He walks into the bank, right up to the teller, a Big Mac in one hand and a straight razor in the other. "Where's my money?" The teller had made a mistake that would end her career. Twenty minutes before, he had walked up to her window. He had handed her an empty pillowcase. He had told her to fill it up. Then he had turned and walked out the door, walked across the parking lot and walked into the neighboring McDonald’s. She had thought it was a joke. She had thought it was in poor taste, but she had thought it was a joke. So she hadn't called the police. Now it was too late. Now he was back. "Bitch! Where's my money!" He vaults the counter and begins to fill the bag himself. The teller, the other tellers, their customers flee. The robber sits down at one of the desks, puts down the razor and counts the money he'd just stolen. He takes a bite out of the Big Mac. Counts some money. Another bite. He stacks the money in nice ...
The Crime Machine is the blog of True Crime author Warren Harris, where he explores both contemporary topics in criminal justice and historical mysteries with a literary connection.