Bank Robbers

It was all over for Tom when his grandfather, a wizened old man whose wispy hair matched the shade of his pipe-smoke, told him about the twenty grand or so some bank robbers had hidden in the woods.  Tom had already found the old policecar: a rusted out ‘48 Ford the robbers took for a joyride and then ditched in the woods back when Tom’s grandfather was thirty or so.  But Tom had never heard about the treasure before, at least until his grandfather had a little too much to drink and spilled the beans, much to Tom’s father’s chagrin.  He was always chagrining about something, and nothing made him chagrin so much as Tom’s adventuring.  His mother was just happy he was too busy looking for treasure to watch dirty movies or use words like “damn,” “suck,” or “butt.”  Tom still did those things, but his parents were too busy worrying about his spelunking and traipsing through the woods to notice.

Twenty grand was a lot of money, even after thirty years of inflation; back in 1955 it was a veritable fortune.  It was still plenty enough for Tom to daydream about during his multiplication tables in 1983, though.  He remembered exactly what his grandfather told him the night before;

“Y’know those woods out behind the old auto garage?”  Tom nodded.  “Well, somewhere in the thirty-acre lot is ‘bout twenty grand in hundred-dollar bills those robbers hid.  Must’ve been ‘bout thirty years ago now, I s’pose.  Your pa must’ve been around ten at the time.  But it was all over the papers.  They ended up catching the robbers pretty quick, they did.  Police searched for months, never found a godda - um, gosh-darn thing, ‘cept the wrecked cruiser they used as a getaway car.  Went for a joyride they did, tearing down main street.  Musta been going ninety miles an-’our.  I was standing right by the road when I saw ‘em go by.”

“Whatever happened to the money?”

“Noone knows, ‘cept we’re all pretty sure it’s buried somewhere out there.  Jus’ a lotta woods to dig through.  Lotsa people’ve tried and failed, I looked myself a couple times and no dice.  Some big shot from Illinois was here jus’ a few months ago, poking around and all.  Didn’t find anything though, as far as I know anyways.”

“You think it’s still out there?”

“I’m damn near certain of it.  If I were a younger man I’d go out and keep looking, but my knee was bothering me when I first went out and it’s even worse now.”

“What if I want to try and find it?”  Tom’s grandfather pulled thoughtfully at his beard before answering.  He had a twinkle in his eye.

“For your father’s sake, I’d say not to.  But I’ve been thinkin’ bout that treasure for years, now.  Most excitement this town has seen since the Civil War, I’d reckon.  I’d love to see that piece of Garrettesville history dug up before I’m buried with it.”

That night, after he told his parents he was going to sleep, Tom drew up a plan.  A plan of sorts, anyways.  He went down to the local library and xeroxed some old maps of the woods behind the auto garage.  He poured over newspaper clippings, scouring for any information about the robbery.  Here is an excerpt from the most pertinent article he found:

The Garrettesville Gazette

February 20, 1955

Chicago Gangsters Hold Up Local Bank: Trio Apprendend, Twenty Thousand Dollars Still Unrecovered

In a shocking turn of events, the quiet streets of our town were disrupted by a bank robbery carried out by a trio of big-city gangsters.  The robbers, known as Vincent “Vinnie” Campbell, Marvin “Marv” Bruschetti, and Johnny “from Chicago” Dogsen, made off with twenty thousand dollars following an armed robbery at the local Garrettesville City Bank.

According to eyewitness accounts, the chaos erupted at approximately 2 p.m., when the trio stormed the bank armed with machine-guns.  Bank officials state Campbell, Bruschetti, and Dogsen, all identified by the FBI as important figures in the Chicago underworld, displayed a chilling level of organization and precision throughout the operation.  The trio then fled the scene in a stolen police car, carrying with them a suitcase filled with twenty thousand dollars in cash.

"The whole thing happened so fast," recounts bank teller Sarah Havers.  "They burst through the doors, waving their guns and shouting orders.  It felt like something out of a movie."

Authorities were quickly alerted and an intense manhunt ensued, spanning the outskirts of Garrettesville.  The criminals were spotted speeding down the highway as the police followed in pursuit.

However, their joyride took a disastrous turn when Campbell, the driver, crashed the stolen vehicle in a wooded area on the outskirts of town.  The police found the trio unconscious at the wreckage.  All three were reportedly under the influence of alcohol.

