It was an average day for Todd Chame. He was thin but strong, with canvas-like hair and brown eyes. His eyes and hands betrayed a soft upbringing. Todd was young, not a day over thirty. He awoke to the alarm on the clock he had set, red-faced and cursing, late last night. It had taken ten minutes to set the unfamiliar clock, which the hotel had selected seemingly to make it hard to work.

Regardless of the previous nights’ frustrations, Todd resolved to continue his morning as pleasantly as ever. It was no use to be bitter in life, he resolved. He got up, going to the bathroom with the large plastic bottle from the smudged glass table. He took a cold, quick shower to wake himself from his half-glimpsed slumber. Before leaving, he filled the bottle with cool, insubstantial water from the squeaking tab, and, with one fluid motion, the cap affixed to the container. After placing the bottle back on his glass table and returning its “five dollar” label, he dressed in what he thought could only be the dress of a dapper swindler. Rather vainly, of course, for the beaten, brown fedora had been acquired the night before in the half-off bin at a local Bartz, and the navy tie which was the precise color of his suit coat, a style which had died out years ago. Thus attired, he pocketed his effects; a cell phone that only made phone calls, a pocket watch which hands didn’t move, his wallet (within which was the card which unlocked his hotel door) , and his medicine. Todd had a minor Lung problem. And of course, he took his suitcase. It didn’t seem to Todd they made suitcases like it anymore.

Thus attired, he soon found himself in the buffet on the lobby area. The air reminded him of Easter, flowery doilies, and wilted elderly. He considered eating elsewhere, but decided it was a necessary evil. He ate half of a grapefruit and a piece of lightly buttered toast. He didn’t have anything to drink. In ten minutes he had eaten four hundred and fifty calories, well below the seven hundred he was shooting for. The check had been “miscalculated” and the meal was five dollars cheaper than what he was billed. Todd sighed and paid, with a generous tip.

He allowed himself a quick smile. He was ahead of schedule. His pocket watch did not tell him this. He did not need it to. He quickly phoned a coworker. He would need to be picked up at a nearby bank in fifteen minutes. Todd wished he was on vacation to this small, charming town, and not on business. Oh well, Todd thought to himself, needs need, neatly shrugging with indifference.

On his walk to the Polk bank, he passed five birds, two businessmen, fifteen children ( the local private school opened early), and one police officer. Todd didn’t know what it was about “the fuzz” that unsettled him. But for some reason he always felt the authorities’ gaze linger on him for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

Regardless, he got to the bank in good order, and entered. The entire day he had not spoken, excepting his business call. He was startled by a strong, commanding voice that he heavily suspected was his own.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please stay calm.” Here he smiled in a way the thought was reassuring, but suited a snake. “This is a robbery.” He removed a large, well-maintained, oft-fired machine pistol out of his suitcase.

Minutes later, he gave the vault a solid close with on fluid motion. Todd held gun in one hand, money in the other. The job was quick, with no party injured. The car in the street honked expectantly. Todd quickly crossed the marble-floored bank passing whimpering businesspeople on the ground, and got into the blue Chevy. The driver took off, asking no questions. He was a quiet man of European descent, who had done this long enough to know when asking questions was a deadly mistake.

It was a long car ride. Todd Chame had the time to count the money. Twenty eight thou’. It was well below the half-mill’ Todd was shooting for. Todd sighed. He knew there would one day be a price to pay

with a generous tip…