HeavyLight

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HeavyLight: Chapter 6

I’ve known David Pincher for a long time, but not like my homeboys, Dougman, Jumbo Jim, and Angry Steve. I pick on my bros a lot but in the end, they’ll always remain cool in my books. David Pincher is different. He’s not only obnoxious, he’s also shifty and untrustworthy. Three of the most unpleasant character traits to have in one person. But he let us borrow some of his weapons for the Heist. He has a whole arsenal of privately owned firearms at his disposal. Speaking of which, that’s another unpleasant trait he has; paranoia. Not even the subtle kind. The kind that drives you to build a bunker under your house and stockpile weapons for the global economic collapse. But for some reason, he wanted to talk to us again, and it may have something to do with the money we owe him. Even though I was pretty sure we had already paid him.


So Dougman and I took his mom’s car and rode over to his house. I drove and he sat in the passenger side seat. It’s just around the corner so we didn’t have to go far, but it was a long enough drive there for Dougman to complain the whole way. “What does this guy want? We already paid him in advance for the firearms. Are you sure he wanted something?” Dougman asked.


“Yeah, David Pincher never likes to come out and say he wants to talk to you about something. He always hints at it. He’s like a drug dealer. Actually, he might be a drug dealer for all I know. All he needs is a trenchcoat. Anyway, next topic. How are you doing with finding out how to make actual explosives?” I asked.


“Uh...I’m not sure. I went to the library and checked out a book on the history of explosives, but I’m not sure how much it’ll tell me. We need to get some better connections. Do you think Marcy can help us out with that?” he asked.


“I dunno, maybe. She said she worked with criminals before. Maybe she knows some guys who can make thermite.” I said.


“Maybe we can find ourselves some meth cookers.” He said.


“...How is that going to help us blow up a vault door?” I asked.


“Well, when you cook meth, your biggest danger, besides breathing in poisonous gases and/or getting stabbed in the neck with a box cutter, is that sometimes entire meth labs blow the smack up! So I imagine that if meth cookers know how to keep their labs from blowing up, then they also know how to make them blow up on purpose.” Dougman explained.


“Dude, that still doesn’t help. We would need to get all the equipment to make a meth lab into the bank before we blew them up. Then we would need to put gas masks on everybody in the bank including ourselves and we can’t expect that much cooperation in a bank heist. Listen, we’ll talk about this later, we’re here now.” I said as I pulled up right in front of David Pincher’s yard.


His house is a one story flat, like mine, but it’s got ugly dark brown brick walls and pitch black shutters. His yard is just a flat plain of grass sloping down at a 20 degree angle. Dougman unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. “I’m gonna go knock on the door, see if he’s home.” He said before stepping onto the yard. Now, he got half way across the yard before the door opened. A person stepped out, but it wasn’t David Pincher, it was his girlfriend, Carol.


David Pincher’s girlfriend is an amputee; she lost both of her legs in a very unusual kazoo accident. But that’s okay because she’s got prosthetic legs. And I don’t mean like plastic stalks with shoes at the end. I mean artificial legs for track runners; they’re like curved slats of metal that kind spring a bit when you put your body weight on them. She has two of those, and not only can she run, but she’s pretty freaking fast as well. So she came bounding out of the darkness, bouncing with each step on those metal legs, and shouting “get the cluck off my property! No soliciting!”


Dougman stopped in his tracks when he saw this pissed off woman with bent strips of metal for legs running straight for him. He put up his hands in defense and started backing away. “No, no, no! Hold on, we just wanted too...” he tried to say. Carol ran right up to him, lifted her thigh up, and kicked him right in the sternum with her metallic feet. With that momentum combined with the material strength of the prosthetics, let’s just say Dougman was launched.


He landed hard on his back. That didn’t slow Carol though. She ran up right to his side and stood over him, shouting down. “We ain’t going to no mormon church, boy! Take your fancy brochures and go back to Utah!” She yelled. Then she stomped him in the stomach, and he let out one of Dougman’s patented squeals of pain.


Now, normally when this is happening, I step out to help Dougman immediately. And I did this time, but I just wanted to point out that in the past I haven’t. This same thing happened about two months ago but it involved girl scouts. He was getting beat up but three girls in green sashes and I just stayed in the car. Listen, if he can’t handle three prepubescent girls, he deserves a good beating. But this was different. This girl’s turned her disability into a weapon.


So I got out and ran towards her, attempting to calm her down. “Carol! It’s us! Red and Dougman!” I shouted.


She stopped kicking Dougman and glared at me. “What the cluck do you want!?” She shouted.


