Broken Souls (Broken Realms, #2)

CHAPTER 15-1

CHAPTER 15Rivercore Northwest Bank sat on an island of concrete floating on the southern edge of the Clackamas shopping mall’s massive parking lot. It was almost lunchtime and, though it was a typical gray mid-November day, the clouds didn’t appear to be threatening rain, so foot traffic seemed to be increasing along the extensive network of sidewalks that connected the mall to the chain restaurants, clothing boutiques and electronics shops within its orbit. Prado and Merv sat in a silver BMW 3 Series across from a smoothie shop with a good view of the bank.

In the passenger seat, Merv nervously twisted around, tugging at his blue oxford shirt which strained against its buttons and radiated a burst of creases across his chest and belly. The loosely knotted maroon power tie did little to conceal that he was much too large for the shirt, but at least it held his collar somewhat closed, despite being under assault by his bulging neck. Having shifted the shirt laterally across his girth to a more comfortable position, he switched to futzing with an object in his pocket.

Next to him, behind the wheel, Prado turned his gaze from the bank to his passenger. “Stop messing with the webcam. It’s clipped on just how we need it,” he said, picking up his smartphone from the dash and turning its screen toward Merv. The device displayed the view through car’s windshield from the perspective of Merv’s pocket.

“I don’t get why we have to go through all this. Why don’t we do it and get it over with?” Merv whined. “These clothes are about to strangle me to death.”

“We need to be methodical and thorough in our planning if we are to do this successfully,” Prado said, his lisp lightly kissing the last word. “Every detail needs to be meticulously executed, or we will both end up in jail.”

“And you think this is better than swiping some software and selling it?”

“Yes, I do. Selling stolen goods puts us in danger of discovery or capture several times—during the robbery, during the transport of the goods and during the transaction with the buyer. That’s too many steps to take to simply acquire money. Why not cut to the chase and take the money? Especially if you consider the advantages your particular talents afford us,” Prado said. “This will work if you do it my way. I assure you, I am good at this.”

Merv looked around the interior of the car and said, “You know, we both seem to be doing fairly well financially in this place. Being dermatologists pays enough to get along. Maybe we should go legit.”

“The world may think we are dermatologists, but we don’t know anything about it. How long do you think it will be before our patients and coworkers figure out that we are frauds? And how long do you think you can work in an office where your job is to examine people’s skin before you accidently touch someone and turn into them?”

Merv held up his latex-gloved hands and said, “A doctor’s office is one of the only places this doesn’t look weird.”

“Accidents do happen, and being in constant close quarters with people will increase the chances of something bad happening. Do you want to live like that?”

“No, but I don’t want to live like this either.” Merv tugged on the waist of his pants which squeezed him into two doughy segments stacked on top of each other.

“Next time we’ll spend a little more time scouting out our target. There are plenty of plus-size bank managers out there, I’m sure.” Prado noticed movement at the glass doors at the front of the bank and turned. “Speaking of bank managers, there’s our target, heading out to the sandwich shop next door, right on schedule. Are you ready?”

Merv tensed and jerkily reached for the door handle.

Prado put a hand on Merv’s shoulder and said, “You are not going to need those gloves. Leave them here.”

“Oh, right.” Merv snapped off the gloves, threw them on the dash. He turned back to open the door.

“Don’t forget the briefcase,” Prado said.

“Got it.” Merv reached into the backseat and pulled a brown leather briefcase over his headrest. He opened the door and heaved himself out of the car.

Prado’s eyes widened, watching the added strain placed on Merv’s clothing, afraid both his pants and shirt were going to split. He relaxed when Merv straightened, slammed the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Merv pulled a phone out of his pocket, lifted it to his ear and pretended to have a conversation while he walked along the sidewalk toward the bank. Meanwhile, the bank manager, a fifty-year-old man of average build with olive skin and a head of cottony white hair, walked in the opposite direction on the same sidewalk, toward Merv.

Prado watched through the windshield, then looked down at the swaying image on his smartphone. Merv stood on the right side of the sidewalk, so the webcam in his pocket had a perfect shot as the bank manager approached. As they were about to pass, Merv swerved to the left, crashing into the man walking toward him. The bank manager stumbled over a raised curb that ran along the edge of the sidewalk and separated it from a small grass-covered median. Falling to his hands and knees, he turned and looked over his shoulder, red-faced and yelled, “Hey!”

Merv slipped his phone into his pocket, put his briefcase on the sidewalk and ran over to the man, extending his hand to help him up. “I am so sorry. That was completely obnoxious. I hate when people walk around blindly bumping into things while they talk on the phone.”

The man took the proffered hand, stood up and brushed himself off. He glanced up at the bank sign, reminding himself that this was likely one of his customers and said, “No harm done.”

He smiled and was about to turn away to continue to the sandwich shop when he noticed Merv’s tie and said, “Nice tie you’ve got there.” The bank manager grabbed his own tie and waved it. They were identical. It didn’t occur to him that their blue oxfords and khaki pants were the same as well.

Merv quickly turned away and headed into the bank. “Sorry about that,” he said over his shoulder.

The bank manager shrugged and headed to lunch.

Before Merv got to the front doors of the bank, his face was roiling and shifting, compressing and elongating. His jaw cracked and then popped. He felt his teeth grind as they slid along the moving gum line. The roots of his black hair turned white and then, in a sudden burst, covered his head in a snowy mane. His skin darkened across his face in a wave like a loaf of bread baking in a time-lapsed video. As his chest tightened and his belly collapsed, his tight clothes loosened and shifted on his frame. Merv had to hold on to the door handle while his legs narrowed and lengthened. This time, his shoes fit before and after the morphing. In about two minutes, Merv lifted his head, turned toward the parked BMW, nodded and entered the bank.

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