The Duneboys

CHAPTER 1 - PHILADELPHIA 2008

The first time he suggested robbing a bank was crazy.

The first time he planned a robbery was surreal.

The first time they robbed a bank was terrifying.

Their first job in their hometown would be—

“Mr. Creed.” He was pulled from his reflection. “Mr. Creed, can I use the bathroom?”

“Grab the pass on your way out, please.”

Leo Creed stood in front of his sophomore class. The gaggle of tenth graders was typically groggy, barely hanging on through their post-lunch coma. It was Thursday, French bread pizza day. The school year had started one week and one day ago, and after going through all of the orientation materials, it was finally time to get to learning. The class was American History, a subject that too often Leo had more passion for than his students in aggregate. He sat lightly on the front of his desk, careful not to rest his chalky hands on his pressed brown slacks as he looked over his drowsy students.

“Good afternoon,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Or maybe good morning for some of you.”

He got a couple of scattered snickers.

“We’re going to start today’s lesson with a question.”

A few kids in the front row sat up attentively.

“Why does history matter?” he asked.

Some of the students searched for a good response, while others slouched further into their chairs.

“I know it’s a tough question, but it’s a fair one. I’m up here trying to get you all interested in history, but we haven’t talked about why you should be interested.”

One girl, front and center, with her strawberry blonde hair pinned neatly back with an array of bobby pins raised her hand.

“Yes, Taylor.”

“History matters because it tells us how we got to where we are.” Taylor hung at the end of her statement, waiting patiently for recognition.

“Excellent.” Leo smiled. “That’s a great answer.” Taylor smiled proudly, though many of the other students were less than convinced. “Ok. Show of hands. How many of you saw the movie 300 last summer?” Most of the class raised their hands, even the disinterested kids in the back. Leo picked one from the last row, a freckled boy wearing a Volcom sweatshirt. “Ronnie, what did you think of that movie?”

Ronnie shrugged his shoulders. “It was awesome,” he replied, as if to punctuate it with a duh.

“Yes, it was, Ronnie. So, what if I told you that King Leonidas was a real person and the Battle of Thermopylae actually happened?” Ronnie perked up, as did many of his classmates. “Now, I’m not going to tell you it happened just like it did in the movie, but much of it is based on historical fact.” Leo was strolling among the desks now, and more of the students had their eyes on him. “This brings us to our next important point, and I need you to pay special attention because this is going to be the theme for our entire course.” The students gave him the benefit of the doubt. “How many of you have ever heard the name Thomas Carlyle?”

Leo locked his hands behind his back and paced a few steps. No hands went up.

“It’s ok if you haven’t, though you’re probably breaking Mr. Carlyle’s heart. Ironically, Carlyle popularized what is known as the ‘Great Man Theory’ of history.”

Taylor crossed her arms and huffed.

Leo said, “Forgive the name, Taylor. We’ll be including great women in this theory as well.” He retook his position at the front of the room and snatched a notepad from his desk. “The Great Man Theory,” he read, “suggests that the history of the world is but the biography of great men”—he nodded to Taylor— “and women.” He gave it a moment to soak in. “In other words, according to Carlyle, human history is always driven by exceptional individuals that shape the world through their ideas, inventions, and actions. That’s why we usually understand history through names, like King Leonidas. So who can name a great man or woman in history?”

“Abraham Lincoln,” someone called out.

“Very good, but please raise your hand.” Hands went up. “Go ahead, Ronnie.”

“Michael Jordan.”

“Definitely. Go ahead, Ellie.”

“Martin Luther King.”

“Excellent. Taylor.”

“Clara Barton.”

“Very good. Keep ‘em coming.” A few more names were given; then Leo motioned for the remaining hands to go down. He placed a finger to his lips and looked at the floor as if pondering something. “What about Christopher Columbus?” He raised an eyebrow. “What about Genghis Khan, Napoleon Bonaparte, or even Joseph Stalin?” The class settled in somewhere between confused and uncomfortable. “Let’s be clear about something.” He wagged a finger in the air. “For our purposes, great means significant and impactful. Great does not always mean good. Now with that in mind, I want everyone to take out your journals, turn to a fresh page, and write the following question at the top: What makes a person ‘great’? You have 15 minutes to brainstorm and write your entry. Go ahead.”

At the closing bell, the students filed out into the hallway. Leo plopped down in his chair and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. From his perch he scanned the room. Crumpled up worksheets and pink eraser shavings littered the floor. The orderly rows were in disarray, ignorant of the frayed duct tape squares he’d placed under the front right leg of each desk.

“This was worth the school loan debt,” he sighed.

