43

Chapter 43

The big purple dog who was unmistakably my unmistakably troubled friend, waddled toward me. Bufford's voice came from behind a smiling, gaping mouth and wagging red velour tongue.

"Brody. You've got to get out of here, man." He whispered, leaning in toward me.
I scanned the room for guards. There were none.
"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing to you. And can you put that weapon down completely and immediately?"
"No. I can't. but I really think you should leave. Now. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Bufford. You really need to see someone about this erratic impulse-control issue you've got going on. You're about to bite off way more than you can chew, and there's no tunnel in the world long enough to rescue you this time."
"I just need some cash so I can get outta town. I'm absolutely going to Ocho Rios."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, which is a whole different discussion that we need to have. Even then, there are better ways, man! Let me be perhaps the first person to tell you this: you're about to go to the federal penitentiary! This is not a small thing you've decided to do here! And you have a very, very narrow window of opportunity before your options are taken away completely. From that point on, you'll have no options at all, except maybe how many push-ups you want to do before your cell block's 13 minutes of yard time. Now, listen," I looked around. All of the bank patrons were being very compliant. Sirens were heard off in the distance, though it was no guarantee they were responding to this particular situation. Wishful thinking.

"I'm not going to tell you to surrender, but you can't go through with this."
"You should surrender."
Bufford and I both heard it, and we looked around for the source of the unsolicited advice.
"You should surrender now and take your medicine."
"I'm not on any medicine," Bufford said, his voice clearly distraught.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, which is a whole different discussion that we need to have"
"Are you mocking me," I asked, against my will.
"No. They're just words. What I'm trying to tell you is this: Some people end up spending their whole lives trying to escape. You're better than that. Now, let's go. You've got more important business elsewhere, and you should be about it. Don't worry about how you'll get to Rios; you'll get it all planned out. Trust me."
Bufford exploded. "Trust you? Who are you and I'm not prepared to lay my future in the hands of someone I don't know and, more importantly, can't see!"
"I know it's difficult, but these things will become clear with time. Right now, you don't have a choice, really. Even Brody says so. Get out of here...and do it NOW!" I could swear that I saw those big plastic eyeballs shift to the left, then the right again.

And the sirens were closer now. There was movement far back in the cubicle section of the bank. An administrator of some middle level had pushed The Button or something which, by the way, goes against all their job training. The FDIC insures all accounts up to $100,00.00. Supposedly. But there wasn't much time, and there hadn't been much from the beginning.

Bufford was suddenly frozen, a still life of synthetic fur and palpable tension contemplating its future. Suddenly, the still life leapt toward the bank door, knocking over a plastic trash can and hit the front door with such force that each one spider-webbed and sent prisms of multi-colored light spinning throughout the room. Everyone on the floor sat up and surveyed the scene, mouths open. One elderly lady exclaimed, "It's beautiful!"

I walked toward the doors just in time to see one million images of my yellow truck speeding away, a blur of purple mass and black floppy ears bouncing around behind the steering wheel.