Bank Robbers (3 page)

“Me? I can't do nothin' for nobody,” she said after a moment, turning around to look at her. Teresa peered down at her, her eyes narrowed. “What'd you want Fred for?”

Dottie looked her straight in the eyes. “I need the number of a fence.”

Teresa's eyes grew round, and she looked quite stunned.

“You lookin' for an appliance?”

“A gun.”

Teresa's face went neutral, the way Fred's always had when he was discussing business, but she didn't take her eyes off Dottie. Her hand shot out and grabbed a pack of cigarettes on the counter. She pulled one out and lit it with a lighter. She exhaled hard.

“Gimme that again?”

“I need a gun.”

“What, you gonna go shoot everyone at Medicaid?”

“No. I'm going to rob a bank.”

Teresa's eyes stayed fixed on Dottie and she sat down at the table.

“Like the guy in the
News?
”

“The guy in Minnesota?”

“There was a nut in Minnesota too? Naw, the old guy from—hold on, I'll get the paper, it was just in it.”

She watched Teresa open the closet door. Inside was a waist-deep stack of yellowing papers.

“I hate that stupid law they put in about recycling, I never know when to put the stuff out, what you tie it with…” Teresa was muttering as she sifted through the top of the pile, which was mainly comprised of gossip sheets, and magazines that followed celebrities.

Dottie shook her head at all of them.

“How can you read all that garbage?”

Teresa looked up, a bit surprised.

“What?”

“All those gossip rags? None of it is true.”

“It's
all
true,” Teresa informed her, holding up a copy of the
Star.

“Yeah? What's that headline say?” Dottie asked, and Teresa looked at it.

“
IS YOUR DOG A SPACE ALIEN
?” Teresa read aloud.

“There, you see?”

“What? I took that test.” Teresa said seriously.

“You—you don't even have a dog.”

“So? My daughter's got a dog. You think I want some alien around my grandchildren? This test come out of a university. Besides, even if it is silly, it's got all the good dirt on all them celebrities.”

“Who cares about some celebrity?” Dottie sniffed.

“I do.” Teresa looked confused. “I always read about everyone. I had someone famous in my family once,” she said casually.

“Who?” Dottie asked, leaning forward.

“My great-aunt, for whom I was named. Teresa Salinotta.”

“I never heard of her.”

“Yeah, that's 'cause you don't read nothing important.” Teresa sniffed, and they both let it drop.

“Here it is, here it is, McAlary's column:
WHEN GRANDDAD ROBS A BANK
,” Teresa read out loud and tossed the paper down in front of Dottie.

“I don't usually follow these stories, but this one … He was twenty in the hole, and he got his grandson's toy gun and robbed a bank way the hell out in Nassau County.”

“Yeah? Did they catch him?”

“You kiddin'? The cops were all over him before he even left the building. And then the guy got so scared he began to have a heart attack, so all these cops sat there feedin' the
stunadze
heart pills, and doin' CPR on him till the ambulance showed. It was a big embarrassing mess. See? Looks like his wife's about to smack him in the photo,” Teresa said, holding it up for Dottie to look at.

“What kind of time did they give him?” Dottie asked, leaning forward.

“It just happened. But they're talkin' eight to ten.”

“Eight to ten, that's good.”

Teresa frowned at her. “Yeah, well, maybe you should rethink the bank thing. I mean, some guy our age can't get away with it, you ain't.”

“I don't want to get away with it. I want them to catch me. I want them to send me to jail.”

Behind them the teapot began to whistle.

“You
wanna
go to jail?” Teresa got up, turned off the fire under the teapot, and poured the water into the cups. She felt herself grimace.

“Yes.”

Teresa was silent. Dottie listened to her stirring the coffee powder into the hot water.

“You sure they said debilitating
bone
disease, not maybe debilitating
brain
disease, Dottie?”

“I'm not crazy!” she snapped indignantly, and Teresa looked around at her. “I'm not so stupid as to think I could actually get away with robbing a bank. Of course not, I'm not crazy,” she repeated.