A quick rattle of the mouse dispelled the Mount Rushmore screensaver on his desktop. Leo opened a browser and the homepage populated with headlines from various news sources. He cycled through them:

“Horrific Scene After Horrific Scene, a Tragic Mass-Shooting Routine has Emerged,” Washington Post

“U.S. Loses 533,000 Jobs in Biggest Drop Since 1974,” NY Times

“Texas Coast Evacuated Ahead of Hurricane Ike,” NPR

Leo grimaced and closed the browser. Next to his keyboard lay a paperback book, a presidential biography, weathered and dog eared from a half dozen read throughs. He flipped to his bookmark, an old Starbucks card with flaking edges.

George Washington, he read, inspired some of the greatest men who have followed him in history—men who have sought to emulate his courage, to match his strength, and to command the respect and adoration he cultivated. Leo’s finger traced down the page. He also proved the principle that the character of the—

“Knock, knock.” Leo looked up from his book. Paul from the science department leaned his top half in from the hallway. “What are you doing? You look zoned out.”

Leo suppressed an eye roll and forced a smile. “Just trying to find a quote for an upcoming lesson.” He set the book down. “What’s up?”

Paul stayed leaning. “Wanted to make sure you were still in for trivia night at the Boathouse next week.”

Leo leaned over his desk calendar trying to locate Thursday and a good enough reason to say no.

“We need you, man,” Paul said. “You’re our movies and history guy. Plus it’s ten cent wings night.”

Leo came up empty. He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Great, man.”

Paul scampered off with a smile and Leo absently drummed his fingers on the desk. He retrieved his phone from the middle drawer. The message icon blinked on the screen. He flipped it open and leaned back as the automated voice informed him that he had three new voicemails.

Beep. “Yo, cuz. It’s Monk. Listen man, I just got a fresh shipment of the pressure-treated spruce. We can finally start that extension for the clubhouse we’ve been talking about. Give me a call when you get this, or I’ll just catch you tomorrow.”

Beep. “Leo, it’s your cousin Simon. So, I’ve been looking over your fantasy football roster and we need to talk trades. You need to sure up your receivers. I’m willing to offer you Braylon Edwards in exchange for Drew Brees. I think it’s more than fair. Let me know. I’m here for you.

Beep. “Hey Leo, it’s Nick. I was calling to see if you had a chance to watch The Corporation documentary I burned for you. I’m interested to hear your thoughts on it. Hopefully we can debate some of the points if we have time tomorrow.”

He shoveled his things into a beat-up canvas messenger bag and made his way out to the faculty parking lot. Months of planning had gone into this, and the final execution was a day away. Tonight he would go back over all the details. He had been through this process before, and over the years he’d become pretty efficient at it, but robbing a bank was never a casual endeavor.

CHAPTER 2 - LEO

The city of Philadelphia came to life with a shiver, greeting the brisk autumn morning with calloused hands and patiently awaiting the day’s warmth. Traffic pumped through the veins and capillaries, with wisps of hot coffee and cigarette smoke seeping from the car windows. The air blended with exhaust fumes and the smells of the city streets. Trees throughout the city had just begun showing hints of brown, yellow, and red, as the long days of summer waned.

At the downtown intersection of 15th and Walnut, vehicles lined the sidewalks, waiting quietly beside ticking meters. Among them was a van, unremarkable except for the hum of its motor and the output of its stereo. The Grand Quaker Bank sat half a block away, beginning its Friday morning as usual.

Monk rapped his knuckles on the steering wheel to the third playthrough of his favorite Guns-N-Roses album.

“Did you remember to pack the duffle bags?” Leo said.

“Yup,” Monk replied mid-solo.

“What about the zip ties?”

“Yup.”

“What about—”

“Dude, we’re all set,” Monk said. “This isn’t our first rodeo.”

Leo nodded and looked thoughtfully through the windshield. Pulling their first heist in their hometown made him uneasy. A cloudier day would be better, he thought. Less people on the street on a cloudy day.

His thoughts were interrupted by the growing sound of an argument behind him.

“Hippie chicks are gross,” Simon concluded.

“By ‘hippie chicks’ I assume you mean the bohemian leftovers from the post-grunge era, and not the grassroots political pioneers of the 1960s?” Nick said as he organized the contents of his laptop bag. It was the one thing he was never without, his security blanket.

“What I mean is I don’t like girls who don’t properly groom themselves.”

Leo cracked half a grin. “Don’t you think ‘political pioneers’ is a bit gracious, Nick?”

“Actually, I think it’s insufficient to describe the greatest anti-war civilian uprising in American history. Hippies are, and always have been, a vital part of our political structure.”

“Or they were a bunch of spoiled rich kids with too much time on their hands,” Simon said.

Nick gave him the side-eye. “During the Vietnam War they were the strongest driving force for political change in the country. They were the ones brave enough to stand up for what was right. Regardless of their financial status.”

“I don’t think inhaling mass quantities of drugs and not showering counts as bravery,” Simon said.

“Leo, you’re the history teacher. Back me up here.”

“Sorry, Nick, but for once I’m with Simon,” Leo added. “Besides, if they’re so great how come no one remembers any of their names?”

