Written by CJ Burkey.

Updated: 2017-02-22

Ross Reed stood behind the counter, staring straight ahead of him.

"Well?" said a short, fat man in front of him, "Are you going to put in my order?"

Ross snapped out of his daydream-like state and looked at the man, "Yo-your order?"

"Yes! My number 3 large!" the man shouted, "What's wrong with you?"

"S-sorry sir, I just kind of zoned out," he said as he tapped a few buttons on the screen in front of him. After the man gave Ross his credit card to pay and stomped angrily away from the counter after getting it back, Ross looked at the clock. He took off his apron and hung it on the hook next to the employee restrooms, and he took his name tag off and put it into the top pocket.

As he was walking to his car, he took his eyes off of the dark, wet pavement to look ahead, and he saw The Real Bank. An idea popped into his head, but as quickly as it had appeared, he chuckled and tried to forgot he had ever thought it. But even after he opened door to his one room apartment and shut it behind himself, the idea still managed to poke its way into his head.

Even as he slept, he saw himself. He saw himself in front of the same bank across the street, holding something. Something big, a bag, full of something. Something paper-like, something green. He couldn't see his own face, it had been covered. Covered by something black, and that looked quite a bit like a ski mask.

The next morning as Ross walked back to work, the bank across the street seemed to be calling his name. He shook his head, he promised himself he would never stoop to the level of bank robbery. It didn't matter that he really needed the money and it didn't matter that his life would be so much better with the money. As he explained this to himself, he began to slow his walking pace. He looked up and saw that he was standing directly in front of the bank.

The next thing he knew, he was running. His hands were full and sirens were screaming. His ears were ringing and his mind was racing. He knew he had made a mistake. He knew he shouldn't have done it. Oh why did I have to do it?

Leonard Rogers sat at his desk in the office on the first floor of his house. His police uniform hung on the doorknob, he just had it cleaned and he didn't feel like putting it away just yet. Suddenly, the phone exploded into a fit of unrelenting crying, which stopped only when Leonard picked it up. He listened for a few seconds.

"Indeed!" was the only thing he said before slamming the phone down and grabbing the suit off the door.

When Leonard arrived at the bank, he found it in a state of total disarray. There were dollar bills randomly covering the floor and people were still franticly pacing and talking. He walked up to the guard and asked him where the manager was. "Follow me," said the guard, and led Leonard into the back, where a short, fat man called himself the manager, "My name is Franklin Newman," said the manager.

"I'm Officer Rogers," said Leonard, "You've been robbed, correct? Did you see the man?"

"I did not see him personally, but we do have security cameras and the tellers couldn't have missed his face."

"Can we check these security cameras?"

"Oh sure, follow me," said Franklin as he turned around and led Leonard and the guard into a small, older looking room with digital screens covering the walls, "We like to...keep an eye on everything."

It took them nearly twenty-six and a half minutes to find the face of the robber. When they finally saw it, Leonard was the only one unfamiliar with the face. Franklin explained that this was the same man who ran the cash register at Hungry Frankie's across the street. It was only a short walk across a small road and a little chat with the manager of the restaurant to find out who the robber was.

Ross wondered why they hadn't stopped him, it doesn't take a genius to recognize the good old hand-in-pocket-pretending-to-be-a-gun-but-it's-not trick. He didn't really care, though. He had his money, and he was going to spend it. He decided to do what any sane and suddenly-rick person would do. He was going to leave his apartment and move onto a yacht. Ross decided his favorite part of being rich was the fact that he could do what ever he wanted to do.

He stood on the bow of the boat, it was a fine boat, and brand-new too. It had 4 rooms, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room with a complimentary 72" flatscreen T.V. Ross decided that this was well worth his money, he payed it all in cash.

Ross was unlocking the door to his apartment when he heard someone shout, "Hey!"

He turned and saw Leonard. Maybe it was the look in the officer's eye, or just a little paranoia, but Ross knew exactly why he was there. Before he could think of a plan he had launched himself down the staircase and was running toward the local docks. He was on his boat and released from the mooring line before he even saw Leonard running towards him.

It had been about a week since Ross ran from an officer of the law, he was a fugitive, and he knew it. He had a new name for himself, "John McNeil," and had managed to get himself a job as a hotel's doorman. It wasn't the kind of rich living he was looking for, but at least he still had his yacht. He had the foresight to purchase the yacht under another name, and since he had all the cash readily available, the seller might have "missed" a step or two during the purchase to verify identity.

Leonard didn't know how he did it, but he managed to find Ross. It had been a week since he ran away, but the locals in a nearby town reported seeing the mystery man. He smiled while sitting as his desk, thinking about the promotion he hoped to receive after capturing Ross.

There was a knock at the door. This surprised Ross, he didn't know anyone around him. Ross got up from his reclining chair and walked slowly to the door. When he opened it, his heart skipped a beat, maybe two.

"Mr. Ross Reed, A.K.A. John McNeil?"

"Bu-bu-but how did yo-you...You know what?" Ross said, "It doesn't matter, I've got money, lots of it, and I think we can make this whole thing a lot easier."

"I really won't accept a bribe, sir, now please, follow me-"

"Four hundred fifty thousand dollars, it's yours."

"Mr. Reed, you are a very persuasive man."

Before he knew it, Ross Reed found himself laying on the deck of his yacht, heading to Germany.