Chapter 1 -- In Broad Daylight
Harris drives the van.
It's a common brown delivery truck, and that's by design. It has dual doors that swing out from the baggage compartment. We covered the windows with cardboard cutouts, held loosely in place by silver duct tape. That's by design, too.
Inside the compartment we lined the walls with thick, gray, sound-reducing rubber foam. We've nailed two more layers to the floor of the compartment, and a new cut of white shag carpet covers it on top.
On one side wall of the van sits a long, low-slung tool box, wide enough to accommodate two large men sitting on it, more or less, comfortably. Inside the tool box is a pile of various lengths of brown hemp and white nylon ropes; a few rolls of colored duct tape; an assortment of torn bed sheet strips, a few discarded rags; and, some, er, used panties (Chano contributed those. He says it's good gagging material. I'll keep that in mind, when this is over; there have got to be some 'kinky' girls who like to play with rich Americans, down in Costa Rica, ... )
Harris wears a brown uniform, similar to those of a famous international delivery service.
Chano and I wear black from head to toe. Black sneakers, black socks, black slacks. I've got a pullover turtleneck, and Chano wears a tank top, naturally, to show off. Each of us wears a black ski mask, and black crushed-leather gloves, as well.
I had the only electronic voice scrambler that's working. Harris thinks he can salvage one of the other ones. That sucks. All three of them were working, yesterday. I sigh -- never trust anything Made in China. It's a small problem, but, now, by necessity, I am the only one to do the talking inside the van, after Harris does his part. It should be okay; it's not a long ride from here to the warehouses on the waterfront.
I've got time to go over our 'playbook', one last time, before we go into action.
I've done some homework on our prospective 'guest'. I know that her daily lunchtime schedule is between 11:45 AM, and 12:15 PM. On Fridays, sometimes, she takes an extra half-hour to do some shopping at the lingerie store around the corner. As long as she tells her boss, then, that's not a problem.
She's pretty, and what's more, she carries herself that way. Most women don't know that that's the key, really, but this one? She's got the looks, the legs, the tight little ass, ... and she knows how to carry it off.
She's the type who always manages to turn a fella's head. And, some, like her boss, ... well, let's say she has a ring through his nose, anytime she wants to.
I also know that she's been working there long enough to have a authority, the kind that we need. To get done what we need done, we're going to need her 'cooperation'.
I even know that her first name is Elizabeth.
I review all this, as well as the mechanics of our plan, and everybody's role in it. I inform Chano about changing his role, explaining: "I think I might need a bit more muscle at the warehouse. She's small, and trim, but she's kind of a gym rat, probably stronger and quicker than she looks. You never know, but it pays to be careful. Harris, I think, blends in better in that environment. They won't notice him, as much, at least when he gets started."
That's fine with the boys, especially Chano. I think he wants to stay with the tied-up lady, once we get her, well, tied up. Chano is, after all, a bit of a pervert. Harris, I think, instinctively understands that I don't want Chano mucking anything up at the bank.
We park the van across the street, just north of the bank's glass doors. We can't miss her leaving for her usual Friday afternoon lunch -- Chinese, at Happy Golden's, next to the lingerie shop. It's only a few blocks up, and we're poised to intercept her.
It's 11:30 AM.
Harris let out a slow sigh. "Hey, Chief, ... what's it mean when your palms are sweaty?"
Chano laughs, "It means that you're about to come into a lot of money!"
"That's when your palms itch," I say. "When they sweat it means, ... you're nervous." Harris looks back at me. "You're supposed to be. You're supposed to have a couple of butterflies before the big game, ... keeps you alert. Just don't obsess on it, and you're fine. Remember, me 'n' Chano are the ones who have to get..."
She's early.
Out she comes, full of life, flouncing down the street with her white dress teasing those sumptuous legs, and without a care in the world.
