The Purple Haze Read online

  Myers looked and saw the robber return carrying something. He couldn't see a gun, but he saw a white piece of paper. The robber put the paper against the window and Myers saw the words “We have hostages” written in black marker pen. “Shit,” he said aloud. “OK, Ken, get on the radio to headquarters and request a negotiator. Tell them we've got a hostage situation. Better get paramedics too.”

  At the west end of the street, Mike was carrying out the rather mundane task of crowd control. Having realised he wouldn't have been able to cope with a front line role he was feeling quite down about the situation. In fact, he was feeling downright bitter about it. The job he'd dreamed of doing for so long and now he was in the middle of it, he felt too much pressure to cope fully. He looked back over his shoulder after he heard the order to surrender over the bullhorn to see what was happening but the gathering crowd was stopping him from paying attention to the situation. He wished he could be one of the crowd and just watch, but at the same time he couldn't believe how stupid the general public actually were. When seeing the large police presence, people on foot were stopping to watch what was happening. People who were being diverted past the street in their cars were parking up further down the road and walking back to join the crowd of onlookers. “If they knew a bank had been taken over by armed gunmen, they would not be here” he thought to himself. Yes, he was bitter, and for the moment he hated the public he swore to protect.

  Back at the front of the bank, Myers felt the pressure of what he was up against. He hadn't made further contact with the criminal in the window but the robber still stood there looking out, the Rorschach mask scanning the road outside. Ken came back to him. “We can't get anyone down here for the next hour sir,” he said.

  “Why? What the hell are they doing down there?” demanded Myers.

  “All's I know is that nobody can get here for the next hour,” said Ken, “They recommend you control the situation for now.”

  Myers thought of what to do next. He knew the first thing to do was to get some demands. He lifted his speaker again. “What do you want?” he asked. He watched again as the black and white mask disappeared into the shadows. He waited a moment and the face returned, again with a piece of paper. He waited for the robber to hold it up to the window. He read the words “We have what we want. Only you can give us what we need.”

  “I'll give you what you need, a club in the head!” he thought to himself. He lifted the speaker again. “What do you need?” he asked sternly. Again, the face disappeared. He waited, and surely enough, it returned with another piece of paper. The words were shown, and they said “An exit.”

  “You know I can't give you that,” Myers said quietly under his breath. He didn't respond through the speaker at this time. Although he wasn't a negotiator, he was fully aware that you should never say no to a hostage taker. The face disappeared again. He waited, longer this time. The robber returned, stepping sideways. Then Myers saw it, clear as day, in the robber's right hand the sawed off shotgun. The robber stood side on and presented the gun so the police could clearly see it. Fearing that shots could be fired, Myers ordered the armed response teams to hold fire unless fired upon. No sooner had he given this order, a more horrific thing was shown to him. The robber pulled with his left hand and threw against the window one of the hostages. A young woman, aged about twenty, was held against the window while the robber put both barrels of his gun against the back of her head. Although he kept his cool on the outside, Myers panicked inside. “What if he shoots her? We'll have a massacre in the streets,” he thought. All he could do was watch. He waited holding his breath, then as quickly as he had thrust her against it the robber pulled her away from the window and disappeared into the shadows again.

  Myers waited for what seemed an eternity this time. The face wasn't coming back. He waited for muffled gunfire, anything. Then the face returned with paper in hand, and presented his message to the police outside, “You have fifteen minutes.” Myers knew all too well that this wasn't nearly enough time to do anything.

  * * *

  Across town, Pete drove his van casually. He hadn't wanted to leave the team behind and he was kicking himself for it, but there was no way he was going down for his involvement in this, especially since he was only the getaway driver. He had driven about four miles, and since he was sure he couldn’t be linked with the robbery any time soon, he thought it safe enough to pull over. He had heard the police sirens shortly after driving away from Hough Lane, and after going the four miles and not hearing any more, he was sure he hadn’t been chased. He pulled up in a public car park across from a small café. He gave one last check in the mirrors and out the windows, just to double check that nobody had followed him, and then he got out the van and walked across to the café

  He entered the café and looked around. It was quite busy due to the fact that schools had just finished, and he could pick out the divorced fathers from a mile off who had gone there with their children straight from school just to keep some kind of sense of self-worth to their children, letting them stand on seats and cause a general nuisance to the other patrons inside. He hated people like that. He always felt it wrong that everyone else’s day should be ruined by 'daddy cool' and his 'spawn of Satan'. His day had gone very wrong, and he could do without this. Still, he was hungry, and this was as good a place as any to lay low for a while. It was full of families, so if the police did find him he was in a crowded place. He checked his pocket. The .38 was still there. One shot in the air and there would be panic. He could easily slip away then.

  He spotted an empty table in the middle of the seating area and headed for it. He sat down and picked up the menu and looked at the snack selection. Chips sounded good, with lots of ketchup. He signalled a waitress who came over. “What can I get for you?” she asked.

