Three hundredish grand in a dufflebag. A cheap hotel room with rattling air conditioner.
The bank had been chaos. Smoke and shredded paper filled the air. That one lady never stopped screaming the whole time, whether he pointed a gun at her or not.
He had floored his little hatchback all the way to Oklahoma. Now, he lay on the ratty carpet staring at the nicotine-stained ceiling. He waited for the call, nervously checking his cell every few seconds.
He replayed that fateful conversation over in his mind. “We have your daughter.” Said the raspy voice. “A quarter million and she’s yours.” No amount of screaming, pleading, or threatening could change anything. And no police, of course.
The phone rang, and he jumped out of his skin. “Yes, hel-hello?” He stuttered.
“Shit, man.. we uh, just saw the news.” Said the burly voice. “This is Dave, from shipping?” A long, breathy pause, “April fools, you poor bastard.”
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