Johnny and John Johnson

Johnny sighted along the sleek lines of black metal resting comfortably in his gloved hand. He followed the barrel down, bringing into sharp focus a scattering of poor souls, quivering on the ground at its end. He made sure to keep his trigger finger clamped tightly against the body of his pistol. It never ventured a hairs breadth closer to the lever that would end two lives with one pull. Johnny had plans for his future. He swallowed a sigh. Watching them lay there, foreheads pushed onto the dirty tiles by the force of their own clasped hands; it made him feel all kinds of pity and regret. He fought hard to squash it. The desire to never be in their position, was all that pushed him into his, and he refused to feel bad for surviving. It wasn’t his design that made the strong prevail over the weak. It certainly wasn’t his machinations that had dropped the perfect bank job into their laps. That was all John’s work.

Johnny’s brother was working magic with his guy on the inside. Out back, he could hear the squealing of metal as the two of them worked the many mechanical levers of the old-fashioned vault. He shook his head to clear the distraction. That wasn’t his job. His role was to watch the hostages, keep them quiet and stop them raising the alarm. Plus, his own little addition, to keep them safe. He had assigned himself the role of ensuring all their family endeavours remained clean. No unnecessary violence, no deviations from the meticulous plans. Everything tidy. Nothing bloody. It’s what kept the Johnson brothers free from both bars and guilt. Still, Johnny couldn’t help but prick his ears and smile at the tell-tale rumble of the vault door opening, as it echoed out across the tile floors of the old, stone building. It was in the vacuous quiet that followed, that a second sound of doors slamming open, sent everything spiralling into chaos.

Johnny kept his pistol trained on the handful of innocents in the centre of the lobby and turned his head to ever-so-slowly peer over his shoulder.

“EVERYBODY ON ZA GROUND! THIS IZ A ROBBERY! NO ONE TRIES TO BE A HERO, NO ONE GETS…hurt…” A gruff voice trailed off from a yell, “What za hell…”

The two men that had barged their way through the thick, timber front doors of the bank stopped side by side, just inside the doorway, looking around in confusion. Even through the narrow slit of his woollen balaclava, Johnny recognised their kind immediately. These were Albanians. Fresh off the boat from Europe by the thick accents and matching tracksuits. Careful not to move or say the wrong words, Johnny took a moment to assess the situation. The wrong action could really send things sideways. Just as he opened his mouth to contain things, he was interrupted by his older brother.

“Casimir!?” John said, dropping three heavy satchel bags, full of cash, to the floor with a thud. He stood at the corner of the teller’s counter, having just emerged from the back rooms with his inside man. The bank manager himself.

“John?” The spokesman of the newcomers, Casimir, said, “John and Johnny Johnson? Your fis derr!? You beat us to zis score!?”

Johnny stared daggers at the shaking back of one of his hostages. Guy was too dumb not to laugh at their fathers eccentric love of his hereditary name. He really hoped the fool was capable of holding it to a quiet chuckle. This was a more serious situation that any of them realised. The Albanians in the city were as trigger happy as they came…and they had assault rifles.

“Pinkers?” John said, turning to the bank manager, “Just how many people did you let in on this little opportunity?”

“Well, I, uh, you know, I couldn’t know that any of you would show up. Thought I’d hedge my bets. Couldn’t miss the chance. Whole security systems going digital on Monday. Had to get in before then, so I mean, uh, I reached out wide, you know, I-”

John, while squeezing his eyes closed tightly and scratching his forehead with the back of his own pistol, cut off bank-manager-Pinkerton’s babbling. Something they had learned to do quickly, or he would never stop talking, “All right, all right. So what are we gonna do here, lads? Vaults empty and we need to be going before the ol’ bill show up, so what's it gonna take to settle this calmly?”

“Oh, John. Zis is-”

Whatever Casimir was going to say next was overridden by the back doors to the bank blowing off their hinges with a sudden boom, followed by the tinkling of broken glass falling onto the glazed floor. Johnny ducked slightly, shielding his eyes from the debris, but never took his eyes off his charges. Through the smoke that billowed in on the breeze, strode another two bank robbers. Both carrying even larger machine guns. The kind that require shoulder straps to hold up.

Terra and Nova’s heavy boots crunched across the sea of glass. Their matching, long blonde hair trailed behind them in the wind and their lithe bodies were taught under the weight of their weapons. The Dutch women were goddesses. Known only for their confident brutality over their beauty, no one more dangerous, or exciting, could have possibly entered the bank. This was so far from the plan, Johnny couldn’t even imagine what they were going to do now. It had supposed to be an easy run. Now, it was a disaster.

“DAMMIT PINKERS!” John yelled, as the bank manager physically recoiled and began backing behind the counter.

“Hello boys, are we having a party?” Nova laughed, “Oh, hey Johnny…” she said, belatedly noticing him. He made a mental note to buy a better disguise.

Not knowing what else to say, he muttered, “Hey, Nova, good to see you…”

His brother didn't know about their fledgling relationship, a secret he now had zero chance of keeping if John's amused face at their awkwardness was anything to go by. If they both made it out of this, he would have to brace himself for another rendition of the ‘look but don’t touch’ lecture concerning dangerous women. When Terra stepped in front of her sister, looking less than pleased, Johnny decided his thoughts would be better spent on the immediate problem.

“We’ll take those bags, John. Slide them over and we can all go our own way.” She ordered.

“I think not!” Casimir shouted.

“Well, hold up now-” John said.