The trio was arrested at the site of the crash and are awaiting sentencing at the Garrettesville County Jail.  They face felony charges of bank robbery, auto theft, theft of public property.  Campbell also faces misdemeanor charges of reckless driving and driving under the influence of alcohol.  They are slated to appear on trial in June while investigators gather further evidence.  The trio could face up to thirty years in a Federal penitentiary.

However, despite the successful apprehension of the criminals, one mystery remains: where exactly the robbers hid the stolen twenty thousand dollars.  Authorities suspect the robbers stashed the suitcase of cash somewhere in the thirty-acre wood just outside Garrettesville before their capture.  A thorough search of the area is ongoing but as of yet, the money remains unrecovered.

Newly appointed Garrettesville County Sheriff Andrew Griffon assured the community that no stone would be left unturned in their quest to recover the stolen money.

"We are committed to returning the stolen money to its rightful owners," Griffon declared, "and will utilize every resource available until this case is resolved."

The Garrettesville County Police Department is offering a five hundred dollar reward to anyone with information on the stolen money’s whereabouts.

Tom found more sources on the robbery but nothing on the treasure’s location or recovery.  Stacks of articles recounted police officers, bank officials, treasure hunters, and even a History Channel TV crew all at one point or another scoured the woods, and all returned empty-handed.  Tom, far from feeling dissuaded, was only determined in his quest.

The next night, Tom packed up all the essentials for his mission; a flashlight, a compass, his father’s brown fedora and Army-issue Kabar knife, copies of maps from the library, his beloved Walkman, and a large bottle of water.  He doused himself in bugspray, donned his rattiest pair of jeans and hiking boots, and snuck out the window the moment he was certain his parents were asleep.

The night air felt crisp as Tom slipped through the window right outside his second-story room.  A roof section sloped softly downwards right outside the window, covering a patio - Tom was easily able to lift a leg over the windowsill and step right on the roof.  He’d often spend sleepless nights up there, gazing at the stars and doodling Indiana Jones in his notebooks.

There was an old magnolia tree hanging over the roof.  Tom’s father always talked about cutting it down, because if a storm came and knocked it over it could easily destroy the entire house, but Tom and his mother were too attached to the old tree to allow it.  Sometimes in the fall, its pods would gather on the roof, and Tom would climb up and chuck them at squirrels who dared a free meal from the birdfeeder.

But tonight, and on all nights Tom snuck out until he graduated highschool, the magnolia primarily served as a convenient ladder from the roof to the yard.  Tom shimmied down, taking care not to catch his backpack on any of the branches.  It took a bit of a tricky maneuvering; the magnolia’s twisting web of branches, which made it so easy to climb, also proved a hazard when trying to descend with anything besides the clothes on one’s back - and even then, provided they weren’t too baggy.  Even Tom was surprised when he made it down without getting stuck or alerting his parents, who were about four inches of drywall away.

Earlier in the day, Tom had locked his bike to the gutter running from the roof to the driveway - once he was off the roof, he didn’t even have to finagle with garage-door locks or try to ever-so-slowly push the door open to avoid squeaky hinges or sudden slams.  He just had to ride off.

The night air felt even cooler as it rushed against Tom’s face and whipped through his matted hair.  It was about a six mile ride to the woods, and by the time Tom got there he had shaken off all the nighttime grogginess that comes with pretending to be asleep for an hour and a half.

The path to the woods was open and inviting - outside of a “No Trespassing” sign, it seemed downright magical.  The night air had only gotten crisper as Tom got further from his small slice of suburbia.  By the time his boots were crunching leaves and kicking up rocks he had long forgotten about incandescent lightbulbs, or the cathode-ray tube that once so enthralled him with after-school specials.

The moon peered through the dense brush while the stars winked down at him.  He heard nothing besides the crunching of leaves, the songs of crickets and frogs, and the occasional owl’s call.  The breeze was lost, or at least muffled by the miles of trees that surrounded him.  Tom barely felt it underneath his pleated hoodie.

