Payroll by William James Johnson Chapter 6

Sandy enjoyed the early morning ride in the sports car. The warm summer breeze bent the tips of his pointed ears, his tongue tasting the pollen filled air. He was a contented dog. Silky had been a good master.
The red convertible pulled into the empty service station where he had left the grey van the day before. He stopped beside the truck and transferred Sandy to the van. Looking at his watch, he hurried to the phone booth out front and called his office.
"That's right Wayne. The damn car let me down. You know what these foreign jobs are like...great when they're new. But get some miles on them and they're a real bitch to start when they get damp. Cover for me will ya. I got a mechanic coming to help. Hopefully I'll make it before noon."
"It's payday for Chrissake," said Tilly.
"I know. I know. Like I said, I expect to be there before noon. I got no choice. I'd do the same for you old buddy."
"Okay. Guess there's nothin' else you can do. Make it as soon as you can. Hank is goin' on the pay run with Sayer. I'll hold the fort until you get in."
"Thanks Wayne. I really appreciate it."
Hanging up the phone, Silky smiled as he walked back to the van. Parked at the back of the lot behind the deserted garage, no one could see him from the road. He checked the time again, and let Sandy out to stretch. The dog ran to the nearby field and began digging right away.
"Jeezus. What's wrong with you dog? Your mother must've been part bulldozer. Go ahead. Have your fun. It's somethin' like havin' your last meal before the hangin'."
The realization that their friendship would soon be over hit the only soft spot in Silky's heart. He felt rotten exploiting his faithful friend. But what the hell, the whole idea revolved around detaining the payroll guys long enough to be able to get away and return to work as soon as possible. He didn't want to have to use force on his victims. He was only going to intimidate them enough to remain at the scene of the robbery while he escaped with the money.
Opening his duffel bag that contained the rubber mask and the plastic food container, he took out a package wrapped in canvas. Unrolling the wrapping, he took out s shiny revolver, flipped it open to check the ammunition, then snapped it shut, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
Again he checked the time.
"Come on Sandy. Hurry up. Time to go to work."
The wreck of a van headed for Garry looking like many rusted out pieces of junk seen dying in the shade of broken farm buildings in this poor part of the county. Sandy was enjoying his outing. He went to the back of the truck to look out the rear window. Silky noticed his limp as he tried to maintain his balance in the moving truck. He wondered as he studied the animal in the rear mirror, if there was anything to the reincarnation theory.
Turning onto the highway that led into Garry, he saw the army bus stopping at the railway crossing as it entered the town. His timing was perfect. He slowed down keeping the bus ahead of him, then turned into a side street and hurried around the block to get into position at the crossing before the crew returned with the payroll.
Stopping the van near the tracks, he blocked the crossing. Rushing outside, he raised the hood to make it look as if he was having motor trouble and returned inside and gave his dog a friendly hug. When he saw the soldiers leaving the bank, he went outside again to the back of the van and opened one of the rear doors. Hidden by the open door as he stood in the road, he pulled the Trudeau mask over his face, and stuck a straw hat on his head. Sandy was behind the closed rear door. The motor of the van idled noisily.
Looking in his side mirror, he saw the bus begin to move towards him. His heart raced so fast, he thought he might have a seizure. The pounding of the diesel engine bus grew louder, and louder, until he could feel the heat of the radiator on his back. Then there was the sound he was waiting for, the whistling sound, as the driver opened the door. Suddenly the driver leaned on his horn, and the blast almost paralysed Silky.
Grabbing Sandy by the leash, he pulled him down to the ground. The driver could not see the animal from his high angle, and the two robbers dashed onto the bus. Silky had his gun ready, and the fierce noises coming from Sandy, froze everyone in their tracks. The two armed guards threw down their pistols and raised their hands above their heads.
"What the hell," yelled Captain Sayer.
"On the floor, everyone, and you won't get hurt," ordered Silky, Sandy menacing the frightened victims.
"You too," said Silky to the driver. "Pass me the pouch and get to hell to the back with the others."
"Okay. Okay buddy. Don't shoot. What the hell. It's only money. Keep your dog off me."
He tossed the money to Silky, and joined the others on the floor. Still pointing his weapon, Silky took out the meatball and placed it on the floor in front of Sandy. Dashing out of the bus, he tossed the money pouch into the back of his van and slammed the door. Hurrying to the driver's side, he reached through the window and selected the button which closed the door, to trap the crew with the dog. Standing on tip toes he looked inside at Sandy and shouted.
"Sandy..."
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a teenager in a hot rod narrowly raced passed him, pressing him into the side of the bus.
"Get outa the fuckin' way gramps."
Panicking, Silky charged to the front of the van and slammed the hood shut. In seconds, he was away from the bus, heading for home. The hot rodder was long gone. Glancing in his rear mirror, he was ecstatic to see the bus still standing at the tracks. He laughed hysterically. His plan had worked.
"This vehicle stops at all railway crossings...Jeezus that is sure some crazy rule...I did it. I got the whole ball of wax."
The van skidded to a stop beside his sports car hidden behind the old garage. Silky grabbed the money pouch and threw it into the red convertible. Taking his robbery clothing off, and the rubber mask, he tossed them into the back of the van. Dousing them and the van with gasoline, he torched everything.
He jumped into his car and turned the key. Nothing.
"What the hell."
Flames soon engulfed the old van and any moment it would explode.
Again he turned the key.
"Nothing...Goddamn foreign crap."
The third time, the engine raced, as he sped away from the back of the abandoned gas station. Then he heard the loud boom as the vehicle exploded.
"Thank Christ...and that's a prayer, believe me."
Minutes later he rushed up his laneway and beyond to the bush where he and Sandy had prepared the hole. The plastic was a good idea. Pulling back the cover, he pressed the pouch into the opening and after covering it with the plastic, shovelled earth on top of it. He packed it down with his foot and hurried back to his car. Returning to his cottage, he quickly changed into his uniform and dashed to his army base.
Trying to appear cool, he arrived at his office at eleven fifteen, and checked in with his friend.
"Well, you did say you'd try to make it before noon."
"Yeah. That blasted car. I'd get rid of that piece of junk if I didn't love it so much."
"Sayer hasn't come back from the bank yet. You're lucky. So he doesn't even have to know you were late gettin' in. Wouldn't want to fuck up your chances for OCS."
"Thanks again Wayne. You'll never know how much this means to me."
"Forget it. What are friends for if they can't do a favour once in awhile."
Alone in his office, Silky pulled out his special file, and entered in the income column, $620,000. He smiled as he closed the cover and returned it to the bottom drawer of his desk. Leaning back, Stanislaus Zylkowski felt pretty good. He knew he could do it .