Loop

Midway through the morning and the exchange has become almost dead. It’s unusual for a Tuesday to be as quiet as this so soon in the day but Mike, Clara, Erica and Stuart aren’t complaining. Well, Erica and Stuart might be as they are stuck with the only two customers in the exchange, Zander and Harriet. Mike knows which one he’d rather be stuck dealing with, Harriet. The reasoning is simple. Zander is a cocky, arrogant man who believes he’s some sort of wonderful rich business tycoon. He’s no such thing. Not even a little bit. He’s a wealthy son of a long dead businessman who may have made at least part of his fortune through possibly dubious means. Zander, or as he really is named Alexander, is all mouth and no brains. He crows about this investment and that but truth be told he invests nothing. What he does do is gamble it in illicit card games that if he were not so wealthy are with the sorts of people who might be inclined to demand repayment in body parts if you don’t have the capital about your person. How Zander fell in playing cards with them no one in the exchange can determine. It is more than likely better off that they don’t know. After all, knowing could be dangerous. Especially for Erica and Clara who have family in the city. Stuart, a bit like Mike does not. His family are originally from the city but moved out to the country, some four hours drive, for a slower pace of life. They’d done all the working eighty hour weeks, dinner parties, corporate climbing, etc and were not interested anymore.

Mike still isn’t sure how Stuart ended up here if his parents are climbers but his reasoning had always been consistent. He wanted to do it alone without being propped up by his parents and whatever fortune they may have accrued. Mike respected that and though he doubts Stuart’s family have the kind of bank balance Zander was given, he definitely is a much better person. Nothing like a privileged brat like Zander, who epitomises a little too perfectly, to make a day uncomfortable.

“I need you to transfer fifty grand into this account. I want it in small bills only.” Zander explains in hushed tones that aren’t really hushed because he wants everyone to hear what he’s saying.

Erica is struggling to keep a straight face and wonders if she should inform Zander that a transfer of funds has nothing to do with, one the exchange and two bill sizes. It’s digital, numbers on a screen. There are no bills associated. She shouldn’t be surprised she knows because this is a man who spells his own name wrong. Well, he spells Alexander right, but Zander, it’s supposed to be spelt with an X as that is a letter that is actually present in Alexander.

“Yes Mr Fillitoni.” Is the succinct reply delivered by Erica in an even tone that betrays nothing of how she feels or what she would like to scream at this rich brat. Not that he listens to her agree because he’s too busy carrying on with his rant about what no one can grasp and that was if they were listening, which they aren’t.

Even Amelia can’t help but roll her eyes, which are hidden by her monitor, as she sits off to the side a short distance from the cashiers. It’s where her desk is sat and a place she can always be found at. She even eats her lunch there.

“He is a loud young fellow, isn’t he?” Harriet says leaning in so that Zander cannot hear her but Stuart can. The young cashier smiles, nods and mutters quietly in the affirmative. Harriet is an older woman with money. Aren’t they all that come to the exchange? She goes on five international voyages a year. She doesn’t call them holidays. But at least her requests make sense. She simply wants her leftover currency exchanged back into the good old dollar. She’s been coming here for years. Some, long since departed employees, intimated she was the first customer the exchange ever had. What the place will do when she finally gets too old to travel no one is sure. The running joke is that Alta only keeps the place open for her. It isn’t true. Or at least none of them think it’s true. What they do know is that Harriet has been a customer since before even Amelia started, which was nine years ago.

Suddenly three masked men burst into the exchange. Mike blinks in confusion as he attempts to take in the sight, which is why he fails to react before one of the masked men screams, “No one move. We’re robbing the place.” 

In an instant the masked men produce guns and level them vaguely at the five exchange employees as well as the two customers. Zander almost jumps out of his skin while raising his hands. He goes white. It’s akin to if he was in the middle of a police sting with him being the one holding the drugs after having also indulged in them.

As two of the armed masked men push forward the third secures the glass doors and then activates the shutter. It’s odd because the switch isn’t in public view. It’s blocked by a vase which is wide, square based and chock full of flowers. They’re plastic. There’s no way Alta would pay for fresh ones every day. Unlike most things in the room they’re decent quality. They look the part and somehow, compared to most others things, haven’t become crusty, gnarled and decrepit.

