[ WP ] A man is holding up a bank , but in the midst of doing so , sees his wife and kid ( s ) are in the bank too .

I allowed the current of people around me to carry me to the target the brick-faced bank occupying the corner of this street. In my head, I chanted a mantra, `` No need to be nervous, it's a routine job.'' But the words carried no weight. Coincidentally, the pistol tucked into my jeans seemed extra heavy today. I could n't figure out why I was so nervous- it *was* just a routine job... Maybe I was forgetting something? Only time could tell. 
 
 I stepped into the bank, allowing the honking and chatter of the outside world to instantly be silenced, replaced with a too-complete quiet. The alcove behind the door hid me just enough to slid on my mask without being seen. The mask did block some of my peripheral vision, but it blocked more of my face, so it was a trade-off. 
 
 I stepped into the center of the lobby, and just as a few eyes were drawn to me, I swiftly drew the gun from my pants. Or I tried. What really happened was that the sight caught on the lip of my jeans, and I spun around on the spot trying to draw it from my pants. 
 
 Now, with every eye in the room on me, I triumphantly swung the gun up, jabbing it into the face of a few people around me, eliciting a satisfying whimper from each. 
 
 `` If you cooperate, this'll go down easy, I swear.'' The only response was a few tiny sobs. They quivered in their spots, but none dared move from where they stood. 
 
 Shoving my way through the crowd, I started, `` Let's make this eas-SHIT!'' The whole room jumped as a stray shoelace sent me toppling to the ground. My gun tumbled away with a loud clacking, but the surprise kept my victims too dumbstruck to move, so I swept it up, and popped back to my intimidating form. After a cough, I repeated, `` Let's make this easy!'' 
 
 At the desk, I rested my pistol pointing at the clerk, then had a realization. 
 
 `` You do n't happen to have, like, a baggie? For the money?'' I whispered, after casting a glance over my shoulder. 
 
 The tiny man shook his head furiously, pulling a curse from me. 
 
 `` Actually,'' came a woman's voice from behind me, a bit too chipper, `` Y'know I think I might have one in my purse.'' 
 
 I spun around to be met by the part of her hair, given that she was looking down to root around in her purse. A sense of foreboding struck as I realized that this was a cranium I had smooched many times before. 
 
 My wife, Marsha, snapped into a tense position, pulling from her purse a revolver. `` Harold, you are *such* a fuckass.'' Her cute, curvy face held a wickedly thin smile. 
 
 Confused murmurs swept through the room, a few of which were attributed to me. 
 
 Rolling her eyes at the noise, Marsha tilted her gun hand to the side, and peered down at her watch, while the other hand pinned her purse to the opposite shoulder. She said, `` Max has soccer practice in an hour, and you *agreed* to take him!'' Beside her, our eight-year-old son glared through furrowed eyes above crossed arms. 
 
 `` Fuckass,'' he agreed. 
 
 `` Wha-'' 
 
 `` Listen, baby, I'm not mad... Let's- let's just finish this and go home, okay? Maybe we can get ice cream on the way?'' she finished, emphatically, to which Max cheered. 
 
 As she stole my spot at the counter, I finally managed to reign in my confusion. I interrupted her threatening the clerk with, `` What the *hell* is going on?'' and whisked my mask off. 
 
 `` Do *not* take that tone with me,'' Marsha returned, holding her purse open on the counter, her fiery gaze held to mine. The man behind the counter began to shovel bills into her bag. 
 
 `` Sorry, honey,'' I stammered. 
 
 `` Well,'' she huffed, pulling the bulging purse back to her shoulder, `` I had the same idea as you, only I was n't going to make such a scene. Quick and quiet. Which is really odd, because if either of us was going to be doing something quickly and quietly,'' she smirked, `` I would've thought it'd be you.'' A few of the hostages actually chuckled. 
 
 My cheeks burning red, I shouted at the clerk, `` Bring more. I'll carry it out in my goddamn pockets.'' 
 
 `` No,'' the man now carried Marsha's smirk, `` I do n't think I will.'' 
 
 `` I swear to fucking God, I'll pull this trigger!'' I warned. 
 
 `` Would n't matter!'' Marsha cut in with a singsong voice, chewing absentmindedly on one of her nails, `` The safety's on. Can we wrap this up?'' 
 
 I took half a minute to deactivate the safety, the shoved the gun back at the man. `` Money. Now.'' 
 
 The man just rolled his eyes and gestured for the next in line to come to the counter. The young lady behind me actually stepped up. 
 
 `` I'm gon na shoot you in the fucking *face* if you do n't bring me what I want!'' I screamed, to which the clerk guffawed. 
 
 I pulled the trigger, and the hammer clicked, but nothing further happened. The man did n't even flinch. He had already taken the woman's form and was preoccupied. 
 
 `` Oh, Harold,'' Marsha crooned, grabbing my arm, `` It happens to a lot of men, it's nothing to be ashamed of! Let's go.'' The bank erupted in cacophonous laughter. 
 
 `` Marsha-'' but she was already leading me outside. Halfway there, she confiscated my gun and put them both in her purse. 
 
 I held the door for her and Max, letting it slam closed, but I could still hear the laughter. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

