Deception on All Accounts

  Deception on All Accounts

  Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  The University of Arizona Press

  Tucson

  The University of Arizona Press

  © 2003 Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  All rights reserved

  www.uapress.arizona.edu

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hoklotubbe, Sara Sue, 1952–

  Deception on all accounts / Sara Sue Hoklotubbe.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-8165-2311-5 (Paper : alk. paper)

  1. Women bank employees—Fiction. 2. Cherokee women—Fiction. 3. Bank robberies—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3608.04828 D43 2003

  813'.6—dc21 2003005023

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United States of America on acid-free, archival quality paper and processed chlorine free.

  14 13 12 11 7 6 5 4 3

  ISBN-13: 978-0-8165-9880-9 (electronic)

  To Eddie,

  who has never stopped believing in me and my dreams.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Grateful appreciation goes to Faith E. Horton, my good friend and co-worker, who had to face the gun barrel of a robber instead of me; David “Big Mac” McWhorter, for his inspiration and expertise in law enforcement and weapons; Dr. Michael Chang, for his extensive understanding of mental trauma and its effect on victims; Harold Winton, who survived more than one rattlesnake bite and lived to tell his stories; Chad Smith, Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation, and Dr. Richard Allen, for their words of support; Wynema Smith and Dennis Sixkiller, for their expertise with the Cherokee language and knowledge of Cherokee culture; Linda Boyden, Mary Ellen Cooper, Audrey Eggers, Rachelle “Rey” Hanan, and Pamela Rentz, who cheerfully and tirelessly read my manuscript and made helpful suggestions; Wordcraft Circle of Native American Writers and Storytellers, for their moral support; Paul Wood, who helped me visualize my name on the front of a book and launch my writing career; Geary Hobson, who gently nudged me in the right direction by suggesting I contact the University of Arizona Press; Patti Hartmann, acquiring editor, and Judith Allen, managing editor, who are both a joy to work with; Debra Makay, my manuscript editor, who somehow knew exactly what I wanted to say; Rosa, my Cherokee grandmother, who taught me I could do anything and to always persevere; and to my Choctaw husband, whose enduring love and generous support made it possible for me to write this book, you are a gift from God.

  Prologue

  With the skill of a nocturnal animal, he slipped to the end of the alley. He crouched to absorb his surroundings. The stench of forgotten trash permeated the darkness and a sudden gust of wind carried a whiff of freshly cut grass up his nose. He gasped and choked back a sneeze.

  From his hiding place behind a stockade fence, Johnny could see through the windows of the small bank. A spotlight above the teller counter reflected off the vault door, a golden glow that rivaled the light of the full moon. A sticky sweatshirt clung to his back as an irritating trickle of sweat slid below the waistband of his underwear. The only sound came from an occasional vehicle in the distance as it rushed down an empty street.

  Johnny chose this bank because it sat on the quiet corner of Martin Luther King Boulevard and Harvest Street. He had watched the corner street lamp that shed a ray of light on the small building. As the cars traveled down the steep hill toward MLK Boulevard, their headlights would invariably hit the photocell, causing the lamp to temporarily go dead. The automatic sensor, recognizing the sunny illusion, would then turn the light on again. Over the last several weeks, Johnny had timed the duration of these mini blackouts. They lasted three and one-half minutes.

  At 4:15 A.M., as expected, a police officer drove down the hill at Harvest Street. As the headlight beams of the vehicle bobbed down the hill, the street lamp flickered and went dead right on cue. As Johnny had watched him routinely do, the officer eased through the stop sign by the bank, downshifted, and drove off into the blackness.

  Johnny slipped across the parking lot and slid behind the shrubbery next to the building. With a swift and fluid movement, he drew an odd-shaped circle with a glass cutter in a window near the ground. Then, with his glove-protected hand, he punched out the glass. After what seemed like an endless minute of silence, he lay on the ground and slithered into the bank like a snake.

  Once inside the building, Johnny crouched on the floor and listened, allowing the pounding in his chest to subside and his eyes to adjust to the surroundings. Losing no time, Johnny verified what he already knew—the room contained no glass-break sensors and no motion detectors. Like the other small bank branches he had encountered during his illustrious criminal career, the only alarm was installed on the vault to protect the money, with little thought given to the rest of the building or the safety of the employees.

  The street lamp relit as he moved out of the office and into the lobby. The best place to wait, he decided, was behind the teller counter.

  Chapter 1

  Sadie Walela's old Chevy sputtered and died just as she reached her designated parking space. She looked at her watch, then scanned the lot. The policy and procedure manual strictly prohibited anyone from entering the bank alone. Since none of the other employees had arrived yet, she would have to wait.

  She understood the purpose of the rule. First of all, no one should be left alone with access to the bank's money. With two people present, cash was less likely to come up missing. The second issue dealt with personal safety. The other employee's role was to wait in the vehicle until the first employee gave the predetermined “all clear” sign indicating the bank was safe to enter. If the correct sign was not given, the employee could drive off and summon help.

