The Purple Haze (2 page)

Outside the primary school, he saw the usual sights, such as the large amount of traffic slowly moving down the road delayed by the lolly pop lady letting the children safely across. He saw kids, excitedly running from the gates to meet their parents and show them the art projects they had worked on in class. He got the usual attention, too. Many of the kids knew who he was, and they would always ask the same questions, “Did you arrest anyone today?” or “Did you hit anyone with your club today?” He always wondered how they would react if he was to say yes. That was if it had even happened for him to be able to say yes. The truth was, he had never arrested anyone and never had to hit anyone with anything, let alone a club. He had never come close to seeing anything dangerous whilst on duty. He felt if the moment presented itself, he could handle it. Some days he prayed for it. At least he would be contributing to what he felt was actual police work.

It was while he was getting this attention from the kids he heard a select few words over his radio. He had to listen hard, but he was sure he caught “robbery”, “progress” and “lane”. He turned away from the children and turned the volume up. He listened harder this time. “Bank robbery in progress on Hough Lane, all local cars and officers please attend.”

His heart jumped. This was what he had waited for. An opportunity to contribute to public safety and Hough Lane was only two streets away. “Sorry kids, I have to go,” he politely told them and then started to move through the crowd. Ideas rushed through his head. He had done this job for two years and now he was on his way to a bank robbery. He moved clear of the crowd and picked up the pace. At age thirty two, he was still young enough and perfectly capable of looking out for himself. He worked out regularly and took part in combat sports. He imagined, almost in a childish fantasy, taking down a criminal with a judo throw, or disarming a gunman with a quick swipe of his baton. Without realising it he was running now. He just wanted to get there.

He heard the sound of police sirens about two hundred yards from the turning into Hough Lane, and as he turned the corner he saw them coming. Eight police cars, three of which were armed response units. The sight caught him unawares and knocked some of the wind out of his sails. He had wanted this kind of action since he took the job, but now that he saw so much police presence in one place, he couldn’t be sure he wanted it anymore. “Jesus this is serious” he thought. He slowed to a jog and approached the scene. The cars all came to a halt. Two parked on the road in front of the bank, one parked at each end of the street blocking it off to any other traffic and the other vehicles assembled across from the bank. Mike ran to the car nearest to the armed response units. He ran to the men getting out. The insignia on his shoulders told him he was the inspector. “Is there anything I can do to assist?” he asked.

“
Go to the west end of the street to help manage crowd control and redirecting traffic. We can handle this here.” Mike responded and began quickly walking to the west end of the street. As he went, he took a look around at what was happening. He saw the armed response officers, armed with the standard issue MP5 semi-automatics, moving in to create a perimeter around the building, two teams of three at the front, and one team of three heading around the back of the building to cover any possible escape path. As he looked at the front of the bank, he saw what he felt was very creepy and caused his skin to crawl slightly. A man of stocky build, dressed in a boiler suit and a very strange looking black and white symmetrical mask. He was looking out at the police, quite brazen really considering he would be facing three teams of armed response officers. He couldn't see his eyes, but he couldn't help but feel he was watching him specifically. It was under the supposed gaze of this man that he realised he wouldn't be any good in this scenario. He looked away and proceeded to the end of the street.

At the front of the bank, Inspector Myers looked at the situation ahead. He watched the armed officers take their positions and saw the other constables escort a few straggling members of the public away from the area. He waited for the area to be clear and turned to his second in command. “What do we know, Ken?”

“
Unfortunately, sir, we don't know anything,” replied Ken, “it seems the CCTV systems were shut down sometime between two fifty pm and three pm. We don't how many convicts, hostages or what kinds of weapons they are carrying.”

“
OK, get me the loud speaker,” ordered Myers. Ken passed him the loud speaker. Myers looked at the bank and saw the robber in the window. He figured opening up communications now wouldn't do any harm. He brought the loud speaker to his lips. “You are surrounded. Throw down your weapons and surrender yourselves. You have no way out.” He watched as the robber backed away from the window. He turned to Ken. “What's he doing?”

“
Don't know sir,” replied Ken. They continued to watch and saw the robber return to the window. “He's back, sir. It looks as though he's holding something.”

Myers looked and saw the robber return carrying something. He couldn't see a gun, but he saw a white piece of paper. The robber put the paper against the window and Myers saw the words “We have hostages” written in black marker pen. “Shit,” he said aloud. “OK, Ken, get on the radio to headquarters and request a negotiator. Tell them we've got a hostage situation. Better get paramedics too.”

At the west end of the street, Mike was carrying out the rather mundane task of crowd control. Having realised he wouldn't have been able to cope with a front line role he was feeling quite down about the situation. In fact, he was feeling downright bitter about it. The job he'd dreamed of doing for so long and now he was in the middle of it, he felt too much pressure to cope fully. He looked back over his shoulder after he heard the order to surrender over the bullhorn to see what was happening but the gathering crowd was stopping him from paying attention to the situation. He wished he could be one of the crowd and just watch, but at the same time he couldn't believe how stupid the general public actually were. When seeing the large police presence, people on foot were stopping to watch what was happening. People who were being diverted past the street in their cars were parking up further down the road and walking back to join the crowd of onlookers. “If they knew a bank had been taken over by armed gunmen, they would not be here” he thought to himself. Yes, he was bitter, and for the moment he hated the public he swore to protect.

Back at the front of the bank, Myers felt the pressure of what he was up against. He hadn't made further contact with the criminal in the window but the robber still stood there looking out, the Rorschach mask scanning the road outside. Ken came back to him. “We can't get anyone down here for the next hour sir,” he said.

