Best Laid Schemes

By Ted Stetson

The bank robbery is a simple plan until everyone started adding their own twists and double crosses.
Otto has a plan for robbing the bank, but everyone has their own schemes.
Otto wants to date Cindy. Cindy is dating Frank Harris, the bank president.
Domino, Frank's Harris's wife is seeing Cindy and has plans of her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Stetson
• Release date: Aug 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452437347

Ted Stetson

Ted Stetson is a member of SFWA. He was born in Brooklyn and raised on Long Island and went to Seton Hall and Hofstra. He graduated from the University of St. Thomas, Houston, Texas. He was awarded First Place by the Florida Literary Arts Council and First Place in the Lucy B. McIntire contest of the Poetry Society of Georgia. His short fiction has appeared in Twisted Tongue, MysteryAuthors.com, Future Orbits, State Street Review, and the anthologies; One Evening a Year, Mota: Truth, Ruins Extraterrestrial Terra, Ruins Terra and Barren Worlds. His books include: Night Beasts, The Computer Song Book.

Book preview

Best Laid Schemes

By Ted Stetson

Published by Three Door Publishing

Copyright © 2011 Ted Stetson

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover art by Gail Stetson

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Contents

Start

1 - Just One More

2 - Earlier

3 - Double Cross

4 - Bank Robber

5 - Suspect Shot

6 - Setup

7 - A Simple Plan

8 - Domino

9 - Hospital

10 - Nosey

11 - Neighbor

12 - Sacred Heart Hospital

13 - New Manager

14 - Rose

15 - Brass Key

16 - The Drop Box

17 - Old Photos

18 - Undercover

19 - Time

20 - Lawman

About the Author

Other Stories

Books

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Best Laid Schemes

by Ted Stetson

"The best laid schemes of mice and men

Go often askew,

And leave us nothing but grief and pain,

For promised joy!"

- Robert Burns

1 – Just One More

Thursday.

Otto Dowd walked out the back door of the Springfield Walmart carrying a paper bag like he was going to the picnic table on the grassy apron. He was glad the rain had stopped as he walked around the oily puddles. At the back of the asphalt lot stood a chain-link fence. On the other side of the fence was a wall of trees and shrubs. When he was sure no one was nearby he veered to the right, took off his clip-on tie and the blue Walmart vest. Whenever he did that he felt like one of those comic book heroes. He took the nametag off the vest and put it on the breast pocket of his short sleeve shirt so he wouldn’t lose it again.

The stink of rotten vegetables filled the trash alcove. He tossed the blue vest on the dumpster lid. He threw it too hard and it slid off the lid on the other side to the ground. He was about to go around the dumpster and pick it up when he thought, the hell with it, it doesn’t matter; he’d get another one when he returned. Behind the dumpster, hanging from a handle, was a white plastic bag. Inside was a dark green University of Oregon windbreaker he’d bought at Goodwill. He put it on. Next, he lifted out a brown wig and blue Eugene Emeralds baseball hat and carefully placed them on his bald head. He removed a dark blue Sierra Club backpack and a Browning .32 automatic and shoved the gun behind his belt. He’d wanted a bigger gun, something like a .38 police special, but the boss always said it wasn’t the size of the gun that mattered and she was right.

His heart started to race and he took deep breaths to calm himself down.

He positioned a small round mirror on the dumpster. From another bag he took a fake brown beard, put the ties behind his ears to hold it in place, and shoved the beard on his chin. It scratched a little, felt a little funny. Checked the beard in the mirror, it looked okay, then carried the empty backpack around the side to the front parking lot. Glanced at his Timex watch, he was late. His heart beat faster. A cold expression crossed his face and he held his stomach, his step faltered and he almost stopped.

'Why am I doing this?' he thought, then remembered—the money—and took a breath and kept on walking.

Crossing the large parking lot he looked in car windows veering towards an old black Mercedes sedan. He knew the security cameras would see him as a bum checking out all the parked cars. He chuckled; when he was smart, he was damn smart. He spotted the key hanging from the ignition in the Mercedes, climbed in and started the car. It rumbled to life and he glanced at his watch. A pained expression crossed his sweaty face and he opened the door and threw up on the asphalt.