  Sadie's dilemma at this point was the fact that the vault had a twenty-minute time lock on it. Once she dialed the combination, she would have to wait for the time lock to expire before she could try to open the vault door. If she was unsuccessful on her first attempt and it didn't open, she would have to redial and wait another twenty minutes.

  Soon she would have to make a decision. Which was more important? Not following procedure and going in alone, as she had witnessed the manager do countless times before, or not having enough time to open the vault and get the cash drawers in place before it was time to open the bank? The last time a branch manager missed the combination and had to wait for the time lock to recycle, the bank's doors didn't open on time and he was fired. Sadie didn't want to suffer the same fate.

  While she waited, she lowered the car window and gazed at a honeysuckle bush growing up over the wooden fence bordering the east side of the parking lot. It reminded her of how as a young girl she had harvested honeysuckle vines for Rosa, her grandmother, who would then weave double-walled b
askets using the same technique passed down from her ancestors.

  Sadie knew that, before long, if left unchecked, the flowering bush with its heady fragrance would sprout into an indestructible woody beast, pushing its tender vines through every knothole and crevice it could find, slowly overtaking and destroying the fence. Things were never as they appeared, she thought.

  Tiny blooms fell from the Oklahoma sky, released by a nearby pear tree making way for tender spring leaves. A morning breeze carried the white flowers through Sadie's car window, attaching the delicate works of nature to her hair. She flicked at the flowers with her fingers and then applied a quick stroke of lipstick, using the rearview mirror to check her appearance. The honey-colored tint of her flawless complexion, her jet-black hair, and her high cheekbones reflected her daddy's Cherokee lineage. But the icy-blue color of her eyes, an unwanted gift from her white mother, revealed the secret of her mixed blood. She put away her lipstick and continued to wait.

  The branch manager, Tom Duncan, had scheduled the day off, leaving his assistant, Sadie, in temporary control. It was his way of dodging the mischievous April Fools' Day pranks the young tellers liked to play on a preoccupied manager. He had returned one too many calls to Mr. Lyon or Ms. Wolf, only to find himself sputtering in the phone when the voice on the other end of the line answered for the Delaware County Zoo. His method of defense was simply to take the day off.

  Sadie checked the time again and wished someone would arrive. If she didn't get the combination right the first time, she would have to redial and the entire morning schedule would fall twenty minutes behind. If the bank didn't open on time, she would have to answer for it.

  Finally, she gathered her purse under her arm, pushed the car door open, and headed for the bank. After a brisk stride across the parking lot, she unlocked the front door and entered. Once inside, she turned the key and felt the heavy dead bolt fall between the glass doors. Before entering the second set of doors into the lobby, she checked the parking lot one more time. Still empty.

  The lush burgundy carpet muffled her footsteps as Sadie moved across the lobby. She placed her sweater on the back of her chair and looked at the messy stack of papers in her should-have-been-done- yesterday tray She had spent over twelve years at this bank, harboring an unquenchable desire to be a successful banker. It was a respectable career and a good way to make money, she had decided, when she started at the bottom of the ladder all those long workdays ago. She had been a naive young woman who believed she could be the first to break the glass ceiling at this good-old-boy bank. Now, she was ready to move up or move on.

  A shriveled violet beckoned to Sadie, begging a reprieve from its sunny location on the corner of her desk. While she deliberated the fate of the fuzzy-leafed plant, Sadie pulled a brush from her purse and ran it through her hair. Long, shiny strands fell behind her shoulders, the tips clinging to the small of her back, static electricity wrapping flighty strands around the top of her arm. The violet would have to wait.

  She straightened her collar, picked up her keys, and walked back across the lobby. Under her right arm she hugged the notepad bearing the instructions to open the vault and methodically unlocked the door to the small equipment room. Holding the door open with her foot, she flipped on the light switch with her elbow, punched in the code, and rotated the shunt key to disarm the vault alarm. She turned out the light and moved her foot. The door closed automatically, stopped short by a sticky hinge just before it slammed.

  “Hold it right there,” a loud voice commanded.

  The notepad fell to the floor in slow motion as Sadie gasped for air. Every muscle in her body froze and the room began to swirl. A huge man covered in black from head to toe stood up behind the teller counter, a gun in each hand.

  “No need to get excited,” he added. “We're going to transact a little business before the bank opens. That's all.”

  For a split second, Sadie thought the crew had gotten carried away with their April Fools' jokes. Then, reality set in as she stared down the barrels of what appeared to be two huge cannons. One, shiny as a new nickel, and the other black. Her mind switched gears, and in a fleeting moment she filed away the information her stunned senses were gathering. The pounding of her heart deafened her ears, but she could hear her grandmother's voice telling her to remain steadfast. This animal must not smell your fear.