“
Why? What the hell are they doing down there?” demanded Myers.

“
All's I know is that nobody can get here for the next hour,” said Ken, “They recommend you control the situation for now.”

Myers thought of what to do next. He knew the first thing to do was to get some demands. He lifted his speaker again. “What do you want?” he asked. He watched again as the black and white mask disappeared into the shadows. He waited a moment and the face returned, again with a piece of paper. He waited for the robber to hold it up to the window. He read the words “We have what we want. Only you can give us what we need.”

“
I'll give you what you need, a club in the head!” he thought to himself. He lifted the speaker again. “What do you need?” he asked sternly. Again, the face disappeared. He waited, and surely enough, it returned with another piece of paper. The words were shown, and they said “An exit.”

“
You know I can't give you that,” Myers said quietly under his breath. He didn't respond through the speaker at this time. Although he wasn't a negotiator, he was fully aware that you should never say no to a hostage taker. The face disappeared again. He waited, longer this time. The robber returned, stepping sideways. Then Myers saw it, clear as day, in the robber's right hand the sawed off shotgun. The robber stood side on and presented the gun so the police could clearly see it. Fearing that shots could be fired, Myers ordered the armed response teams to hold fire unless fired upon. No sooner had he given this order, a more horrific thing was shown to him. The robber pulled with his left hand and threw against the window one of the hostages. A young woman, aged about twenty, was held against the window while the robber put both barrels of his gun against the back of her head. Although he kept his cool on the outside, Myers panicked inside. “What if he shoots her? We'll have a massacre in the streets,” he thought. All he could do was watch. He waited holding his breath, then as quickly as he had thrust her against it the robber pulled her away from the window and disappeared into the shadows again.

Myers waited for what seemed an eternity this time. The face wasn't coming back. He waited for muffled gunfire, anything. Then the face returned with paper in hand, and presented his message to the police outside, “You have fifteen minutes.” Myers knew all too well that this wasn't nearly enough time to do anything.

* * *

Across town, Pete drove his van casually. He hadn't wanted to leave the team behind and he was kicking himself for it, but there was no way he was going down for his involvement in this, especially since he was only the getaway driver. He had driven about four miles, and since he was sure he couldn’t be linked with the robbery any time soon, he thought it safe enough to pull over. He had heard the police sirens shortly after driving away from Hough Lane, and after going the four miles and not hearing any more, he was sure he hadn’t been chased. He pulled up in a public car park across from a small café. He gave one last check in the mirrors and out the windows, just to double check that nobody had followed him, and then he got out the van and walked across to the café

He entered the café and looked around. It was quite busy due to the fact that schools had just finished, and he could pick out the divorced fathers from a mile off who had gone there with their children straight from school just to keep some kind of sense of self-worth to their children, letting them stand on seats and cause a general nuisance to the other patrons inside. He hated people like that. He always felt it wrong that everyone else’s day should be ruined by 'daddy cool' and his 'spawn of Satan'. His day had gone very wrong, and he could do without this. Still, he was hungry, and this was as good a place as any to lay low for a while. It was full of families, so if the police did find him he was in a crowded place. He checked his pocket. The .38 was still there. One shot in the air and there would be panic. He could easily slip away then.

He spotted an empty table in the middle of the seating area and headed for it. He sat down and picked up the menu and looked at the snack selection. Chips sounded good, with lots of ketchup. He signalled a waitress who came over. “What can I get for you?” she asked.

“
I'll just have a plate of chips please,” he said.

“
Can I get you anything to drink?”

“
I’ll just have a tap water, please.” The waitress took his menu and walked away from the table. Pete couldn't help but check her out as she left. His thoughts were that she may be a bit young for him, but his outlook on pulling women was “as long as there is grass on the pitch...” He sat and pondered what would be happening to his mates now. He knew the police wouldn't rush the building if they had hostages, but also they couldn't get out with the police there anyway, so obviously it would be a standoff. Although it pained him to think it, he kind of hoped they didn't get out. If they did, they would come for him, and when they caught him they would kill him. “Shit, maybe I deserve it,” he thought.

He jolted upright at the sight of the door opening. He slouched again when he saw it was just a couple and their son coming into the café. He looked calm, but he was now panicking slightly. He got into the job in the first place for the same reasons that Martin did. He didn't want to work for anyone, and he particularly didn't want to work for his whole life. He had worked for a car manufacturer before he joined Martin's crew, but as his company merged with a bigger one, his department was cut and he lost his job. Martin gave him a life line really. Yes, it was a life of crime, and yes, he faced serious consequences if caught, but he felt that at least he was part of something. It was special. He began asking himself what he had done. He had left the one man who gave him a chance to make more money than he needed in the worst possible situation he could think of. Maybe he did deserve to die?

“
No”, he thought to reassure himself, “there is nothing that can be done. They are stuck there, they can't get away. Even if they did, what good could I do against all the police that will be there?” Of course he didn't know how many police would be there, but it was better to overestimate. Therefore he knew he was better out of it.

A voice roused him up again. “Here is your order.” The waitress had returned with his chips and water. He leant back so she could place them in front of him.

“
Thank you,” he said.

“
Enjoy your food” the waitress said with a smile and then turned to walk away. Pete picked up the bottle of ketchup from the middle of the table and poured a large pool of it onto the side of his plate. As he ate them he thought up a plan. He would go home, collect some clothes and money, ditch the van and just disappear for a while. He knew full well that if Martin and the others were caught they would give his name, so getting out of the area to somewhere nobody knew who he was, that was the priority. He quickly ate his chips and washed them down with the water, and then went to the counter to pay.