a bank as soon as it opens. That is when they least expect it."
I heard myself bragging and I stopped.
"Tie your family up," I told the girl. "Use that duct tape. Hands and feet, and across the mouth."
I kept the .357 magnum pointed at the father, and the rest obliged to be bound hands and feet. Then I bound the teenage girl. They were all sitting against the wall, nice and tidy.
It would take them hours to unwind and call the police. By that time I would have their vacation-mobile well down the road to safety.
"I'm going to close this garage door, and then I am going to drive off in your vehicle," I told the family. I backed out of the garage, gun pointed at the father, got the two money bags out of my car, then moved the luggage away from the sport utility, closed it up, and got in. Just so you know, you should never leave the keys in your vehicle, even in your own driveway. It makes it so easy. I reached up and pressed the button to close the garage door, and as I was driving out I saw the bound and gagged family watch it go down. It felt reassuring to see the garage door close.
It was a long drive coming in the driveway and it seemed longer on the way out, but I wasn't going fast. I did not want to appear suspicious. I was just about to enter the wooded end of the driveway when a gunshot sounded from a distance sending a rifle bullet through the roof of the sport utility and into my skull.
Clinically dead, I dropped my head onto the steering wheel with my arms falling limp to the floor. The vehicle crashed into a stand of the trees but the engine kept running. I know this because now my only being was a ghostly soul removed from the physical body. My soul was completely mobile, so I hovered above the scene to see what had gone wrong.
A young man, maybe 20, was running toward the vehicle carrying a military-issued sniper rifle with a huge scope. Just my luck. If I wasn't just a wispy ghost now I would kick myself for not checking the house for additional family members.
The young military man reached across my dead body and turned off the ignition. He left the door open, and there I was, a one-time-only bank robber as lifeless as a chunk of kitchen granite. He ran back to the house, entered the garage, and pretty soon his father came running back with him. They both seemed like they had just bagged a deer; the son stood with his rifle across his chest; the father his hand on his son's shoulder.
Soon the police arrived. Statements were taken, and I might say they were accurate. This is an honest family. A tow truck and an ambulance arrived. My body was carted away. The car was winched onto the flatbed and driven to the police impound lot as evidence.
My ghostly soul was feeling bad. I didn't mean to ruin their vacation, but that is what I did. If I could have cried I would have. I had to reflect on what I had done: No, I didn't really want to rob a bank. I would rather have had a full-time job with benefits, but that was taken away when the company I worked for merged with another. With no luck finding work, my mind wandered into the bank robbing idea.
In case you want to try it, it is best to do it in the morning, Don't enter the bank looking like you are going to rob it. I wore the same clothes I wore as a photocopier technician - shirt, tie, slacks, dress shoes. Only after I had been in the bank two minutes and felt comfortable did I put on a ski mask so the bank staff could not get a really detailed look at me. I drew my .357 magnum and announced my intent. The bank manager froze, and soon I knew why. She was having a bad day with a head cold and forgot to close the vault. All that money was at my disposal. I filled two canvas bags and then backed out of the bank with my gun pointed at a customer, a very nice looking one. The ski mask came off and I jumped in my old car and drove off. A tip: keep the engine idling so you don't have to fumble with keys.
After I was shot, I hung around in my ghostly soul existence waiting to be called into the afterlife. When the detectives took the two money bags back to the bank I floated above the table watching the tellers count it all.
One of them said, "I feel like we're being watched." They both looked about. One pointed to a security camera in the ceiling, and they went back to counting. When a teller handed the detective a piece of paper it read: $240,000.
Wow! What a haul! I just wish I was still around to spend that money.
It was going so nicely.
Until I ignored the sign - PRIVATE DRIVE: DO NOT ENTER.
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