The Baby Bank Heist

Clara turned to the deposit machine. “No, I’m not putting the receipt back in upside down. It came out upside down.”

Benny’s stroller bumped the brass rail beneath the hatch. His pacifier fell into his lap. His left sock slid off. The sock landed on the floor like a tiny abandoned flag.

He gripped the side of the stroller and pushed.

The front wheel climbed the rail. The stroller tilted. Benny’s world became ceiling, floor, ceiling, floor. Then the stroller settled with its nose pressed beneath the hatch and Benny found himself looking through the narrow opening into the bank’s service corridor.

The corridor was a kingdom of wheels.

Carts stood nose to nose along the walls, stacked with canvas bags, bundled papers, and plastic trays. A red light blinked above a metal door. Somewhere nearby, a machine made a low humming sound, like a refrigerator considering a crime. The rattle lay on the other side, its yellow handle shining beneath a cart.

Benny reached.

His fingers brushed it.

The rattle rolled away.

Benny made a decision.

He squeezed through the hatch.

It was not designed for babies. It was designed for trays, envelopes, and perhaps a particularly ambitious loaf of bread. Benny’s cheeks compressed against the metal. His sweater caught on a screw. He kicked once, twice, and popped through with a soft thump onto the corridor floor.

Behind him, the stroller remained wedged beneath the hatch, wheels spinning uselessly.

Benny crawled toward the rattle.

A bell chimed.

He stopped.

A red light flashed on the wall. Then another red light flashed above him. Somewhere overhead, a calm electronic voice said, “Movement detected.”

Benny looked up.

The ceiling looked back with a black glass eye.

He smiled at it.

The nearest cart began to roll.

It had been parked on a slight slope. Benny’s knee had nudged one wheel. The cart drifted forward, gathered confidence, and bumped into another cart. That cart bumped a third. Within seconds, a line of metal carts began sliding down the corridor like a slow parade that had lost its band.

Benny crawled faster.

The rattle spun beneath the first cart. He reached under it and caught the handle. The cart rolled over his sleeve, tugging him forward. Benny squeaked, which was not a word but contained several strong opinions.

A door at the end of the corridor swung open.

A bank employee appeared, carrying a stack of envelopes and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

He saw the carts.

He saw Benny.

He saw the carts again.

“Sir?” the employee said.

Benny pulled the rattle.

The cart pulled Benny.

The employee dropped the envelopes. The sandwich flew from its wrapping and landed face down on the floor with a soft, tragic slap.

“Stop!” the employee cried.

Benny did not stop. He had located his rattle, and it was attached to a moving vehicle.

The cart struck the wall. Benny released the toy. The rattle shot across the floor, bounced off a doorstop, and rolled through an open doorway marked VAULT LOBBY.

Benny followed.

The vault lobby was colder than the corridor. The air smelled of steel and dust. A huge circular vault door occupied one wall, its polished surface reflecting Benny in several distorted versions: Benny with one sock, Benny with no pacifier, Benny appearing to be hiding behind himself.

The rattle came to rest beside a canvas sack.

The sack was large, lumpy, and stamped with the bank’s blue crest. A metal tag dangled from its neck. CASH TRANSFER, it said, though Benny had no interest in reading it.

He crawled toward the rattle.

A motion sensor clicked.

The vault lobby lights came on all at once.

Benny blinked.

The sack tipped.

It had been balanced on a low wheeled dolly. Benny’s hand struck the dolly’s handle. The sack slid down, landed across his legs, and pulled the dolly after it. Benny disappeared beneath the canvas.

For one silent moment, only the rattle remained visible.

Then the sack moved.

It inched forward.

It bumped the vault door.

It turned in a slow circle.

Benny’s hands emerged, grabbed the dolly handle, and pushed.

The dolly rolled.

The sack rolled.

Benny rolled with it, wrapped in canvas from the waist down and wearing the expression of a small monarch being carried through a very poor parade.

The employee reached the doorway.

“Put that down!”

Benny heard the voice and considered the instruction. The sack was heavy. The dolly was easier to hold. The door behind him was closing, and the corridor was full of carts. The most sensible course, according to Benny’s reasoning, was to leave.

He pushed harder.

The dolly shot forward.

The employee lunged and caught the edge of the sack. Benny tightened both hands around the handle. The sack pulled one way, the employee pulled another, and Benny’s bare foot kicked rapidly against the floor.

The rattle, trapped under the sack, gave a muffled jingle.

Benny’s eyes widened.

He pulled with all the force available to a baby who had recently eaten half a banana.

The dolly jerked free.

The employee stumbled into a stack of plastic trays. The trays toppled over him in a bright avalanche. One landed on his head. Another settled neatly around his elbow.

Benny sailed through the doorway.

The motion sensors began to chirp.

Not one chirp. Many chirps. A whole argumentative flock of them.

“Security to the service corridor,” called a voice from somewhere beyond the walls.

