Thursday: November 2, 1995
The man walked down the sidewalk, one gloved hand tucked into his jacket pocket and his other hand wrapped around a coffee cup. He knew spending money on coffee when he had a perfectly good appliance for it at home wasn’t the wisest decision given his current circumstances, but he figured one more day of Starbucks wouldn’t hurt anybody.
He’d been fired the day before. Or, according to his ex-boss, he had been ‘let go’. Christ, he hated that damn term. Let go. He’d been fired, but they had chosen the more annoying terminology of ‘let go’ to keep him from getting angry at an unfair firing. He had been ‘let go’ to show the other employees that there was always the chance of downsizing, to keep them from acting out of line for fear they may also be ‘let go’ because the company was ‘going in a new direction’ or because they simply ‘weren’t what the company was looking for right now’.
He still couldn’t wrap his mind around why he of all people had been ‘let go’. So what, he’d been a little sad lately. He had every right to be! Divorce wasn’t exactly easy, and his ex-wife was trying to suck all the life and money out of him. He’d still been friendly to the clients. He’d still gone out of his way to bow down and kiss the boss’s ass. Apparently, friendly architects and ass-kissers had no place in the company’s ‘new direction’.
It was a bunch of horse shit. That much he knew.
He turned and walked into the bank with a heavy sigh. He had one last check to cash in, something that would have to hold him over until he managed to find another job. He walked up to the teller and fished the check out of his pocket, handing it over to the woman behind the desk.
He stuck his hand back into his pocket, eyes scanning the bank. How easy would it be to rob this place?
The thought took him by surprise. It certainly wasn’t a thought he had ever had before, and he couldn’t exactly say how many of those around him were wondering the same thing.
But when it came right down to it… it wouldn’t be that hard to rob the place. It wouldn’t take much to figure out the building’s weaknesses, its strengths. It wouldn’t be hard to scan over the interior, figure out how its pieces related to each other, how they all fit together.
He took his money from the teller, thanked her, and walked back out of the bank, keeping his pace much slower than it had been when he’d walked inside. The bank was on the smaller side compared to the others in New York, certainly one of the smallest in Riley. There wasn’t much security in the place, either. He’d only ever seen one guard in there—two on a Wednesday once—and he was almost certain that mild and temporary increase in security had only been because of how terrifyingly large the number of bank robberies in Los Angeles had been as of late. Even when the robberies were clear across the country, they worried people. They worried the banks.
Security aside, his ex-boss had designed the place. Finding the weaknesses the dumbass had left behind would, if nothing else, be a great way to waste some of his newfound free time. He snorted, shaking his head as he made his way down the sidewalk. He may not have had a job, but he certainly had a new hobby.
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