  “I'll just have a plate of chips please,” he said.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “I’ll just have a tap water, please.” The waitress took his menu and walked away from the table. Pete couldn't help but check her out as she left. His thoughts were that she may be a bit young for him, but his outlook on pulling women was “as long as there is grass on the pitch...” He sat and pondered what would be happening to his mates now. He knew the police wouldn't rush the building if they had hostages, but also they couldn't get out with the police there anyway, so obviously it would be a standoff. Although it pained him to think it, he kind of hoped they didn't get out. If they did, they would come for him, and when they caught him they would kill him. “Shit, maybe I deserve it,” he thought.

  He jolted upright at the sight of the door opening. He slouched again when he saw it was just a couple and their son coming into the café. He looked calm, but he was now panicking slightly. He got into the job in the first place for the same reasons that Martin did. He didn't want to work for anyone, and he particularly didn't want to work for his whole life. He had worked for a car manufacturer before he joined Martin's crew, but as his company merged with a bigger one, his department was cut and he lost his job. Martin gave him a life line really. Yes, it was a life of crime, and yes, he faced serious consequences if caught, but he felt that at least he was part of something. It was special. He began asking himself what he had done. He had left the one man who gave him a chance to make more money than he needed in the worst possible situation he could think of. Maybe he did deserve to die?

  “No”, he thought to reassure himself, “there is nothing that can be done. They are stuck there, they can't get away. Even if they did, what good could I do against all the police that will be there?” Of course he didn't know how many police would be there, but it was better to overestimate. Therefore he knew he was better out of it.

  A voice roused him up again. “Here is your order.” The waitress had returned with his chips and water. He leant back so she could place them in front of him.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Enjoy your food” the waitress said with a sm
ile and then turned to walk away. Pete picked up the bottle of ketchup from the middle of the table and poured a large pool of it onto the side of his plate. As he ate them he thought up a plan. He would go home, collect some clothes and money, ditch the van and just disappear for a while. He knew full well that if Martin and the others were caught they would give his name, so getting out of the area to somewhere nobody knew who he was, that was the priority. He quickly ate his chips and washed them down with the water, and then went to the counter to pay.

  As he left the café he looked around. He saw no police cars so he headed over the road to the car park and got into the van. He slid the key into the ignition and put on his seatbelt. He checked his mirrors again. He went to turn the key but it was then that he saw something very strange. A thick fog was coming at him, so thick it looked like smoke, but the strange thing was that it had a purple hue to it. He watched, mesmerised as it came, a wall of deep purple fog that swallowed everything that it came across. It would only be a few seconds before it was on him. He didn't feel afraid, but definitely felt uneasy about this. He held his breath as the cloud consumed his van. He saw nothing after that.

  Chapter 2

  Martin was panicking inside. This was the worst situation he had ever been in. He had stood at the window and watched the police arrive and then he watched the perimeter being set up, three units of armed response officers, two at the front behind the two cars on the street and one team that had moved out of sight. He could only guess that they were being moved behind the building in case they tried to make a break for it out the back way. Either that or they would be making a two pronged breach on the building. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. That would mean a gun fight, and people dying. He hated the thought of it. He felt bad enough dragging that young woman away from her boyfriend, kicking and screaming for him to help her, only for him to be hit in the head by the stock of Conner's rifle. To then parade the girl in front of the police with his gun against her head made him sick to his stomach.

  Not only did he have these emotions inside him, he also had the overwhelming sense of betrayal to contend with. It would seem that Gaz was feeling the same. “One, how the hell could he just drive off like that?” he said. “He didn't even look at us.”

  “I don't know, Three,” Martin replied, “but if we get out of this I'll be sure to ask him before I blow his balls off.” Martin looked over to Dave who was stood in front of the shutters to the counter.

  “Four?!” he kept shouting. “Can you hear me?!”

  “Of course he can't hear you those shutters are sound proof, you prat!” shouted Conner. “Give it a bloody rest and get over here for Christ's sake, help us figure this out.”

  Dave wondered over. “What do we do if we can't get him out of there, One?”

  “Look, Dave,” said Conner, “enough of this 'One' crap. It doesn't matter if we can get him out or not because none of us getting out of here.”

  “Hey, don't tell everyone my name!” shouted Dave.

  “Both of you shut up!” ordered Martin. Dave and Conner quietened down. “Two, do not say anyone else's name at all. These people have nothing on us, okay. We will figure out how to get out and then we will get Four. We aren't going to leave him behind.”

  “What do you have in mind One?” asked Gaz.

  “They know we have hostages, they know we need an exit,” replied Martin, “They have seven minutes left before the deadline's up.”

  “Then what?” asked Conner. He leaned in closer to whisper to Martin. “You know we won't kill any of these people, so if they call our bluff, we are screwed. Game over.”

  Martin paused a moment. “Well let's hope to God that doesn't happen. Now go and watch those people over there. I need to give a reminder to those idiots out there.” The team dispersed and Martin got another piece of paper. He wrote the words “6 minutes. We want a van.” He went and held up the window. He then got the response over the bullhorn. “Give us one hostage just to show that you are willing to deal, and then we will see what we can do.” Martin shook his head in response and moved away from the window.