The first thing Tom noticed when he came out of his woodsy trance was that he was decidedly lost.  He had long strayed from the path, for it was marked with the footprints of all the fruitless treasure hunters who had come before him.  He relied solely on his intuition, and simply went where it seemed most difficult to traverse.  This is a great idea if you’re looking for hidden treasure; less so if you want to find your way home once you’ve dug it up.

Naturally, the most logical thing to do from here would be to keep looking for the treasure.  Since Tom was already lost, he figured he’d leave getting un-lost as a problem for Future Tom, who, doubtless reenergized by the discovery of untold riches, would be in a better frame of mind for these sorts of things.

Soon enough the trees opened up into what Tom could see as a small clearing; he made his way towards it, more looking for a change of scenery than anything.  After a bit of trouble, he finally managed to get to the clearing’s edge.  He looked out into it.  Most of the clearing was covered in tall grass; it must’ve come up to around Tom’s knee.  In the center stood a dilapidated shack with rotted wood siding and crooked windowframes.  Tom walked slowly towards it, taking care to not step on a snake, puddle, or some other hazard obscured beneath the grass.  Once he reached the shack, he placed a foot on the front step and slowly leaned his weight into it.  The step creaked in protest but seemed sturdy enough.  Tom stepped carefully up the stairs and tried the door.  It opened into the shack’s single room, which seemed to serve as both the living room and the kitchen.  A wood table sat in the center, surrounded by plastic lawn chairs.  A stove stood in one corner, with a rusted metal pipe leading up to the roof that Tom could only assume was the chimney.  The roof was corrugated tin and its slope supported by rafters.  There were two doors on the far wall - Tom assumed for a closet and restroom.  He stepped forward.

The wooden floorboards creaked as Tom made his way across the room.  The cabin’s air was musty and tickled his lungs as he breathed.  He pulled his shirt over his mouth and entered the building.

Upon entering, Tom made a beeline for the first door.  The handle felt cold in his hand as he turned it, and the hinges squeaked with a rusty groan.  Tom was greeted by a wall of pelt coats hung up in the closet.  He pushed them aside and found a suitcase.

It was black leather with rusted latches that used to be gold.  Tom was able to pop them open with a bit of effort.  The casing had clearly seen better days - it was dusty, moldy, and moth-eaten.  Tom slowly opened it, crossing his fingers and toes as he did so.

Tom had never seen twenty thousand dollars cash.  The closest he’d come (outside of Monopoly money) was the crisp one-hundred dollar bill his grandfather gave him for his thirteenth birthday, with a wink and instructions to “save it for a rainy day.”  Tom still had it, carefully slid into a cardboard-backed envelope and stuffed into his pillow.  In the suitcase there were enough crisp one-hundred dollar bills for a monsoon’s worth of rainy days.

Tom was shaken out of his trance by footsteps coming up to the house.  He scrambled up the rafters, but not before almost dropping the suitcase.  He perched himself on the beam closest to the door and waited.  The doorknob hesitated for a moment before turning.

Three men entered the shack.  A stout, balding fellow in a brown suit armed with a machine-gun, entered first.  The second and third, a short man in a fedora and a tall man in a hawaiian shirt, both armed with pistols, followed.  They sat down at the table and lit cigarettes.

“Are you sure it’s still here?” the larger one asked.

“I checked a few months ago,” replied the tall one.  “Counted it all up myself.  Every penny’s right where we left it.”

“So what’s the plan, Johnny?” asked the short one.

“Paulie’s been bustin’ my balls about his share ever since I got outta the joint,” Johnny, the tall one, said.  “We’ll have to pay him off first, and then lay low for a little while.  It’ll draw too much heat if we start spending it now.”

“Well, what the hell’s twenty grand today anyways?” the large one whined.  “That’s nuttin’ between the three of us, not even countin’ Paulie.”

“This’ll just get us by till we can do another job,” Johnny said, after a long drag on his cigarette.  “We got to lay low, Vinnie.  Lay low.”

“We got no time to lay low!”

“We got no choice.  I ain’t goin’ backta jail, I’ll tell ya that right now.  And you sure as hell ain’t getting us arrested again, you stupid drunk.”

“You were drunk too,” Vinnie mumbled.

“I wasn’t s’posed to be the getaway driver!”  Johnny’s face was red as he slammed his cigarette butt into the table and ashed it.

“He’s got a point, Vinnie.”

“Shut up Marv, what did you even do?”

