The Perfect Alibi ~ A Short Story

Although it was not evident to anyone watching, former Bank of America President Alex Pierce was furious. He had just been fired after 30 years of dedicated services to the bank. He knew the building better than anyone and could navigate his way anywhere in it while blindfolded.

"We're taking a new image," he had been told. "We're going to hire a younger president so that we will attract the next generations."

Basically they had called him old and worn. They were done using him so they dropped him. Everything was falling apart. This wasn't the way it was supposed to work. He went from $35 million a year to nothing.

So as he took his little stroll through the park, he plotted his revenge. It had to be something big. Something that would ruin Bank of America. He thought hard for a long time but nothing came to him. The only thing that would ruin the bank was a robbery.

Pierce stopped dead in his tracks. A robbery! It was brilliant! But then he came to his senses. Nobody in their right mind would rob the Bank of America. It was the most secure bank in the world. That was the problem. Pierce himself was to old to do it, and no matter how much money he offered, nobody else would do it. The risk was way to great.

He looked around and spotted a young man playing soccer. There was something weird about him though. He was wearing shades even though it was near 6:30 and starting to get dark. He was also carrying a stick with him that he would occasionally stick out.

As Pierce watched, it came to him. The man was blind! But that was impossible. There's no way he could play soccer if he was blind. Yet, here he was. He reacted instantly to any sound that the soccer ball made and figured out where it came from. He had a young athletic body.

Pierce thought absentmindedly about how funny it would be if this man robbed the bank. Sticking up the tellers with that stick of his, bumping into furniture, what he would pay to see that. But then again, if he knew the bank inside out, he wouldn't be that clumsy.

Pierce could do that. He could build a model of the bank and teach this man how to rob the bank. It was too perfect! If the plan worked, he would get his revenge. He just needed some more blind men. Who would suspect them of all people of robbing a bank?

· · ·

Three days later, Pierce found himself standing on his front lawn with Anthony Horowitz, the blind drug supplier; Manny Ramirez, the blind prison snitch; and Warren Sapp, the soccer man. They were the three men who were going to rob the Bank of America.

Pierce spent 3 hours a day teaching them their way around the replica of the bank. Soon they knew how many steps in whatever direction to get where they were supposed to go. They also knew where all the security guards and regular customers usually stood. They practiced their routine until they had it down pat. A year and a half later, the day to rob the bank had come.

First Sapp walked in. Three steps down the stairs, ten steps forward, turn left, sit down on the couch, and say hello to the man that sits there every morning with the newspaper.

Ramirez entered thirty seconds later and walked along the wall until he got to the corner where the guard stood. He started talking to the guard about baseball to keep him from looking around the bank.

Horowitz entered last and carefully measured his steps to the second teller from the right. He was the one with the only key to the vault, which was only ten feet away.

Then Horowitz started talking about his women problems and convinced the teller to look at his right calf where he said that he had tattooed the names of all them women he had ever gone out with. The teller walked around and bent down to look.

"There's nothing ther-" Horowitz lashed out with his foot and caught the teller on the side of his head. Then he grabbed the key and jumped over the prone body to the vault.

Ramirez punched the guard he was talking to in the jaw and knocked him into the wall. Then he reached down and pulled the gun from his holster. He turned around and fired a warning shot into the air. There was screaming and then everyone dived to the floor.

Everyone except for Sapp who pulled the gun tucked into his waist. He then shot the other guard where he was standing.

Now all they had to do was open the vault. Ramirez walked across the room and Horowitz and Ramirez typed in the security code at the same time. Then Horowitz unlocked the vault door with the key. Then he typed in another security code and then unlocked the safe with another key.

And there it was. $50 million in cold hard cash. The three men ran their hands over the cash. If only they could see it. But they couldn't and they didn't waste their time wallowing in self-pity. They put the cash in bags and left through the back door. They ran around the corner where a silver Rolls Royce and three black Jaguars with chauffeurs were waiting. They dropped one of the four bags in the in the trunk of the Rolls Royce. Then they each took one of the remaining three bags and got into one of the Jags.

They drove off and never saw each other again. The cops never solved the case and nobody ever came up with their names as suspects. They couldn't. After all, they did have the perfect alibi.