Peanut Man

Help wanted: Advertising/Promotion

Person to wear a costume and walk

Downtown streets promoting food

Product. M-F 8 a.m-4 p.m.

Sober, reliable, personable.

Good hourly rate.

Call for an interview at 555-212-8591

Jerry clipped this ad from the newspaper and taped it to his refrigerator door. Finally, finally, this might be the answer. The final piece of the puzzle that could put his plan in place.

Two years ago, college drop-out, going nowhere, Jerry Nichols, got his first real job as a teller at the local community bank. Then, after thirty days of training, he moved into the big time as a teller at the eastside branch. Three days later, he began planning a robbery.

After two years of crappy pay, a crappy room, and no car, Jerry was more than ready. That’s a long time to wait with so much money staring him in the face each day. New bills, old bills, dirty bills, torn bills, it didn’t matter. Whatever the condition, Jerry handled them as if they were good friends under his care.

Each day when he got his cash drawer insert from the head teller, Jerry counted and entered the figures on the tally sheet. Riffled each stack, squared the corners, and put them back in the drawer slots with the precision of a surgeon. He loved his money. He called it “his” money and felt the bank had no personal regard for it. It was only a commodity to them. Just pieces of paper.

He called the number in the advert and was given a next-day interview with a man named Jake Linley. So Jerry went directly from work. “I came directly from work, Mister Linley. I didn’t have any time to change.”

“Call me Jake, kid. Everyone does. Jake Linley was middle-aged, overweight, with hair tufts that looked like dust bunnies. His feet were upon his desk. The small office stunk of cigar smoke. “When can you start?”

“I get off at noon next Thursday.” Jerry lied. “Can I start that afternoon?”

“Sure, kid, see Maria out front. She’ll do the paperwork, give you the costume and a bag of samples. You sure you’re up to this, kid?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, I thought so. Take the costume home and practice walking in it. It can be a little claustrophobic. Do you have a light?”

“No, Sir, I don’t smoke.”

“That’s good. Tell Maria I need a light. Take it, easy, kid. Call me when you’re done Thursday, and we’ll set up a regular schedule. Got it?

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Leave the door open when you go.”

That was it. In and done. No handshake. Jake never got out of his chair. Maria had him fill out the necessary forms, gave him a plastic bag with the costume, and another one with the samples. “There’s five hundred in there. Call me when you’re about halfway, and I’ll get another bag ready for you.” She gave him a card with her number on it. “You’ll do good, kid. Close the door on your way out.” Maria went back to her keyboard and formed a big pink bubble with her chewing gum.

Thursday was Jerry’s favorite workday because many local businesses made payroll that day, and his drawer was loaded with money. That was also the day Mrs. Emerson Hewitt came with her well-groomed Norfolk Terrier, and Jerry would give the little dog a small bacon-flavored biscuit and scratch its ears. Other than service dogs, Sparkle was the only dog allowed in the bank. Emerson Hewitt was board chairman, as was his father and grandfather before him.

Jerry loved dogs. From the first time Mrs. Hewitt came to his teller slot with the dog in her arms, Sparkle got a biscuit and a scratch on his ribbon-adorned head. After that, she would use no other teller.

Taking the money would be easy. Jerry had that worked out. It was the escape plan that he’d been unsure of. And Peanut Man solved that in a nutshell.

The very clever robberies he had seen in the movies that puzzled the cops and let the good-hearted thief getaway had one thing in common. They hid in plain sight.

Jerry cut six blocks of wood of different heights and painted the edges the color of paper money. With a bill pasted on top with a glue stick in the money drawer, these would pass easily as real money.

Jerry was a likable guy who carried a small red and white plastic swing-top cooler for lunch. He brought sandwiches, bananas, cookies, or maybe an apple into the bank each day. Then, on Thursday, he would use it to carry a large amount of cash out.

Two blocks north of the bank, a former Woolworth’s store had been converted into an arcade with sales cubicles of various sizes rented by the month. Three-month minimum, first and last month required from the start. Jerry choked on the amount, but the math worked out. The net from his robbery would give him a new beginning. Somewhere far away. Somewhere safe and warm.

Thursday morning, Jerry whistled his way to work just like every other day. He checked in with the head teller and went to the vault for his cash drawer. As usual, he checked the amounts, squared the corners, and prepared to do business and say goodbye to Sparkle.

With the holiday season in full bloom, the cash drawer had a bountiful harvest. By noontime, farmer Jerry had filled his red and white cooler and was ready for his lunch break. As intended, the faux money blocks in the drawer quickly passed inspection as Jerry took the insert back to the vault to safely await his return to business. He only had one question. Where were Mrs. Hewitt and Sparkle? She was late today for some unknown reason. She had never been late before. Jerry wanted to say goodbye to Sparkle and give him two treats on their parting.

Head teller Marcy Bennet said, “I’ll see you in the break room. I have some new pictures of my cat.”

“Not today, Marcy. I’m meeting someone at the park for lunch. I’ll be back.” Jerry left with his lunch box loot, and Marcy was left with disappointment. She had been hoping for a date.

Jerry walked down the street to the arcade on jelly-feeling legs stressed to the max. When he got to his cubicle. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, hit the light switch, and slumped to the floor.

He recovered quickly and worked with the precision he had practiced at home. He shed his clothes, slipped into the black stocking suit, wrapped the money in a plastic bag, and duct-taped that tightly around his waist. Then he Velcroed the two plastic halves of the peanut shell around his midriff, donned his mask with the attached monocle. Finally, he tapped on his top hat with the walking stick and emerged into the sunlight as--Peanut Man.

“Damn, it’s hot in here.” Jerry was sweating profusely and had trouble breathing. He saw the cars pull up at the bank, crime scene tape unrolled, and a crowd beginning to build. He couldn’t help it. He had to go there and witness the futile efforts of the police as they arrived and swarmed into the bank.

The eye holes in the mask had shifted, and Jerry staggered a little as he approached the crowd at the bank. Jerry worked his way through the crowd to stand at the taped perimeter and observed detectives questioning Marcy and the bank manager. Other cops were talking with the tellers who were gathered by the reception desk. Two cops were standing rigidly outside the entrance, and two crime scene techies were suiting up. It was a fascinating scene, but it was damn hot inside his costume, and Jerry began to feel faint.

There was a commotion behind him, and the crowd was parted by a cop to allow Mrs. Hewitt and Sparkle to enter the bank. The dog sensed something in the air and began baking.

Jerry’s head was swimming, and sweat saturated his costume. He had to get away from here and get out of his costume. He felt faint and staggered. Sparkle was straining and barking and trying to free herself from Mrs. Hewitt’s pudgy arms. Mrs. Hewitt put her on the sidewalk, and Sparkle strained against the faux bejeweled lead dancing at the feet of Peanut Man. Her tiny paws two-stepping on his knees. Jerry was trapped by the barking dog and drooping badly. He staggered. A cop saw his predicament and rushed to his aid. Sparkle kept barking. The cop cracked open the peanut shell, and the money spilled out. Fucking dog.