“Not crash the policecar, for starters.”

Poor Tom was hanging on for dear life as he heard the trio argue.  The suitcase sat precariously on the beam, and Tom could feel it slipping from his grip.  Of course, the closer the suitcase got to falling, the more nervous Tom got.  The more nervous Tom got, the sweater his hands got.  And the sweatier his hands got, the harder it was to hold on, and the suitcase slipped even further.  He soon lost track of the gangster’s conversation even as their tones got more animated, only concerned with the suitcase slowly slipping from his grip.

“What do you mean it’s missing?”

“I mean it’s gone!” Johnny yelled.

“You dirty rat!  You took it!  I knew you couldn’t be trusted to check on it alone!” Vinnie shouted.

“If I took it,” Johnny said slowly through gritted teeth, “Why would’ve I brought you guys here to divy it up?”  He had his pistol out, which did little to assuage Tom.

“I dunno.  Some sneaky-wiseguy tricks to pull on us,” Vinnie said, hoisting his machine-gun.

“Maybe you planned to play it off like sum-’un else took it,” Marv said quietly.

“You little prick!”  Johnny yelled.  “Vinnie I’d get because he thinks he’s some kinda wiseguy, but you?  Dirty traitor, you.”  Johnny grabbed Marv by the collar and lifted him a foot off the ground so they were at eye level.

“I’m sorry, boss, I’m sorry!” Marv wailed as his feet dangled and kicked.  “I didn’t mean nu’ttin by it, honest!”

“Like hell you didn’t!”  Johnny shoved Marv onto the floor.  “We’re gonna find the rat who took it and kill ‘im!”

After a bit of scrambling, Tom finally got the suitcase balanced on the beam.  He dug through his backpack and pulled out his Walkman.

“What happened to laying low?” asked Vinnie.

“Laying low’s for chumps with twenty grand to spend.  The rat’s gotta be somewhere in town with our money.”

“Who d’ya think dunnit?  How we gon’ find him?”

“Christ, I just came up with this plan.  Gimme a bit to work out the details.”  Johnny lit another cigarette as he paced in circles around the table.

“What if he’s still here?” Marv asked.  The other two looked at him while Tom’s breathing stopped in horror.

“You idiot, do you see someone here?” Johnny yelled.  “There ain’t no other room to hide in.  All that coke’s turned your brain to mush.”  (Tom wondered why Coca-Cola was in Marv’s brain, and quietly resolved to quit the soft drink.)  “Let’s get outta here and call Paulie.”

“Paulie’s gonna think we don’t wanna pay him,” Vinnie said.  “What if he gets us whacked?”

“He’s got a point,” Marv chimed in.

“Stop agreeing with Vinnie!”

“Sorry, boss.”

Johnny groaned.  “We gotta find the money, no bones about it.  It’ll buy us favor with the higher-ups while we look for another score.”

“I still got some guys in the coke scene that could help us,” Marv offered.

“I ain’t touchin’ that junk, look at what it’s turned you into!”

“Look, Johnny, we ain’t exactly got a lotta options,” Vinnie said.  “All I’m sayin’ is we do it jus’ once.  Run a bag to Miami or somethin’.  That oughta score us around twenty grand to kick upstairs and we’ll go back to reputable business.”  Marv nodded in agreement.

“It ain’t nuttin’ permanent, Johnny.  Just to hold us over, and it’s a helluva lot easier than tearing this town apart lookin’ for some hick who got lucky.”  Johnny heaved a heavy sigh.

“Y’know, I promised Paulie I’d never touch the stuff.”

“Screw Paulie!” Vinnie shouted.  “You were jus’ talkin’ bout how he’s gonna whack us if we don’t get him his money.”

“He’ll whack us if he finds out we’re running coke!”

“How’s Paulie gonna know?” Marv asked.  “I’ve been dealing in jail for years and he ain’t found out.”

“Look, how ‘bout we discuss this later.” Johnny said.  “Either we run coke or look for the money, either way we gotta go to the hotel and make a plan.  Let’s get outta here.”  The other two grumbled in agreement, and Tom must’ve waited an hour after their heavy boots left the porch before daring to stir.

He slowly crept down from the rafters, and checked out the windows to make sure they were gone.