“Yeah, well, you ain't talkin' too normal neither.”

“Listen, Medicaid wiped out every cent I had before they would pay for any of the hospital expenses. Then they humiliated me and refused to pay for treatments I need. Why the hell should I go begging for medical care, when they took the money?”

“'Cause that's the way it works.”

“Not with me, it doesn't.”

“So this guy—from where?”

“Minnesota.”

“Don't it snow all the time up there?”

“Yeah…”

“Ah, well, that's it, the guy just went nuts 'cause he couldn't get out of the house,” Teresa joked and set the coffee down in front of Dottie.

“He didn't go nuts because of snow, he went nuts because he had leukemia and like me, had no insurance. And because he'd worked his whole life honestly, and they refused to pay. They told him he had to use up all his own money—sell his house, empty his bank account—before they'd cover anything. But that would've wiped him out and, what was he going to do if they ‘cured' him? Live in a home on welfare? It's crazy. He'd have no way of supporting himself, and besides, he wanted to leave something to his kids.”

She watched Teresa's head rise and a flash of pain cross her face. Then she nodded very gently in recognition.

“So, he held up a gas station,” Dottie said.

“They caught him?” Teresa held her cup, as she leaned against the counter, sipping at it, and stared at Dottie.

“Of course. And do you know where they sent him?”

“Jail?” Teresa asked sneeringly.

“Not just jail. Minimum security. I saw it on television. He was sitting in a nice clean infirmary. They were just handing him all the medication he needed, he was undergoing chemo—there were no triplicate forms to fill out, there was no begging. I mean, the man had clean clothes, was being fed hot meals. Do you know what I've been living on for the last four months? Bouillon cubes and toast. And at this facility there was a garden and a swimming pool and the second Tuesday of every month they have entertainers come, just like at Grossinger's in the Catskills.”

“So it was a scam?” Teresa said.

“No, it wasn't a scam.” Dottie said testily. “Look, they took the money out of his paycheck each month the same way they took it out of mine. It's just getting back what they owe me. No crap, no snotty clerks talking back to you, no guards escorting you out of buildings like some criminal. And that's why I need the gun.”

Teresa frowned and sat down. “Ye-e-e-ah,” she began and her eyes squinted as she went over it in her brain. “So let me get this straight: they send this nut in Minnesota to some country club, and pay all his expenses. But you ain't some guy. And this ain't some hick state. This is New York.”

“No, but it's going to be even easier for me.”

“How?”

“I'm a widow, my son was a war hero who died for his country. I've never been in trouble with the law in my life.” Dottie counted them off on her fingers.

She watched Teresa purse her lips and nod up and down at her, and she then began to shake her head back and forth.

“You're like one of them crazy smart people, right?” she said, smacking the word “smart.” “That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“No, it's not! It's a good plan. Hell, it is a
great
plan. Do you know where they sent Leona Helmsley? They had a
health spa
there. And that's where I'm going. And if they don't send me there, I'll do an interview on the six-o'clock news that would have the Pope himself writing the mayor.” A hard smile went across Dottie's face.

“You and Leona Helmsley, huh?” Teresa shrugged. “Well, I could see some serious problems…”

“What?” Dottie demanded.

“For one thing, you ain't no bank robber. If I was a guard in New York City, seen some old woman with a gun, I'd just shoot you. And you ain't no Leona Helmsley neither. Sure, they send her to some fancy place, 'cause for her that's a big step down.”

“It would be a big step down for me too,” Dottie defended herself.

“Not the way you talkin' about it. You talkin' like you gonna win the lottery.”

“Yeah, well, you're right, what might be a big step down for Leona Helmsley is a big step up for Dottie O'Malley Weist … All right, there is one tiny drawback.” Dottie began to sneer. “They would put on my record that I'm a convicted felon. Oh, the stigma! I'm fifty-eight. It's not like I'm going to be in line for some fancy job where they would check my background. And on the up side, if I was a convicted felon, I wouldn't have to pull jury duty anymore.”