“David wanted us to stop by! Didn’t he tell ya?” I asked.


Her glare softened to a confused but still angry stare. “No...why would we want to talk to you?” She asked.


“I don’t clucking know! That’s why we’re over here. To find out!” I said. She paused and glanced down at Dougman who was holding his stomach and groaning. Then she looked back at me, and she reconsidered her position on the situation.


“Alright. Come on in. But if you try anything, I’ll rip your arms off and beat you with them.” She muttered. Then she walked back inside. I offered Dougman and arm and helped him off the ground. “Dude, you alright?” I asked.


“I’m...cool. It’s no big deal. I’m just glad she didn’t kick me in the leg...” He said, referring to the still healing bullet wound in his thigh. This guy has been shot and gotten the snot kicked out of him by a legless girl in a timeframe of 2 weeks. He’s a total soldier, man. But that’s a side note. We make our way into the house, taking a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness.


Here’s another bad quality of David Pincher; he’s a total freaking hoarder. His hallways and rooms are cluttered with stacks of books, boxes of random junk, bags of chips, metallic green ammo cases, and pieces of paper freaking everywhere. They’re all over the carpet, pinned to the walls, and some are taped to the ceiling for some reason. Carol was waiting at the end of the hallway in the kitchen, staring at us with a look of calm distain.


I slung an arm around Dougman’s shoulder and we both headed down the hallway, listening to the soft crunching sound of paper beneath our shoes and the barking of a dog locked in a room somewhere in the house. The kitchen was in no better condition than the rest of the house. Only it’s now a bit of a fire hazard, considering that he’s got books and papers stacked on the oven and stuffed into the microwave. There was a big dining table equally covered in junk and books, but sitting at the chair on the other side, looking smug with his arms crossed and his slick black hair gelled up, was David Pincher.


“Greetings, Red Letters. Please, take a seat...” He said all cooly, motioning to three old fashion oak wood chairs in the corner. I reached for one and his expression changed to shock. “No! Not that one!” he shouted, some of the papers on his table flying off from the force of his voice. I froze in my track, waiting to see if Carol would kick me. Then I reached over and grabbed another chair, dragging it over and setting it by the table. I was courteous enough to drag the third chair over so Dougman could sit in that.


David Pincher smiled and crossed his arms. “What brings you to my casa, acquaintances?”


“Let’s cut the small talk and go straight to the big talk. Why did you stop by my house earlier?” I asked. He looked from me to Dougman, then to Carol, then back to me.


“...I heard all about your last heist. I took it upon myself to go over the security footage provided to the Channel 7 News by the Harrison and Ford Trust Bank and figure out what went wrong. You see, you guys got heart, but there’s alot that you lack.” He said.


I looked over at Dougman and rolled my eyes. A know-it-all. Another thing to add to the list of bad character traits held by David Pincher. Seeing that we are silent to his statement, he felt that he had our attention now. So he glanced up at Carol and said “Hey, sweetie, can you get us some drinks?”


She shook her head. “No...” She said.


David paused for a moment, and then said “...Okay then. Now, one thing that you guys got wrong was your choreography. I’ve done research and I notice that every single movement of the newest, most successful bank robbers are planned out. Therefore, I took the liberty to write up some possible plans for a floor layout if you guys wanna try this whole bank heist again. In fact, I even included your buddies Angry Steve and Jumbo Jim in the process. Let me just find the notes real quick...” He said.


Then he began looking through the papers. Then he started to look concern as he began throwing papers on the ground and digging through the piles of the stuff on his table. “Uh, Carol, do you know where I put those notes?” he asked, not looking up from his search. She crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, and shrugged. I decided to stop David from his futile search for notes in a sea of white paper.


“Uh, listen David, that’s not really our style. We prefer to be fluid and free in our approach.” I explained.


“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure you’re clucking with us. You can’t choreograph a bank heist! You have no idea what’s going to happen when you go in!” Dougman pointed out.


David Pincher stood up and slammed his hands down on the table, topping stacks of books and sending up plumes of papers. “PHILISTINES!” He shouted. This silenced us. Mostly because we weren’t sure what to say in response to that.


He took a moment to catch his breath and went on. “Bank robbery is an art. And Art follows many subject matters. You see, lately I have become entrenched in the Fine Arts, most notably the Theatrical Arts. And here is what I’ve noticed; bank robbery is like a dance.” He said, wandering around the table. He proceeded to demonstrate his views with unnecessary hand gestures.