  On the other side of the security screen, Colin was still in shock. He was holding his gun, pointing it at the banker who was still on his knees, but he couldn't help looking at the dead man on the floor, killed by his hand. How was he ever going to get through this? He was contained in what was supposed to be a safe place, yet it was his prison. He was a thief and a murderer. When the police took him, he would be going away for life. The guilt was too much. “I'm sorry,” he said.

  “What?” said banker.

  “I said I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen.” Colin was still looking at the corpse. “What was his name?”

  “Simon.”

  “Simon,” repeated Colin “What's your name?”

  “Craig.”

  “You got a family, Craig?” asked Colin

  Craig was wondering what was going on. The man in the scary mask really didn't sound so scary. “No.”

  Colin didn't respond directly to the comment. He paused briefly. “Well, Craig, my name's Colin” Craig watched as Colin lowered his gun and began to pull his mask off. He had wondered what the man in the mask would look like behind it, but he was surprised at what he saw. Although Colin was only twenty six, he looked much older. He had quite a gaunt face, with frown lines on his forehead and thinning red hair. His nose was pointy and his eyes almost black in colour. Craig had pictured a chiselled jaw, blue eyes and a toned face, but what he saw was quite a less than average, sorry looking man.

  This wasn't what Colin had signed up for. Killing people was against what any of them believed in. Man handling was acceptable, but killing was a massive no. He motioned Craig to put his hands down. “You can put your hands down, I'm not going to hurt you,” he said.

  Craig lowered his hands. He no longer felt afraid. Simon had been killed by a crazed masked gunman but that man was gone and now he was in the presence of a broken, emotional man. “What happens now?” he asked.

  Colin looked up at the screens separating the small room they were in from the main customer area of the bank. He wanted so badly to back with his comrades. “Can you lower these screens?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Colin sighed. “Then we just wait.” He looked at Simon's corpse again, and then sat in the corner against the wall. Craig sat in the opposite corner staring at him.

  Back in the front of the bank, Dave was standing with Conner and Gaz watching the civilians. The bank employee from the office was looking at him. It seemed to take forever, but he could tell she was plucking up the courage to speak. She finally did. “Dave, is that your name?” she asked.

  “Shut up,” said Dave in a blunt voice.

  “Dave, my name's Yvonne. I'm the deputy manager here.” she said.

  “Shut up!” said Dave, a little more forceful this time.

  “I know what you’re doing, but it's just these people can't offer you anything. Let them go and keep me, I can talk to people, try and get you something extra, maybe...”

  Dave cut her short, “Shut your mouth! Don't talk to me and don't use my name!”

  “Keep your girlfriend under control, will you Dave?” said Conner.

  “You shut up too, arsehole!”

  Martin felt the need intervene again. “Two, Five, both of you shut up! This isn't helping. Just keep watching them. We have three minutes until the deadline is up.” He walked back to the window to see what was happening. The police hadn't moved. In the time since the last message was given, two ambulances had turned up. “Great,” he thought, “this means the police aren't going to give in and are expecting a fight.” His heart had hit the bottom of his bowel. He knew it for sure now that there was no way out. Not without a fight. He checked his watch. Two minutes left. Two minutes before the police would be expecting him to kill a hostage, a threat he knew he would never follow through on. As soon as they realised he wasn't going to follow through, they would breach
the perimeter and come and get them. Then he would have a long, long time behind bars.

  * * *

  At the rear of the bank, the armed response officers were awaiting their orders. Among them was Thomas James. James was a family man. He had a beautiful wife that he had been with for the past six years. They had two daughters, whom he loved dearly. He had a very well paid job, which allowed his wife to work only two days a week so that she could stay at home and raise the children. The morning started out as any other day. He kissed his wife and children goodbye, and then set off on the three mile run to work.

  Work was like most other days at work. He sat at his desk and filled out the necessary paperwork that was required at the start of each day. He met up with his team, and they discussed the previous day’s events and what they had done the previous evening. He went with them to collect the keys to their vehicle, they checked their personal kit and set off out for the day on the road.

  His role in his team was the navigator. Basically, if they had to go to a job, he would be the one who points out the best route to get there. He knew the local area within twenty square miles like the back of his hand, but he also had to know the conditions of the roads for that specific day. To do this, he had to liaise with local highways agencies on a daily basis so he would know where road works were and which roads would be closed. Time of day was also paramount as well. If schools were leaving, he would have to know the routes to be able to avoid those areas because speed was of the essence.

  The other two men in his team had their own jobs too. The driver's job was to drive the vehicle and follow James' directions to the letter, but taking into account the safety of the general public. The observer's job was to liaise with other services on the scene of a job, but if a job was too big, he could request extra teams if required.

  Yes, the day was going well. Nothing much had happened so far and the three men were talking general chit chat for the most part. James was even looking forward to getting home on time spending another evening with his wife and children. However, they received a call over the radio just after three pm. The instructions were to proceed immediately to Hough Lane. James picked up the radio. “This is car seventeen, proceeding to sight, over,” he said.