“Best way to do this, D?” What everyone would determine as the main man asks to the guy who having finished cycling the shutters closed rejoins the fray.

“Easiest would be to get everyone on the floor by the managers’ desk. Keeps them clear and allows us to pull the cash from the tills without obstacles.” The man going by the initial D replies without much thought.

Mike’s brow furrows. He thinks he recognises the voice. It’s distinctive and yet he cannot place where he’s heard it before.

“You heard him, move it!” The main robber roars in the seconds before adding, “W, get in there and get these people complying. We haven’t got all day.” W nods and immediately surges forward, gun raised to threaten and demand Harriet, Zander, Mike, Clara, Erica and Stuart move. He does it at the point of the gun in his hand. It’s a pistol, semi-automatic and black in colour. Mike knows nothing about the weapon beyond those conclusions and that W certainly isn’t a novice at handling it. He looks like an expert in fact. Cop? Mike doubts it. The exchange would be too small time for a cop or group of them. Ex-military? Again it strikes Mike as unlikely. Though, he doesn’t have a reason this time. After all, this could just be a test run, a first job. A gateway meant to lead to something bigger and far more fruitful. Sure, there’s tens of thousands in the registers, but it’s not retirement money. More like a stopgap.

“Hurry it up. Now!” W squawks. He sounds calmer than perhaps you might expect while waving the handgun about.

No one refuses. All comply. Mike, as the last in the line of cashiers is the final one to step out from behind the desks with his hands raised. He isn’t the hero type and has no intention of risking his life for what will almost certainly be nothing. Rather, he follows suit and makes sure to move slowly, not make any quick movements. It doesn’t seem like this W has an itchy trigger finger but there is no point in tempting possible fate, especially a potentially fatal one.

The main masked man with a gun, it looks to be a small automatic weapon of some kind, has the weapon pointed at Amelia. She looks, unsurprisingly, terrified, shaking in her shoes; her eyes averted for fear eye contact might result in her murder. Mike imagines he looks the same but doesn’t feel as fearful as he expected he would. Instead, he is more conscious of his movements and completely unaware of any thoughts that might be present in his head. There must be some, but he can’t hear or feel a single one. It’s like someone has put a wall between what is happening and his brain.

“Hurry it up, stop wasting time.” D snarls.

Mike looks at the masked D as he passes close by and catches his eyes. They’re blue and instantly familiar now he is so close. “Deacon?” Mike blurts unable to stop himself. He regrets his actions instantly and as the masked man comes at him. They’re a similar size but with D holding a sawn-off shotgun in one hand the odds are definitely with the robber and not Mike if anything were to happen, a tussle for instance.

“What did you say?” D demands with glaring eyes.

“No-nothing. I’ll keep quiet.” Mike assures while shrinking to make it clear he poses no threat to Deacon. It’s who it has to be. It sounds just like him. Plus the eyes are a dead giveaway. They shine in a way Mike has only ever glimpsed in the former exchange employee. It’s possible someone else on Earth might have eyes similar but in the city? That walks into the exchange? It seems doubtful, at best.

“No. Say it again. Say it!” D bellows while getting in Mike’s face. Spittle strings connect between his upper and lower jaws that showcase the masked man’s pearly white teeth.

“I…I said…Deacon.” Mike stutters after a long silent half dozen seconds of frantic thought. In that time nothing came to him but an empty echoing cavern where his thoughts should be.

“He knows you?” W spits.

“Shut up W!” The main robber commands.

Previously this exchange worker in the blue suit might have only been taking a punt, but after the blunder from Wendell he along with everyone else now knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is Deacon.

“Why? He called him out. He’s been rumbled. I told you this was a bad…” Wendell, referred to as W aloud, begins to spill in a rambling rant until the main robber, Gus, explodes, “Just keep your mouth shut, W! D, what are we going to do about this?”

D never offers a reply. Rather, he simply acts and slams Mike in the side of the head with the stock of the sawn-off. It renders Mike unconscious before his body flops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.