“You show up for jury duty?”

“Doesn't everyone?”

Teresa rolled her eyes. “So this is your big plan,” she said quietly.

“Yes. Now I need a gun. Teresa, do you have any of Fred's old numbers on you? I'll do all the calling.”

“Yeah, damn right you do the calling. I don't deal with them people.”

“Fine. You'll never need to know about any of this.”

“I already know too much.” Teresa shook her head.

Teresa didn't move. Dottie leaned forward and looked at her pleadingly.

“You gonna get yourself killed and then it'll be my fault,” Teresa said.

“No. I swear.”

Teresa looked at her again, and shook her head.

“You need a man,” Teresa suggested.

“I don't need a man, I need a gun that can shoot,” Dottie said tensely.

“They could both shoot,” Teresa offered. “Maybe the sound's a bit different when they're goin' off,” Teresa said and threw her head back into a bellowing gale of hoarse cigarette laughter.

Dottie's eyes narrowed and she stared almost in hatred at this coarse woman.

“Don't make fun of me,” she said and felt her nose begin to itch, and her eyes begin to shed a small flood.

“Aw, come on, Dottie. Look, you come in here telling me that you, Miss Honest Citizen, is gonna rob a bank to get sent to the same jail as Leona Helmsley.”

“Give me the number,” Dottie demanded, deadly serious.

Teresa stared at her, offended at being ordered, and they were silent.

“I'll pay you fifty bucks,” Dottie said.

“Seventy,” Teresa shot back.

Dottie frowned. “Sixty-five.”

“Seventy.”

“I only have fifty on me.”

“You give me the rest later.”

“Done.”

Teresa stood up and left the kitchen. Behind her Dottie could hear her rifling through a drawer. At last Teresa reappeared with two pieces of paper. She placed them down on the table.

“I got two numbers. I don't even know if they're still working. If they ain't, you don't owe me nothin'. If they are and you use my name or tell anybody where you got them, I swear, I'll go down to the Village and shoot you myself.”

Dottie nodded and looked at her. She smiled shakily, and pulled five ten-dollar bills out of her purse, placing the money carefully on the kitchen table. In one sweep Teresa snatched the bills up and they disappeared in her apron pocket.

“I'll let you know what happens,” Dottie said, standing up, and wiped her eyes, avoiding Teresa's stare.

“Yeah, when do I get the rest?”

“When I get the gun,” Dottie shot back at her, pleased that she'd thought of it.

Teresa shrugged. “Fair enough. Just don't get yourself killed before I see that twenty,” Teresa said sternly, and walked her over to the door of the apartment.

Dottie shook her hand and walked off down the stairs. Teresa leaned over the railing and waved after her.

“Good luck. Have fun,” she yelled, smirking. “See ya on the six-o'clock news!” She shook her head.

Jeez, Teresa thought, what a nut.

She gave a sigh, and straightened up. Well, at least it had been the liveliest afternoon she'd spent in a while. She walked back into the apartment and looked up at the clock. Almost five. Her daughter and that
jedrool
she married would be here soon with the groceries, she thought.

They'd just better have “remembered” the carton of cigarettes this time, otherwise she'd be stuck having to walk down all those flights. As if at her age she should seriously give them up for health reasons! What, were they crazy? She'd already lived longer than she thought she would. And she'd have to walk down all those flights tomorrow again for that stupid doctor's appointment.

*   *   *

D
OTTIE
sipped on a cup of broth and looked at the number. She suddenly felt jittery. Jittery about the whole thing.

Now it could happen. Now it was real. Because she knew that all she had to do was dial a number and most likely she would be within reach of owning one illegitimate gun with bullets.

But, as Teresa had said, she was no bank robber. Was she really going to get a gun and rob a bank at the tender age of fifty-eight? Maybe she was deluding herself. Maybe she should just wait and see. Maybe things would get better, maybe she should just swallow what pride she had left and go back down to Medicaid and …

Her stomach gurgled and she looked at the empty cup of broth she had called dinner.

Right!