The journey home was quick - the gangsters weren’t exactly hikers, and left a rather obvious trail out of the forest.  Of course, Tom was very careful, but he figured it was his best bet to get home before his parents woke up.  The trail spat him out by an old dirt road, lined with a single set of fresh tire tracks.  The dirt road led to the main road, where Tom had stashed his bike in a ditch.  He rode home as fast as his short legs would take him, scrambled up the magnolia tree, and shoved the suitcase under his bed.  His parents woke up five minutes later and found Tom, seemingly fast asleep.

The next day (or, later that afternoon, after Tom pretended to wake up,) as soon as his parents went to work, Tom rushed to his grandfather’s, suitcase in tow.

“By gum.  Holy wow.  Goddamn.”  Tom knew it was a big deal when his grandfather used adult words during the day.  He held the suitcase open and ran a bony finger over the bills.  His eyes twinkled as he looked up at Tom.

“Whatcha gonna do with it?”

“I dunno.  I wasn’t counting on getting this far.”  Tom’s grandfather cackled good-naturedly.

“Well you sure got a helluva lot farther than anyone else in this town.  Good golly, that’s a score.”  He pulled out a wad of bills and flipped through it wistfully.  “You prolly oughta return it to the police, though.”

“You think?”

“Well, it seems the right thing to do.”   Tom’s grandfather smiled sadly.  “I’m jus’ glad I got to see it with mine own eyes.”

“But…” Tom paused.  “What if I didn’t?”

“Well,” Tom’s grandfather started, pausing to think, “I ain’t gonna stop you.  But I ain’t gonna endorse that, either.  This town’s built on the honesty of its folk, I think.  Can’t put a price on that, not even a suitcase of hundred dollar bills.”  Tom nodded somberly.

“I’ve got a recording, too.  Of the gangsters arguing.  I think they had some sort of backup plan.”

“Those fellers are up to no good, I can tell you that much.  We oughta take the tape over to the sheriff’s office.”

Old sheriff Andrew looked just like he did in the papers; tall, stocky, and with an affable yet self-assured visage.  The only differences Tom could find were his whitening hair and pronounced laugh lines.  Andrew’s brow furrowed in concern, however, after listening to the tape.

“Seems like this is a few steps above my pay grade,” he said finally.  “Never thought we’d hear about such dealings in Garrettesville.  You did a good job catching this on tape.”

“So what can we do about it?” Tom asked.

“Well, I think this is something better handled by the FBI.  I’m going to send this tape over to them.  Are you sure you know who the three men were?”

“Yes!” Tom said excitedly.  “There’s the same three men who took the money from the bank!  They talked about how they had ‘left it there’ and they had the same names from the article.

“Go ahead and write down an account of what you didn’t get on tape.  I’m sure they’ll be very interested in all of this.”  Tom nodded.

“And don’t quote me on this, but I’ve heard the FBI is very generous regarding rewards for information on these sorts of folk.”  Andrew winked as he pushed the suitcase towards Tom.  “Just get that report done.”

The Garrettesville Gazette

July 17, 1983

Local Boy Solves Thirty Year Old Mystery and Uncovers Drug Trafficking Scheme

Thirteen-year-old Thomas Brooks has emerged as the unlikely hero, uncovering a hidden treasure and playing a pivotal role in implicating a gang of notorious criminals involved in drug trafficking.

Tom found a suitcase filled with twenty thousand dollars cash a trio of robbers had stolen thirty years ago.  However, soon after he recovered the suitcase, the trio returned to their hiding spot as Tom quickly hid.

He used his Walkman, a portable cassette player, to discreetly record the gangsters' conversation, where they made plans to sell cocaine in order to raise the missing funds.

Tom returned the suitcase and the recording to the Garrettesville County Sheriff's Office.

Sheriff Griffon immediately contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), sharing the evidence that Tom had bravely collected. The FBI swiftly launched an investigation, using the Walkman recording to implicate the criminals on charges of conspiracy to traffic narcotics.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sheriff Griffon said of the findings.  “Sure, we’ve busted a few small-time marijuana dealers but nothing like this.”

The FBI rewarded Tom for his efforts in busting the criminals, and after discussion he was allowed to keep the money, and the Garrettesville Bank was finally reimbursed for the stolen funds.

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