The black van circled the block under cover of heavy rains and fog that darkened the downtown neighborhood of Community Plaza Bank. When Souther was satisfied, he directed Beeks to park just down the street from the front entrance. Beeks pulled up to the curb and killed the engine.
Souther glanced at the bank's large clock. 9:25 a.m.
Aaron listened to the rain pattering on the roof of the van, his heart in his mouth. Random thoughts bounced around in his head like bingo balls, and whenever he managed to grab one, it was either too depressing to contemplate, or it made no sense whatsoever. One by one he tossed them back in the hopper with the others.
His eyes went wide, as Souther opened the glove box and pulled out a fifth of whiskey.
Great, Aaron thought, I get to rob a bank with a bunch of drunks.
"To a successful heist," Souther said, unscrewing the cap. He took a huge swig and passed the bottle to Beeks. Beeks took an even bigger drink and passed the bottle to Aaron.
Aaron passed the bottle to Needles without drinking.
"Wait a minute," Souther said. "Let the kid have a drink."
"Oh, no thanks," Aaron said, blushing. "I've never drank alcohol before."
Souther laughed. "Go ahead," he insisted. "You're a tough guy, right?"
Aaron hadn't ever thought of himself as a tough guy, and his experience with Tom had soured him on whiskey. But he was certainly curious, and the thought of drinking with the men excited him. Besides, it was a welcome distraction.
"I guess one small drink won't hurt," he said.
He took the bottle in both hands, raised it to his lips, and tried to take a small sip. But as he tilted his head back, the whiskey sloshed forward in the bottle and about four shots flushed down his throat and up his nose. He lurched forward, nearly dropping the bottle, and coughed so deeply his eyes nearly blew out of their sockets.
His world grew dark as colorful paisley patterns flashed about in a sea of black tea. The gang could only laugh while he coughed and snorted, his ears glowing bright red as the fiery spirits ignited his sinuses. He had never snorted gasoline through a straw and held a match to it before, but now he knew how it would feel.
Finally a flood of tears signaled the end of the worst, and Aaron looked up at the others. "Holy crap," he croaked, trying to catch a breath. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and the drool from his chin as a burning warmth welled in his stomach and heated the back of his head.
"What do you think, kid?" Souther asked, still laughing. "Smooth, right?"
"Right," Aaron wheezed.
The bottle went around again, but this time when the whiskey came to him, Aaron passed it on.