sHe: THE RISE OF THE NEW BREEDS [Book 1]

Chapter 3

"JOE, DO YOU COPY?"

Reeves Jensen's voice crackled out of the walkie-talkie, a second after the red-haired youth took an enormous bite off his hamburger. Joe was behind the wheels of a luxuriant Mustang convertible—and the getaway V8 was parked half a block away from the augur crime scene that was about to transpire.

"JOE, ARE YOU THERE?" The red-haired was almost choking on what he was masticating, it was too good of a morsel to spit out and respond back to Reeves' calling.

Being nervous in their first heist attempt, he needed some comfort food—it was his way to deal with the situation where one wrong slip by him can result to death to the cadre involved in the marauding that morning.

On a rooftop, Reeves was dressed in civilian attire after years of both in school and prison uniforms—he finally felt like a free-male in the outside world. Looking through a pair of binocular at a bank's back entrance from across the street, he spied at a security truck that was waiting with three armed female guards keeping a lookout. Reeves next focused the spyglass on the opposite side at bank's rooftop where someone else perched—Marlin—while in the meantime, Reeves was trying to understand what Joe was interconnecting on the other end...

"WHAT DID YOU SAY? HEY, ARE YOU EATING OVER THERE, JOE?"

Marlin was hidden on top of the bank's roof with a rifle, observing the crowd to weed out for cops; also taking stock of the habitual vista like he once did alone from his prison window—like every other city folk that were perambulating below in the sidewalk was all rotund with obesity. He was distracted and he smiled while listening to the vacuous Joe on his ear-piece—

"YEAH MAN, THE BURGERS ARE SO GOOD—IT HAS BEEN AGES SINCE I HAD A JUICY ONE LIKE THIS."

After years of being locked up, reclusive alone in F-Block, Marlin Petrof discovered that—that even the most mundane of cavil spoken communication sounding delightful and dulcet to his ears. He was grateful to be alive outside in the real world again—and felt he owed it big to Reeves and his friends for rescuing him from Block F—or else he would be dead in the locked-up cell with the Middle Eastern inmates when the final bombs were dropped to sweep illegal semen collection Tombscradle out of its existence under the carpet of the government's malevolent machination cover-up.

The blond youth then glanced across and eyed the sidewalk cafe that was right across the bank at Troy Norton having coffee at the alfresco cafe opposite the money truck; seated with his back turned away from the security truck—but observing the security guards from the cafe's window reflection.

Troy too has an ear-piece, listening in—rolling his eyes while heeding to the picayune conversation between both the ex-Wesleyans where the irked Reeves' orders came on firmly...

"HEY FAT FUCK, TRY TO STAY FOCUS! THEY WILL BE COMING OUT ANYTIME!"

A 'blind' homeless Intersexual was begging on the street. People were avoiding the sightless homeless Intersexual who was wearing a long duster overcoat; he approached Troy with a cane...

"Spare change for a blind man, Sir?" Troy picked some coins from the tabletop, and thrust into True Bob's palm with a torn glove. "Thank you, Sir," the half- Cherokee left after he muttered softly...

"You still owe me 130 bucks, bitch."

The 'homeless' walked away, and it forced a smile on Troy thinking of his owed stipend to the Chief from their arm wrestling 'ass-bets' in prison. He went back sipping his coffee—he thought that his buddy in the getup really looked like a mendicant travelling hobo that he once was before his imprisonment—he was waiting to contempt the Chief with a dozen puns once the heist was done.

The backdoor of the bank opened and six female bank guards progressed out, each was carrying a strongbox. The two armed guards kept an extra vigilant lookout while the third started unlocking the back door of the money-truck.

"MARLIN—NOW!" Reeve's distinct voice alerted the cue to his team...

Marlin fired towards the armed guards, hitting the side of the truck with his machine gun. True Bob and Troy fired their pistols at the other side of the truck and punctured the two tires—and the armed personnel were caught off-guard and they were cornered.

The bank guards with the strong boxes recoiled to retreat back into the back entrance door of the bank—but Reeves worked his sniper rifle, aimed with exactitude to avoid any stray bullets from hitting the female guards on-duty—he shot thrice before the final bullet blasted the touch-pad on the door to impair its mechanism—jamming it from the women with the strong-boxes to flight back inside the bank. Reeves has done lots of target training hours on the sniper rifle back in for a month—since the radical prison breakout.

The stolen e-SWAT Hummer from their prison incursion with Hajja came on full speed—three Negros then alighted out, pointing their guns at the entire group of security guards who dropped their weapons down and ceded.

Reeves and Marlin descended fast off the building roofs...

"JOE! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

Reeves was running while shouting into the walkie device in search of their getaway car—and everyone then saw Joe making a grand entrance—the Mustang GT steered in and did a fancy-drift doughnut turn and halted with imprecision in front of his running friends

"You saw that!" Joe replied vacuous, laughing with an accomplished pride but he was rebuked instead, True Bob was shouting back and he got in front with him.

"Yeah-yeah, you fuckin' showoff carnival pig! It is lucky you did not blow up a tire, you moron—or else we would have lost the ride."

Reeves noticed Hajja was forcing all the nine unarmed guards into the money-truck before locking them up inside—Reeves had wanted no hostages killed in this heist—he remembered the Jamaicans in Tombscradle's riot recently where they had slit the throats of Nurse Heller and the other medical assistant women at the prison auditorium in their no-prisoner-policy.

The rest of the blacks loaded the strongboxes of cash into the Hummer. Reeves and Marlin were the last to hop into the backseat of the convertible with Troy sandwiched in-between.

The black leader's voice came on the device while the Mustang sped off...

"GOOD JOB, REEVES! —SEE YOU AT RENDEZVOUS POINT TONIGHT!"

"Alright Haj, out!" The chary trained Reeves then heard the police siren drawing near with five police cars that were coming at full speed towards the bank to waylay but were intercepted with an ambush by the four Jamaicans. Zinga led the motorbikes attack—all firing their automatics.

The gun battle on wheels upshot the rattled police cruisers into a crashing pile up, and with only one patrol car was left in hot pursuit after the fleeing fast bikes.

Zinga plunged a chain with spikes on the road behind—the tires burst and causing the sole speeding police vehicle to wind-mill before hurtling to drop with a sliding screech on its side on the tarmac.

The entire OGA rebels have escaped from the crime scene unharmed after pillaging eight hundred thousand dollars in their palmy successful heist.