He drove out of the parking lot and went west on Olympic Street. At McDonald's he took a left onto Mohawk Boulevard. He stayed on Mohawk when it became N. 14th Street. His mouth was dry and he wished he had remembered to bring a bottle of water. He hung a right on Main Street. Drove through downtown Springfield, glancing at the stores he could run in and grab a drink. He kept checking his watch and took the bridge over the Willamette River. Main Street was now Franklin Boulevard. He sped past the University of Oregon. Took 11th Avenue to Oak Street and drove one block before turning left on E. 10th Avenue. He drove past Oak Alley and parked near the corner of Willamette in a no parking zone.

He was up the block from the jewelry store. The rain had stopped, but the street was still wet. He reached for the ignition key—remembered—pulled his hand back, and left the key alone. He looked at the dangling key and started to get nervous again. Taking big breaths he inspected the passenger window. It was Open. He breathed, open is good. Sweat ran down his face.

He started trembling and grabbed the steering wheel and held it. He trembled so hard he thought he might break the steering wheel. When the trembling passed he sat there breathing heavily, his heart racing, sweat raining down his face. 'Why am I doing this?' he thought. 'I shouldn't be doing this.' He breathed evenly, his heart slowing down. 'One last time, God. Just one more time and then I'm done with it. Just one last one, God. Just one.'

He looked at the people on the sidewalk going by and had a very bad feeling about this, but he'd asked God for help and couldn't go back now. He looked up Willamette at the bus depot; afterward he would get on a bus and go back to Walmart as if nothing had happened. He thought it was a hoot that he was making his getaway by taking a bus. He didn’t know any bank robber who made his getaway on a bus. He thought of writing Woody Allen about it, but didn’t know if he would appreciate it. He shook his head, the things that went through his mind at times.

Climbing out, he slammed the door and unzipped the green University of Oregon windbreaker until he could touch the black rubber grip of the gun behind his belt. The automatic felt smaller every time he touched it. He walked around the hood of the car to the sidewalk, stumbled when he stepped up on the curb and quickly looked around, no one was laughing at him or giving him looks. He went to the passenger door, reached in the open window, lifted out the dark blue Sierra Club backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Again, he checked no one was watching.

Across the street were the empty windows of the Lane Council of Government offices. People were walking up and down Willamette, but no one was looking at him. A few people walked along East 10th, some people walked to the parking garage that spanned the street, some to Oak Street. No one had noticed him, no one at all.

‘Well,’ he thought, ‘when this is over they’ll know who Otto Dowd was, they’ll notice and they’ll remember the day . . . stop it . . . stop it . . . stop it. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t put the mouth on it.’

He glanced in the corner window of the DAC (Downtown Athletic Club); a pretty blonde girl in a white jumpsuit was sitting at a desk in a wood paneled room looking at something on her Ipad. The entrance was downstairs, the weight room, aerobics rooms and racquet ball courts were on the second floor. He’d wanted to join, but couldn’t afford it.

He was starting to shake again and took deep breaths like he’d rehearsed to calm down. A few breaths and he almost felt okay. He was still nervous, but now, he hoped, he didn’t look like it.

Walking east on 10th, he expected to bump into someone who'd recognize him; he'd practiced this walk a half dozen times and had not seen anyone, so today he expected to see someone he knew. Especially today. His eyes darted left and right, afraid he’d see someone. It always surprised him how many people he knew wandered around downtown Eugene. He glanced at his reflection in Epiphany Jewelers - Eugene's Finest Jewelry - store window and nervously patted the fake brown beard, afraid it might fall off. ‘Jesus, what the hell am I doing?’ He stopped in front of the Oregon National Bank door and breathed.

His heart raced. He was sweating, breathing hard like he’d hiked up Spencer Butte.

He yanked down the blue Eugene Emeralds baseball cap so just his eyes could be seen. Then he put on dark wraparound sunglasses like Arnold in the Terminator. He