“You are all outgunned and you know it. Give us the cash and you can all walk out of here alive. The systems here might be older than your mothers, but the police will be here eventually. Times ticking!” Terra barked.

“Bet little girls cannot even lift cannons” Casimir’s accomplice taunted in broken English, alongside a laugh dirtied with presumption. It was the worst thing anyone could have said or done.

In a flash both women raised their guns to point at the Albanians, who in turn raised their own automatic rifles, one pointing at John, the other at the sisters. John whipped his pistol taut at the Albanians, and Johnny, well he stood in the middle of it all with a whole gaggle of vulnerable people at his feet, surrounded by live weapons and violent criminals.

Johnny froze. Sweat was running down his back and coating his top lip under the warmth of his mask. He was in serious danger, but was also the only thing standing between the old folks, parents and employees, and a hail of gunfire.

“Look, why don’t we all take a breath!” He blurted out as loud as possible, “This is simple. There are three bags, three crews. We all take one each and retreat out of here, ahead of the law. Easy, right?”

“Hey! What about me!?” Pinkerton chimed in from his hiding spot

“Can it! You caused this! You should be grateful for your life!” John roared, his normal calm breaking.

“It sounds smart to me, Johnny” Nova said, to which both her sister and John both rolled their eyes.

“I have a different idea,” Casimir offered, “We kill all and take money for selves.”

“Come on, man,” Johnny said, “lets do this easy. Lets all walk away without any extra holes. Lets be smart.”

“SMART!?” Casimir snapped, “You think I’m not SMART! I show you Americans what real brains look like!”

The explosion of gunfire that erupted into the echoing chamber of the bank lobby was deafening. Johnny did not have time to think. His ear drums screamed under the battering of sound that was released from every weapon in the building at once. Not to mention the different levels of screaming. Anger from his ilk. Fear from those caught in the crossfire. Flaming lights of erupting metal tried to blind him, gun smoke tried to choke him and the heat of it all cast even more sweat down his brow. He did not know who was firing at who, or what was happening behind him. His mind was scattered by the random chaos, all of which, was not part of the plan. The only thing he knew was that he had one chance to survive and protect his prone hostages. He dropped to one knee, lifted his pistol and fired a single shot at the ceiling.

He could only imagine the looks of immediate judgement he got from everyone in the room at such an idiotic move. That opinion would quickly change, when his bullet hit true, striking the alarm hub that these old systems always hid up high. The ancient defences kicked in. The space that the Albanians had occupied in the doorway was immediately sealed with impenetrable metal doors, locking them inside. Assuming they were still alive, and the beating of fists on the solid cage certainly suggested it was the case, they would make a lovely gift for the law. The gunfire abruptly ceased, and Johnny flinched at the sound of one last piece of falling plaster, before looking for his brother.

Johns head meerkatted up from behind the teller’s counter. Pinkerton’s quickly followed. Their frantic hands searching their bodies for holes suggested they were both unscathed. All of Johnny’s captives were weeping uncontrollably, which, along with the lack of blood, likely meant they were just fine. He was about to thank his lucky stars for the lack of training required to become a criminal, and the bad shooting that inevitably resulted, when his final scan of the room fell on Terra and Nova.

Nova held a futile wad of fabric against a mortal wound in Terra’s ample chest. She was already dead, and Nova’s tear drenched efforts were born of shock. Johnny didn’t know if it was the lack of gunfire, the recovering movements of those left standing, or the battering of the Albanian’s hands against their prison. But something drew Terra’s gaze away from her sister and upward. She locked eyes with Johnny and with a shaking fury she hissed,

“You don’t know it yet, but you’re all meat. I don’t care about the money anymore. I’m coming for you either way and you will all die screaming...”

The pure venom in her seething words forced Johnny to take a step back. This was not the Nova he had once held in his arms. This was some new creature. He found himself quickly retreating beside his brother. Putting distance between himself and those poor souls caught up the mess they had created was his best chance of protecting them. He was her target, not them. Nova seemed reluctant to leave her sisters body and so wordlessly, Johnny, John and Pickers grabbed a bag of cash each and made for the staff exit through the back.

Bags stuffed into the back of his car, Johnny slid into the drivers seat and pulled away as soon as the other two had at least one leg inside.

“Johnny…” his brother began, “Do you remember what I told you about dangerous women…”

“This is NOT my fault” he yelled in his defence, pulling out onto the desert highway nice and slow, just under the legal speed limit. As an entire convoy of local police cars passed on the opposite side of the road, ignoring their sedate departure, John agreed with him.

“Despite us now having the most lethal woman in the country hunting us down, I have to say, you’re right. It’s his…”

They both turned their heads and looked back at the bank manager, who visibly shrunk in his seat.

“Wha…Wha…What are going to do with me?” He stuttered, “I held up my end, you got your cash, we all walked away, mostly…and no one will be the wiser. There will be no trace that you were ever there. Those others will take the fall, you’ll just sound like some made up story to save their own skins, keep your head low and you’ll be fine…I’ll make myself scarce, you’ll never hear from me again…I promise!”

“What do you think, Johnny?” John Johnson asked, “Albanians will be looking for us, not to mention Nova. This fools in their cross hairs too. Do we cut him loose? Keep him close? Or do we take his share and…tie up loose ends?

Johnny, slid the wheel through his hands as he took a gentle turn off the main road. Glancing in the rear view mirror at the terrified bank manager, he weighed up how much he valued his conscience, and whether the man was worthy of it.

“Give me a few minutes,” he muttered, “I’ll have a plan for us soon enough.”

Pinker's whimpered, and fell silent.