Brrrrrt. The abrupt noise halted the discussion.

“Dear God, what is that smell?” Leo asked, knowing the unfortunate answer. The reply came in the form of Monk’s laughter, which usually accompanied a public display of bodily function.

Nick covered his nose and mouth. “Ugh, it smells like animosity.”

“Come on, man. There’s no ventilation back here!” Simon mocked a gagging motion.

“Are you guys done stroking each other?” Monk said between laughs. “It’s time to make the calls.” He pulled three prepaid Go-Phones from the glovebox, each with a Post-it note stuck to it. He passed them out as they tried to fan away the lingering stench. Leo plucked off the Post-it and reviewed it: the name of a local bank and its respective manager. He flipped the phone open and dialed. An operator immediately picked up. “9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

Leo spoke with an urgent whisper. “My name is Bernard Floras. I am the manager of the Second Bank of Philadelphia on Chestnut Street. We are being robbed.”

“I understand, sir. I am dispatching police to your location immediately. Is anyone hurt?”

“I don’t know. I can’t talk right now. It’s not safe. Please send help. There must be at least a dozen—” And with a click he was gone. He nodded at Nick.

Nick flipped his phone open and dialed. The operator answered, and he told a similar story with a different bank and manager name. Simon followed immediately after.

Monk sat patiently in the driver’s seat, monitoring a police scanner for confirmation that police had been dispatched. He double-tapped the charm that hung from his neck, a cracked piece of glass threaded through with twine. The call came through. “They’re occupied. Let’s go.”

“For the family,” they said in unison.

The van doors were thrown open, and the cousins moved out. Leo pulled a wool mask down over his face and took the lead through the bank doors. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” He spoke loudly to fill the large marble room. “Everyone remain calm. We all know what this is. If you cooperate, it’ll be over soon and no one will get hurt.”

A woman screamed from behind the teller counter. The cousins moved through the crowd with guns drawn. Monk restrained the lone security guard with plastic hand ties, while Leo and Simon instructed the bank personnel to raise their hands and join the rest of the people in the center of the main room. Nick went to work blacking out the security cameras with spray paint. He’d cleverly modified a grabber cane to reach the corners of the vaulted ceilings. They pooled everyone into the center of the room and forced them to the marble floor.

Monk opened up the oversized duffle bags. “How are we on time?”

Simon checked his watch. “Two minutes fifteen seconds.” He positioned himself near the huddled captives with one foot pointing toward the fire exit. “I’ve got the room. Go.”

Nick and Leo each grabbed a duffle bag, and Monk grabbed two. They marched into the safe. The massive circular vault door was open during business hours. A corridor stretched back, lined on each side by dozens of bronze-plated safety deposit boxes. Beyond the corridor opened into a larger chamber where the cash and gold reserves were held.

The Duneboys moved quickly. With both hands, Monk shoveled stacks of greenbacks into his bag. Leo and Nick went to work popping the doors off of the security boxes. Despite their express function, they were surprisingly easy to pry open, especially in older banks.

“Shout ‘em out,” Leo said.

“I’ve got some patents over here,” Nick said. “I’ve got jewelry, some of it looks pretty old. I’ve got a stack of bearer bonds.”

“Leave the patents,” Leo said. “Take the jewelry if you can fit it, and definitely take the bonds.”

Leo and Nick hustled down the line, rummaging through drawer contents as efficiently as they could with their gloved hands. Unwanted items were cast to the floor. As Nick sifted through various jewels and baubles, he came across an odd-looking piece of equipment, an electronic device of some kind. It didn’t appear particularly valuable, but it had some weight to it so maybe he could harvest some components for resale. He slipped it into his laptop bag and continued on.

“The take is kind of light today, huh?” Leo said.

“Four minutes twenty seconds,” Simon called from the lobby. “Time to go.”

Monk returned from the chamber; a full bag slung over each shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nick said. “Set them down.” Monk complied. Nick produced a makeshift gadget, an iron rod wrapped in thick copper wire attached to a simple circuit board, and set it snugly between the duffle bags. “This should generate enough of an electromagnetic pulse to disable any GPS trackers on the bills. Give it about five feet and hold onto your nuts.” Nick meted out sufficient slack from a coiled wire attached to the husk of a gutted disposable camera. At a safe distance he clicked the flash…… Sizzle. Pop. “We’re good. Let’s go.”

The three emerged from the vault. With a whistle they signaled Simon over and hurried toward the fire exit. The alarm sounded as Leo threw open the door, but it didn’t matter. The police were occupied elsewhere. They burst into the sunlight and proceeded north.

A block and a half away, a blue sedan sat under the shade of a breezy elm. Monk popped the trunk. The bags were placed first, followed by the guns and masks. They stripped off their black shirts and replaced them with less conspicuous clothing. Monk started the engine and with a flick of the turn signal they were gone.