Craig (Cathedral City Part 2)

Craig knew immediately that he’d been caught. The Vice President of the bank had never even glanced at him before, and now, first thing Tuesday morning, he asked Craig to step into his office. His tone was grim.

Craig had never been anything remotely close to cool, but he did his best impersonation as he made the long walk from his tellers station to the oversized and rarely seen office of Mr. Barret.

“Ooooh, looks like someone’s in trouble,” joked Rhonda. She worked at the station next to Craig and smelled permanently of black licorice and tuna. “Yep. Sure does,” he said, speaking softer than he’d intended. 

Craig stood outside the office’s closed door. He didn’t know if he should knock or just walk in. One seemed too meek, the other too brash. Did it really matter at this point? As Craig stood at the threshold and debated his next move, he stared at the door. It was impressive. It seemed heavy and a little wider than most doors. He raised his sweaty hand and knocked.

“Have a seat,” said Mr. Barret. Craig didn’t know what to do. There were a lot of options. Two chairs faced Mr. Barret who was sitting behind his enormous desk, but there was a third chair, made of deep green leather, that was just off to the side of the desk. 

Mr. Barret finally motioned Craig to the chairs that sat across from him. Craig quickly took a seat in the left one, hoping it was a good pick.

“Let me get right to it, Craig. Over the past several months, we began to notice some…irregularities in withdrawals that were being made. Initially we thought this was an anomaly, but as time went on and sums continued to go missing, we were forced to come to some very disappointing conclusions.”

It was over. Craig’s life was finished. Oh, why, why, why had he done it?! He’d always followed the rules. He'd never once had a speeding ticket. He donated to the Red Cross and volunteered three times a year at the soup kitchen downtown. His bills were paid on time, he wrote thank you letters for gifts he received at Christmas. Oh, my god! What had he done?! 

He stared, unblinking at Mr. Barret, sweat beginning to pool under his arms. Could he just put it back? Or blame it on smelly old Rhonda? Should he make a run for it? Just race to his car and go on the lam? 

He didn’t even know what that meant. On the lam. If he didn’t know what it meant, how could he succeed at it? 

He had started stealing eleven months ago. Just a little. It began as an accounting error that he'd noticed but nobody else had. At the end of the day, before he could even think about it, he grabbed the cash. Just shoved it in his pocket and walked out of the bank like it was an ordinary day. 

But it wasn’t an ordinary day. As he drove home he found himself smiling. No, beaming. He felt bold. Confident. Two things he’d never felt in his entire life. 

Sitting in his apartment, he counted the money. Nine hundred and forty two dollars. He smoothed the bills out and laid them across his secondhand coffee table. 

He never expected to do it again. Never. It was a one time thing. And he could explain it away if anyone noticed. He practiced what he’d say the next morning in front of the mirror. And while he practiced, he noticed that his eyes looked particularly blue that day. In fact, they were shining. 

And so it began. Monthly, then weekly, then daily, Craig stole. A life of crime. It was easier than he’d ever imagined. Tucked behind his Ikea bookcase was two hundred and forty three thousand dollars. 

“Do you think that’s something you could do for us, Craig?” 

Mr. Barret was watching him closely and Craig stared back with glassy, terrified eyes. 

“If it’s too much to ask, we can certainly appreciate that,” said an unappreciative Mr. Barret.  “To be quite frank, you seem rather uncomfortable.”

Craig nodded for no other reason than to buy some time. “What exactly would this entail, sir?” 

“Just keeping an eye out. Nothing too complicated. It’s clear that it’s one of the tellers and we just want you to let us know if you notice anything…untoward. Does that sound like something you would be interested in doing? And, of course, you’d be compensated.”

And then, unable to stop himself, Craig laughed. Hard. It erupted from deep within him and filled Mr. Barret’s oversized office, bouncing off the beautiful oak walls and his well-stocked bar. 

“My apologies, sir. I’m just so pleased to be asked to be of service. I’d be more than happy to apprise you of anything, anything at all, that seems amiss.” 

And with that Mr. Barret rose from his chair, his arm extended. Craig found himself robustly shaking the relatively limp hand of the bank’s Vice President. “A disappointing grip,” thought Craig. 

“How’d it go?” asked Rhonda, her grisly scent surrounding him. Craig unlocked his cash drawer and pretended to tidy up some loose bills. “They caught me red-handed, Rhonda. The cops will be here in moments. If I move quick, I should be able to lose ‘em.”

Rhonda laughed. Her sad, simpering, rarely heard laugh, then she got back to work.

Later that night, driving on the freeway just over the speed limit, Craig grinned. He didn’t even recognize who he’d become, but he liked it. Thrilling. That’s what life was, thrilling, he thought. Anything was possible. Especially with over three million in cash stashed in your trunk. 

He flipped on the radio, feeling the sudden urge to sing. Lita Ford’s, Kiss Me Deadly, was playing and Craig joyfully belted out whatever words he could remember. 

He’d been heading south for hours, no real destination in mind. 

And that’s when he saw the sign: Cathedral City. 18 miles.