Darla

By Phil Forsyth

I’m not a hero, okay? It just happened. The guy popped into the bank; right next to me, and he didn’t even see me. I saw the shotgun, and when he put it in the air, I dunno. I just reacted. I hit him with my bag and the gun went off. Some plaster or whatever came down, and the other masked guys got rattled. I didn’t even feel the shot in the arm, if you want to know the truth. Something took over and I was just on the guy I hit, hitting him some more with my bag before I knew what was happening. I guess the other guys running to deal with me weren’t thinking about whatever their plan was anymore, and that dude in the crazy tie javelined that rope-holder or whatever you call it—you know, the heavy things that hold up the rope and keep the customers zig-zagging around, whether there’s a line or not? He took one of those things and hauled it at one of the other masked guys, which is impressive, really. The point is, those are heavy. Anyway, yeah. Splat goes the second guy. And I guess he was all twitching on the ground or whatever so his buddy doesn’t know whether he should pull me off the first dude or go after muscly, crazy tie guy, so I keep pounding, you know?

Thing is, I honestly wasn’t thinking about what was in my bag, and it didn’t occur to me until my grip got slippery and shit was splattering in my eyes that today wasn’t a normal day. The principal at the school I work for had asked me to pick up the corrected first place little league trophy. So that was in my bag. It’s…y’know…pretty solid.

So this guy’s brains are kinda leaking out now, and I’m sorta coming to, and now there’s sirens in my ears and I’m seeing there’s like four people yelling at the only masked dude who’s not bleeding yet, and somebody’s got one of the guns pointed at him. I’m just sort of catching my breath, when I guess things escalate verbally pretty quick, and then I’m seeing that guy’s brains spraying the fuckin’ teller windows. Honestly, I barely registered anything between the first guy coming in and you asking me what happened. Is that coffee? Oh, no, that’s okay. Water sounds good.

Look, obviously I didn’t know it was Jerry. If I had any idea he was hanging around with people like this, I wouldn’t have gone out with him, okay? Yeah, maybe some unconscious part of me recognized his dumb mermaid tattoo but it’s not like we slept together a whole bunch and anyway, it was usually dark. Hey, can I make a phone call? I’m going to have to order another one of these trophy things. It’s bent now.