Leave the Living by Joe Hart Page B

You know as well as I do every man keeps his secrets. Secrets from his wife, his friends, even his kids.”
    Mick stared at Gary through the darkness that separated them, watching for a tell, something that would assure him his uncle was joking. The other man didn’t move.
    “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said at last.
    “Afraid so. Like I said, we were young, dumb, and full of come at the time, balls like brass bells on us. We were poor, Mickey. I’m sure your dad told you we never had much growing up.”
    Mick nodded and stepped forward to grab the flashlight from the table before aiming it at the ground.
    “Well, that didn’t sit well with your dad. He wanted more, hated going without. And when it looked like our father was going to enlist us both as workers in his sawmill, he thought of a plan.”
    Gary moved closer to the table, his wet boots squeaking on the floor as he walked. His pants were sodden with melting snow. Mick stepped to the side, keeping the table between them.
    “Originally he wanted us to rob a bank, the First National right here in town. He had this crazy idea to call in a bomb threat on the north side of the city and time it perfectly with when the pulp train came through at the paper mill. Then he was gonna pop the tracks with some dynamite, enough to derail the train and block all the main roads to the south end of town, which would give us enough time to pull off the robbery without getting caught.”
    Gary laughed again and looked at the ceiling. “God we were stupid back then. Anyways, in the midst of planning and trying to find out where to steal some dynamite, your dad was in the bar one afternoon after putting in twelve hours at the sawmill. Back then the minimum age to drink was eighteen, and he liked being superior to me and going in for a beer while I waited outside. So he’s sitting at a little corner table, and a guy comes through the door wearing a suit and tie, but messed up, like he’d fallen down somewhere and hadn’t taken the time to dust himself off. Well, this fella’s already drunk, but he gets a whiskey anyways and plops himself down next to your dad, starts talking like drunks are apt to do. Turns out this guy was an employee of Northern Trust Financial over in Felling. He’s on a bender because he was let go for coming in late too many times over the last year. Well, he goes on and on to anyone that’ll listen about how it was unfair because he’s got a wife with health issues that he has to take care of and that’s why he’s late some mornings, and if they’d have paid him more, he could’ve hired someone to watch his wife while he got to work on time.”
    Gary continued to move around the table. Mick matched his pace and circled the opposite way.
    “So he says to your dad that he’d shit down both legs if he knew how much money went through that bank and that they’re a bunch of greedy bastards for not paying the employees more. Your dad, he’s got his thinking cap on already and this turns on the light bulb in his old brain, so he asks the guy how much money? This stupid sonofabitch tells him that an armored truck comes once a week to do a transport from four local banks. He mentions the day, the time, even the guard’s names. He tells him that on a good week, the truck might be hauling two and a half million dollars.”
    Gary stopped pacing and leaned casually on the back of a chair.
    “Let me tell you, Mickey, it was a good week.”
    “I can’t believe it.”
    Gary raised his hand, holding up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. Your dad got the info, and he came up with the plan. We watched the truck for weeks, knew its route and where we were going to hit it. During that time, we snuck into Olson’s junkyard and found an old truck that needed work. Your dad and I fixed it up good enough to run and then stole it the night before the robbery. We had a canoe stashed in the weeds near the river, and after we ditched the truck, we just floated