  The man wore mirrored sunglasses under a ski mask to conceal his eyes. Black electrical tape, positioned around the eye holes of the mask, held the glasses in place. His hooded jogging suit, gloves, and shoes covered the rest of his body. Sadie could see no skin anywhere. The only distinguishing mark was a small rip on the top of his hood. It appeared to have been caught on a sharp object, leaving a tear that looked like a run in a pair of pantyhose.

  “Open it,” he demanded.

  No answer. Instead, Sadie glanced through the huge windows wondering who was going to be next to walk into this man's trap. A feeling of helplessness rushed over her like hot air.

  “Hurry up!”

  Sadie picked up her notepad and reluctantly moved toward the vault. With trembling hands she dialed the combination. Her limited experience opening the vault left her with a track record of about fifty-fifty on the first try, and this attempt was going to be shaky, at best.

  “There…there's a time lock,” she said, suddenly afraid this man would go berserk and shoot her because the door remained locked.

  “Shut up,” he said. “I can wait. Stand right there and when your friends show up keep your mouth shut or I'll kill them.”

  It was obvious the man already knew about the time lock on the vault. Sadie stood as still as she could and waited, trying to analyze his voice. He sounded educated, but his voice was unnaturally cold and unemotional. She didn't think he sounded Indian, but she couldn't determine if he was white, black, or anything else for that matter. Frozen in time, she glanced at her watch. Only two minutes had passed.

  The sun flashed on a moving windshield announcing the arrival of another bank employee. With the manager gone, there would be only four people in the small branch today. The robber leveled his guns at Sadie and crouched once more behind the teller counter.

  “Keep your mouth shut until they get in here, or I'll shoot. Do you hear me?”

  Tessie, a young teller with wild, curly blond hair and a personality to match, arrived first. Sadie cringed when she realized Tessie would assume it was okay to come inside when she saw Sadie's car. With the decision to come in by herself, she had placed the others' lives in danger. Sure enough, the young girl let herself in through the front door and started talking across the lobby.

  “Hey, Sadie, you know that cute guy with the funny glasses in Dunkin' Donuts? He almost spilled coffee on this—”

  “Come on in and join your friend.” The robber's voice boomed from behind the teller counter.

  Tessie let out a shriek, dropped her purse, and almost fell to her knees. Her face drained of color and her mouth hung open until the robber gestured with one of his guns for her to move out of the middle of the lobby to where her co-worker stood motionless. Leaving her purse where it fell, Tessie walked over to Sadie. A wet spot began to appear on the front of her slacks between her legs. She started to speak, but Sadie cut her short with a quick shake of her head.

  “That's right,” he said calmly. “Just do as you're told and nobody will get hurt. We have a few minutes to wait, that's all.”

  Tessie bit her lip and stared at the ceiling as the scene replayed twice more—for Gordy and then for Heather. With each arrival, the gunman crouched and waited for them to enter and relock the door before making his presence known. Sadie studied the robber and tried to memorize everything about him. She looked at the height marker on the exit door, and guessed him to be less than six feet tall. He didn't have big hands, she thought, but it was hard to tell since he wore black leather gloves. He seemed to be extremely calm. Too calm.

  Sadie mentally berated herself for entering the
bank alone and wondered if she would lose her job. She could hear it all now. If she had done everything by the book, she would have waited for someone else to arrive. Then she would have entered and checked the entire building before giving the “all clear” sign to the other employee. Without the signal, they could have driven away and called for help.

  However, Sadie had studied that procedure before and decided it was not exactly foolproof. Summoning help was a good idea, but in Sadie's mind it opened up the possibility of being held hostage if someone was already inside. Opening up a bank without a security guard made for a bad situation any way you looked at it.

  As the minutes slowly ticked by, Sadie remembered the off-duty police officer who had held security seminars for the bank. He warned them about this very scenario. But now she had been careless and landed the entire group in the middle of a nightmare. It was all her fault. Twenty minutes dragged by. Tessie whimpered and shrunk against the wall.

  “It's time,” said the robber. “Get at it.”

  Sadie prayed as she turned the big silver handle. CLUNK. A feeling of relief came over her as she pulled the vault door open exposing several drawers, four of which were locked. A white canvas bag with the words “Federal Reserve” stamped on the side sat in full view next to a cup containing an assortment of keys. Sadie knew the bag held thousands of new twenties for their regular Monday-morning routine of refilling the automatic teller machine.

  “Okay, you.” Johnny pointed the black gun at Gordy. “How many cash drawers are there?”

  Gordy was twenty-three years old and working at the bank while he finished his degree at Northeastern State University. As he was the only male employee present, Sadie feared his macho sense of duty would kick in, and she was right.

  “Two,” said Gordy.

  It was apparent that the small branch was set up to house only two tellers. But Sadie knew Gordy was lying. Yes, there were two cash drawers, but what about the other cash drawer in the vault used to replenish the tellers when they got low on cash? She made no indication he was lying. She thought he was stupid to risk their lives to save a lousy stack of paper money. His misplaced loyalty to the bank gave her a sinking feeling. After all, it was insured and she didn't care whether the robber took it or not.