52stories

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Brisk wind blew relentlessly across the quad. Four men, each clad in a thick coat and fur-lined hat stood in an improvised circle. The hard years had chiseled deep wrinkles, and not a one still had color to his hair.

“Only four.” Pete said, which elicited a soft round of murmurs of agreement.

“Seeing you guys is great fodder for nightmares and all, but can we get on with it?” Gus’s voice had all the compassion of gravel, and a similar timbre.

“Yeah, here, here.” Isaac piped up, always the vocal one. But they were all old and cold, and getting out of the cold had a special poignancy.

“Okay, come on.” Pete turned, and the foursome began to march across the yard. Sixty years ago, this lone prison island off the coast of San Francisco was the only home these men would have for a dozen years. Bank robbing carried a high penalty, especially when the offenders were caught. In 1947, ten men executed the largest bank robbery ever in the Hawaii, having banks before even having official state status with the US. Two were shot and killed that day. Two died in prison, cancer got one, as did a car accident another.

Fate had deemed only these four clemency long enough to wait for this day. Sixty years to the day, and the statue of limitations would dissolve. The money would be, for lack of a better word, legal tender. The crew had all agreed not to talk, and not to take, in honor of the fallen, until this day.

The men would not get to enjoy much of the take, each share now worth a full million dollars. It was now a gift, to children or grandchildren or as a donation toward children to be. Perhaps to do some good. A warped robin hood, steal from the dead and give to the not yet born.

The people milling about were focused on taking pictures, smiling and waving to cameras. Pete was repulsed, tourists gawking and chattering about. This was the prison for the worst, including himself, not a place for site-seeing. It should be respected, sacrosanct. But that time had come and gone it seemed, and he had lived to see it. The place hadn’t beaten him, he, no they, had outlived it’s terrible grip. And while the island may be here for centuries until worn away by salty sea, no one in the universe could take that pride from him.

“Hello boys.” A solitary figure, also old and thin, stood still, a big smile all over his face. His coat was blue, no hat adorned his head, the remaining white locks whipping around in the wind freely.

“Owens? Is that you?”, Pete squinted, as did some of the others. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe you’d willingly come back.” Sanders replied, “At least not all four of you. On the same day. Not here.”

“Time changes a man.”, Isaac piped up. He was full of himself today.

“Bull” Owens said, “You’re all the same. All following Peter here on this crime that’s lasted what six decades? Can’t you just go home?”

“Can you?” Pete shot back. “It HAS been six decades, we can talk about it all we want and you can do nothing. So, CIVILIAN Owens, please step aside.” Pete blustered around the former detective, not completely clearing out of the way. And despite both their frail frames, it felt good to give rough a little, again.

The four men continued undaunted toward a side section of the open plaza. Speakers called for the 4:15 tour group to assemble at the main facility entry gates, painted bright green.

The goal of the troop was to retrieve a key. Hidden in a bathroom was the key to a safety deposit box. That key and only that key would give these men access to their large loot.

Rounding the corner, all four stopped cold in their tracks. For all their planning, for their infinite patience, they never factored in one possibility. Since the public was now admitted to the site, provisions had to be installed for women. In it’s prime Alcatraz hosted only men. There were no women’s restrooms, so the location of the hidden key was so close, and yet unfathomably far away.

“What’s the matter boys?”, Owens had sidled up behind them. “You lost?”

“Pete, what are we going to do?”, Alexander hadn’t spoken much that day at all, yet now he looked ready to fall apart.

“Good day, gentlemen.” Owens laughed heartily and walked off.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, improvise.”, Pete was already looking around. He was their solutions man, and that’s why he led. In short order the janitor received a crisp new $50 dollar bill and took an unscheduled break. Pete took the ‘rented’ equipment, a mop, bucket, and the all important “BATHROOM CLOSED” sign. In ten minutes the restroom was cleared. Pete and Alexander walked in, Alexander having the needed adjustable wrench and screwdriver. The tile had been redone since their last visit here, but the pattern remained the same. Pete counted off the tile in the fashioned he’d used earlier. His shifts as janitor served him well back then. It took two minutes and all four of their hands, but the team peeled away a tile, and chiseled through the ugly mortar behind it. The metal top burst through a fake wall section, and waiting patiently this past sixty years in darkness, was a brass key.

* * *

American National Bank had changed names, logo, and branding over a dozen times in the last sixty years. Yet, they still honored key-holders 24/7 access to the safety deposit boxes. Pete signed in just ten minutes after midnight, the woman processing him in absolute amazement with how long it had been since the box had been last opened. She explained, “The account has been pre-paid for sixty years. Tomorrow, well, later today we were going to open it up, I guess you saved us some effort. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

After the pretty little thing left, that could have been any of their granddaughters, they all went inside. Pete had forgotten which box was his, but they were all labeled.

“Mister Peter Vanguard?” It was the clerk again. “Is this man with you?”

“Owens, what are you doing here?”, Pete demanded.

“This case has been with me the better part of my life. I want to see it finished.”

“The statute of limitations ran out about ten minutes ago.” Pete said to the guys. “Let him look, he ain’t a cop anymore. Let him know how badly we beat him. I mean on a cops pension, you must be making what? 10, 12 grand a year?” The room burst with laughter from all except Owens. “Yeah, doll, he can come in.” Pete said proudly.

Cramped in the secure room, the five men walked to the far end. Finding the large box installed on the bottom row, Pete slid in the key. He tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s stuck.” All groaned. “Just kidding you rubes!” Pete turned the reluctant lock and then pulled out the metal shelf from inside. Despite being locked away, dust still managed to coat the top. Pete pulled open the lid, and inside was brimming with many thousand dollar bills, none more current than 1957.

Cheers of joy sounded, the long wait had paid off. Pete picked up a wad and shook it in Owens’ face. “What do you think of that?”

“Is that the money you stole from the bank?”, Owens asked calmly.

“Sure is!” Pete laughed, as did the others. Pete smelled the thick, old money. It smelled good!

“Then I’m afraid you’ll need to turn that over to the police.” Owens said.

More laughter, this time guttural, intense. Pete was the first to calm down. “That’s a good one Owens, you’re just a little too late.”

“No, you’re too early. About two hours early. You were arrested, tried and convicted in Hawaii, which is two hours behind us. The stature doesn’t expire for a little while just yet.” Owens then let himself smile.

“What?” Pete felt dizzy.

“Now, you already served the time for the crime, but the money will still be confiscated. The police are waiting just outside. I still have friends on the job.” Owens turned, satisfied that despite the long years waiting for it, he finally got to see those four smug faces get their comeuppance.