Benny pushed the dolly down the passage. The sack bumped along behind him, making a deep, expensive thudding sound. The bank’s machines responded by opening and closing doors.

One door shut in front of him.

Benny stopped.

The dolly stopped.

The sack did not.

It slid forward and bumped Benny between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the closed door. Benny’s nose met the metal with a gentle tap. He sat down.

The door opened.

Benny and the sack shot through together.

A woman in a gray jacket stood on the other side holding a clipboard. The dolly struck her ankles. She lifted both feet, balanced on the sack, and rode it for three wobbling seconds while the clipboard spun away.

“Why is there a baby?” she asked.

Benny answered with a determined gurgle.

The dolly swerved.

The woman jumped off and grabbed a railing. Benny went left. The sack went right. The rattle jingled. The vault lobby door began to close behind them, trapping the woman, the clipboard, and one plastic tray on the wrong side of the passage.

Benny saw daylight ahead.

Not real daylight. The bank’s glass entrance, glowing beyond the service corridor. Clara stood near the deposit machine, still arguing with the receipt printer.

“Give me that paper,” she told it.

Benny pushed.

The dolly crossed the corridor.

A security guard emerged from behind a pillar.

He was broad, serious, and holding a cup of coffee with both hands. He saw the sack. He saw Benny. He looked down at the sack again, perhaps hoping it had become something more reasonable.

“Hey!”

Benny’s front wheel struck the brass rail beneath the service hatch.

The dolly stopped.

The sack kept going.

It rose behind Benny like a canvas wave. The top folded over his head. The metal tag smacked his forehead. Benny vanished completely.

The guard grabbed the sack.

Clara turned.

“Benny?”

The sack lurched.

The guard slipped on Benny’s abandoned sock.

His coffee described a brown arc through the air. It landed in the deposit machine’s paper slot. The machine whirred, accepted the coffee, and printed a receipt.

The guard fell backward into the stroller.

The stroller sprang free from the hatch.

The dolly, suddenly unrestrained, shot beneath the service opening. Benny remained under the sack, gripping its neck with both hands. The rattle rattled furiously inside.

Clara reached for him.

“Benny, let go!”

Benny did not let go. He had been told to let go of things before. He had let go of a spoon, a sock, and a biscuit. Each had been taken away. The rattle had already rolled away once. This time, Benny intended to keep everything.

He shoved the dolly.

It burst through the service hatch.

The sack scraped the brass edge. A few folded notes poked from a torn corner and fluttered onto the bank floor like green confetti. The guard, still on the floor, tried to catch them. He caught one against his cheek.

Benny emerged after the sack, diaper first, then one chubby knee, then his determined face. The dolly rolled into the lobby. The sack bumped behind him. The rattle finally fell free and landed in his lap.

He raised it.

Jingle.

The bank went quiet.

Even the deposit machine paused, its new coffee receipt hanging from the slot.

Benny sat in the middle of the lobby, one sock on, one sock missing, the favorite rattle in his fist and a canvas sack of cash trailing behind him. Clara stared at him. The guard stared at him. The woman in the gray jacket stared at him through the service doorway, still wearing a plastic tray around one elbow.

Above them, a camera rotated with a soft mechanical whir.

Its red recording light came on.

Benny looked directly into the lens.

He shook the rattle once.

Jingle.

Then he put both hands on the dolly and pushed toward the exit.

“Benny!” Clara shouted.

He pushed faster.

The automatic doors opened with a polite sigh. Cool rain-scented air touched his face. The dolly crossed the threshold, the cash sack dragged over the mat, and Benny’s diapered getaway rolled onto the sidewalk beneath the bank’s blue sign.

Behind him, alarms began to sing.

Not loudly enough to frighten Benny. Loudly enough to summon three guards, a police officer from the corner, and a pigeon that had been waiting near the revolving door for someone to drop a pastry.

Clara ran after him.

The bank’s camera continued recording.

It captured Benny’s missing sock, his triumphant rattle, the blue-crested cash sack, and the small, unmistakable bottom steering the entire operation toward the stroller.

The stroller waited beside the curb.

Benny reached it first.

He dropped the rattle into the seat, climbed after it, and pulled the sack in behind him. The dolly rolled away down the pavement, empty and innocent.

Clara arrived breathless.

For a moment she said nothing. She looked at the sack. She looked at Benny. She looked back at the bank, where the guard was pointing at the security camera as if it had personally betrayed him.

“Benny,” she whispered, “that is not your diaper bag.”

Benny hugged the sack.

Inside it, something clinked.

The bank doors opened again. A uniformed officer stepped onto the sidewalk, holding Benny’s abandoned sock between two fingers.

“Ma’am,” he called, “we need to discuss your child.”

Benny shook his rattle.

Jingle.

And from inside the sack came the unmistakable, magnificent rustle of money.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 11,731 words in the full book.