“You see, when you first enter a bank, you are establishing your presence on a stage. Your first statement is an introduction. You provoke a sense of emotion by shining your weapons in the glimmer of the overhead lights. There are several steps that must take place. The vault door must be opened, hostages must be tied up, and the money must be stolen. All this requires carefully planned steps. Take fourteen steps, turn, shout verbal threats at the audience. Take another 20 steps, swing around, wave your gun.” David Pincher broke out into a dream-like prance where he was dancing around, humming to himself.


I glanced over at Dougman and whispered to him. “This guy’s clucking crazy.”


“You don’t think I haven’t figured that out yet?” He whispered back. What I wanted to do was tell this guy how clucking crazy he sounded. Involving theatrical concepts to a felony? But it got me thinking. We didn’t need to plan out how we would walk around the bank, but we were in need of an actor. A light bulb appeared over my head. But not in a literal sense, because if it did then it would be falling. It would most likely shatter on my head and I would forget what I was about to say.


But it didn’t, because that light bulb means I got an idea. I got up and said “hey, David, hold on for a second.” I didn’t get too close to him though because I was sure that if I did, Carol would kick me.


David stopped in mid dance and said “Yes? Do you desire to tell me how great you think my plan is?”


“Actually, like I said before, we don’t need a dance plan for...a bank heist. But you’re right about the theatrical part.” I said.


For a moment, he lit up with surprise. Then it melted into a smug smile. “You really think so?”


I had to swallow my pride; any other time I would have told this guy off, but this time I needed him. “Uh, yeah. Bank robbery is an art. But you know, the robbers aren’t the only actors. In some cases, the hostages are too.”


He didn’t say anything, but he had that look on his face that said “...go on...”


So I did. “Ever seen a play where there is someone in the audience that is secretly one of the actors?” I said. He nodded slowly. “Well, what if someone that happened to be in the bank before the bank heist and looked like an average civilian, but turned out to be working for the Robbers? His job would to be the hostage when the Police showed up. So that means the picking of the hostage isn’t spontaneous and therefore like a dance...in a way...” I said.


He took a moment and thought about it. Metaphorically, he swished it around in his mouth. Carol kept close watch on me and her stare was starting to burn the back of my neck. “I...think it’s a great idea! Such beauty! It will truly make the audience feel like they are really part of the heist. But at the same time, they are still outside the realm of control. I love it! We should totally do that for the next Heist!” He said.


“Well then you’re in luck! Because we want YOU to be that actor!” Exclaimed.


David Pincher gasped and got this starstruck expression on his face. “Me? The starring role of this bank heist?!” He said.


“Uh...something like that...look, here’s what we want to do. You’ll be in the bank before we enter. When we come in, us being the robbers, we will tie you up and threaten to kill you if the cops try and come in.” I explain.


“But wait, if the cops come in, will you actually kill him?” Carol asked.


“No! We’ll kill the cops! What are you thinking? We have guns, we’re not afraid to use them.” I explained.


David Pincher stroked his bare chin in thought. “Hmm...I...can...totally...do it! This is my shot at the big time! A chance to show everybody that I am an amazing actor! This will get me on the news, and people will want to know how I did it.” David explained.


“Uh...that’s the thing, David. Nobody is supposed to find out that you were working with the Robbers.” Dougman pointed out.


This caused David to stop in his tracks and drop his joyful demeanor. “...What? But how will people know of my skill as an actor?” he asked.


Seeing that the situation was starting to take a dive, I swooped in to save the situation. “That’s what makes it art, man! They’ll have no idea that you were an actor the whole time! That’s how good an actor you will be! So good they won’t think you’re acting. You’ll have to keep that mystery fresh by not telling anybody. But because nobody knows, you will retain that mysterious omission of details! It’s the perfect play!” I yelled.


David’s joy returned to him. “Yes! I’ll be like the phantom of the warehouse, or what ever that movie was called! They will see me, but they won’t know that I am a robber just like the men who are tying me up! They will never know, just like how nobody knows what my favorite color is! Yes!”


He walked up to me and offered his hand. “I will join you in your quest, my good man!” He said. Carefully I shook it. Carol seemed pleased and Dougman got up from the table.


“Alright, so we gotta plan. David Pincher will be our hostage in the heist. I’m glad we figured this all out without being kicked more than a few times.” Dougman said. Afterwards, we thanked David Pincher for his time and promised to keep in contact with him. I’m just glad we settled that so we didn’t have to listen to him talk about whatever nonsense he was talking about before. Which is good. But then I remembered something just as we got into the car. I couldn't suppress the urge to say it outloud in anger.


“Dang it! Now David Pincher is on our team...” I spouted.




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