Ann Rule End of the Dream

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that had been advertised in The Seattle Times.
Although he was home for Christmas, he knew he would go back. In
January, Mark caught another plane to Washington. This time, Steve
Meyers was there, too. Steve wasn't anxious to continue robbing banks,
he told Mark he had a feeling that they were close to being caught.
There had been some dicey situations already.
Nevertheless, Steve said he was in on the next job. Scott had decided to
rob either the Sea first Bank in the Wedgwood area on Thirty-fifth NE or
the First Interstate Bank, which was close by. He had never robbed
either bank before, but he'd robbed a bank two blocks away in January
two years earlier. He had robbed a First Interstate before and gotten
almost $112,000, and he had hit six Sea first banks. One of the target
banks in the Wedgwood neighborhood was good-sizedthe Sea first Bank but
Scott didn't want to attempt it unless he had someone who would go
inside with him.
That someone would be Mark Biggins. Scott, Mark, and Steve made several
trips to Thirty-fifth NE to observe the two banks. They not only watched
from the outside, they mingled with the customers inside.
After they had done their surveillance, they would retire to a pool hall
or a restaurant in Seattle to discuss their strategy. They agreed that
Mark would be crowd control, and Steve would continue to be electronics,
on the outside. Scott said that the robbery would come down on Thursday,
January 25 almost exactly a year after his last job on January 27, 1995.
But he explained to. his accomplices that he wouldn't decide which of
the banks he would hit until they got there.
This made Mark and Steve more nervous than ever. Nevertheless, with Mark
and Scott in full makeup, they headed for Seattle on that Thursday
morning, arriving around eleven. Scott and Mark were in Scott's white
van and Steve drove a blue Mazda that he had rented in Portland. They
had parked an unobtrusive beige 1984 Chevrolet station wagon near the
bank the day before. They had agreed beforehand that if anyone saw an
armored car near either bank, the code word would be "Stagecoach."
"The Sea first Bank would be "Number 1" and the Interstate was dubbed
"Number 2." Steve dropped Mark and Scott off at the old Chevy wagon and
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they cruised the area, observing both banks. They spotted the armored
car at the Sea first bank, it was leaving which meant that the big money
was going with it.
Scott picked up his Motorola and said, "The stagecoach is pulling out.
We're going for Number Two." They had picked one of Shawn Johnson's
three unlucky days, the dates he had checked on his calendar, based on
how fast Hollywood spent money. But Johnson was sitting on a stakeout at
a bank two miles away from the First Interstate branch, a lone FBI agent
with a hunch. Mark Biggins carried a Smith and Wesson and a pistol with
a fifteen-round magazine, Scott had his Glock, and they had also brought
a rifle in a guitar case. That, Scott told them, was to shoot out the
engine of any police car that might try to stop them.
Although they had always carried weapons, no one had ever talked aloud
about actually firing them at anyone. Mark, who had been away from this
world for so long felt sick to his stomach. And, then, it began again.
Inside the Interstate Bank, the head teller was assisting a customer
when she caught a glimpse of a man in a theatrical mask out of the
corner of her eye. She heard his voice, she would describe it later as
an "an actor's voice." He held a black handgun and she saw that his
finger was not on the trigger, but held straight above the trigger
guard. That was only small comfort. "Ma'am, " he said, politely, as he
pushed a male customer out of his way, "this is a robbery. I want your
fifties and hundreds." He looked familiar if a man in makeup and a mask
could look familiar, she had seen the flyers describing Hollywood and
she knew who this man was. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing
as he moved to another teller. She saw now that there was another man in
disguise, a taller, bigger man, who was herding customers toward the
center of the bank. The first robber leapt effortlessly over the gate
and into the tellers' area. He asked the first woman and the other
tellers about specific security devices, he appeared to know so much
about the inner workings of banks. He scooped money out of a teller's
drawer, leaving the dye pack behind.
He studied a wall of alarms that was usually hidden from customers'
view, as if he knew what to look for. A phone shrilled. The bank was so
quiet that it sounded like a siren.
"If that's the alarm company, " he ordered, "tell them that there is
nothing wrong."
"I'm sure it's just a customer, " a teller answered.
"Why don't we just let it ring? " He seemed to consider that for a
moment, and then he nodded. "Let it ring." All during this time,
customers were entering the bank unaware of the robbery and the second
masked man was directing them toward the center lounge area. Now, the
first man the smaller, slimmer man, asked for the vault teller. A woman
stepped forward and identified herself as the vault teller. He nodded.
"OK, come with me and bring your keys." In the vault, she bent over
the lock, fumbling a little as so many women had before her when they
were next to the man in the mask, her fingers leaden with fear.
"Don't fuck with me, lady, " the robber hissed. To her immense relief,
the vault door finally swung open. "Turn around and face the wall." She [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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