CHAPTER 1

Obviously crime pays orthere'd be no crime.

G. Gordon Liddy

Current Weather or current METAR: KLEX

1203KT 1/4SM -RA OVC02 20/19 A29.89 orin plain language:

Winds are 120 degrees at 3KTS, only ¼SM (statute mile) of visibility, lightrain, overcast sky at only 200 feetabove the ground, temperature is 20C,dew point 19, and the area altimetersetting is 29.89.

Lexington, Kentucky

A cool mist greets the earlymorning fog which has settled into thearea of the upper Midwest acrossKentucky and Tennessee. The air evensmells thick and wet. The outsidevisibility can't be more than a fewhundred feet in some spots and no morethan a quarter mile at its best. Themorning dew sticks to the front windowsof this particular small local branchbank which just opened at 10 a.m. localtime. Inside the lobby area is a tallman in a US Army full dress uniformincluding the standard issue hat,standing at a bank teller's windowconducting some type of transaction. Hesports a big bushy mustache, a goateeand mirrored sunglasses ... a gooddisguise, a clever disguise.

Because it is right after 10 am,he happens to be the first and onlycustomer to pass through the door thismorning. This is a quaint little bankin a quiet and peaceful town.

Being number one, the firstcustomer in the doors today was not anaccident. This was planned out and bychoice. Behind the teller we canplainly see the name of the bank, FirstUnion Bank, Westside Branch, Lexington,Kentucky. These two people are havingsome sort of conversation ... or so itseems.

In a pleasant, soft voice the manspeaks, "Come on, come on, come on.Please, hurry up, hurry up ... goodgirl." Ms. Smith, the lone teller,sniffling, almost crying, pleads, "I'mtrying ... I'm scared, damn it!"

This tall man, Tom, speaks in asoothing voice, "It'll be all right.Please do as I only ask and no one willget" ... he catches himself, making surenot to say the wrong word, somethreatening word or phrase.

The clerk, Ms. Smith, generally anextremely calm lady, fumbles the moneya bit, but somehow starts to hand overthe lots of wrapped cash. As the lastbundle of the cash is exchanged, Tomsays, "OK, now this is good."

He caresses her hands in his andin doing the deed—in a flash—producesa short strip of duct tape and a smallgreen 4"x4" little gift box; hesoothingly tapes her hands around thetop of the box and down to the blackcounter top.

Next in a peaceful soft voice hecontinues.

"Now, now ... if you stay calm andkeep this little box pinned down to thecounter for the next five minutes youcan lift up your hands" ... looking outthrough his sunglasses–

"If you want to," he said.

Spinning smartly on his heels, heturns back ... smiles, completes histurn, and exits the bank. Two or threesteps into the fog bank and as if magiche simply vanishes almost absorbed intothe thick, incredibly thick fog filledmorning air.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, in themiddle of downtown Las Vegas, a groupof people are having a splendid time ata casino known as Binion's Horseshoe.The casino is in the heart of downtownacross the street from the GoldenNugget Hotel and Casino. Both casinosare located on world famous FreemontStreet. Freemont Street is four coveredblocks of beautiful lights. Some twelvemillion tiny bulbs are switched on andoff by computer software creating themost fabulous light show on the planet.Some folks are playing slot machineswhile others try their hands at videopoker or real life poker. Still others,many others, are playing a fun littlegame called craps, A.K.A. dice.

Two red spinning dice fly throughthe air as the sound of a raging dicegame comes up to full volume. Allaround the area you can hear yelling,cheering, and hollering, as 25 or sopeople are crammed around one of theten felt covered craps tables having awonderful time. The overhead music isby crooner Dean Martin singingsomething about ...

"How lucky can one guy can beI kissed her and she kissed meLike the fellow once said,Ain't that a kick in the head?"

People are winning and winning bigthis evening. Looking around the tableare hundreds and even thousands ofdollars in play on the pass line;people are betting the six, the eight,nine, and ten. This day, thisparticular game, the House doesn't havethe edge. The gamers on the outside ofthe rail are being shined on by a lady—LadyLuck.

If you look closely, you canalmost tell who it is—Mr. Tom smokinga big cigar ... he's rolling the boneswithout his army officer's disguise.The aroma of this cigar is pleasant tothe people at the table. At a bit oversix feet tall, he still has a mustache,but the stache' is a carefully trimmedone, not the big bushy Italian loopingends kind of facial hair. His left handis resting on the wooden chip rail, andthe rail is full of green, black, andred chips. Here and there are severalsets of yellow and purple ones mixedin; they represent 500 and 1,000dollars each. The green ones are 25dollar chips, the black ones are worth100, and the red represent 5 Americandollars.

The next morning, in Binion'scoffee shop, two men are seated on theupper level by the counter and thefresh baked pie carousel. The mix ofbacon, grits, and eggs saturates themorning air. It seems to drown out thearoma of the fresh baked pies. Tom issitting in a booth talking to someone,another man, but it is hard to tell whothe other person is. They both have onlong sleeve white dress shirts andsimple black ties.

John, his partner in crime, asks,"Well ... How did you do?"

"I'd rather not say," comes backthe response.

"Lost a little or all?"In a soft, almost ashamed voice,he says, "Damn near."

"Well OK, did you get any sleep?"

"Uh ..."

"Well, huh? I was up close to$25,000, then the table went cold, Imean ice cold."

"Hell, I've never seen so manyseven-outs in my life ... I mean, it waslike someone turned off the winnerswitch and turned on the loser one."

John answers, "That's fine withme."

"... We'll be in Arkansas bymidnight and you can set something upwhen we get off of the plane."

CHAPTER 2

Forty-one days later, as the sunrises in the east, we see another dampdreary day. A light rain, in realitymore of a thick mist, fills the morningair. Today, the air smells or reallyjust stinks with a hint of pollution.Sort of an old smelly diesel bus smokekind of odor.

In another town at another smallbranch bank once again, we witness atall man, the same tall man as before,standing at a bank teller's window inwhat appears to be a fireman's dressuniform, complete with a hat,sunglasses, mustache—the entiredisguise ... conducting anothertransaction. Behind the teller, we canbarely distinguish a clock indicatingthe current time, right after 10:00 am,and the name of the bank. On the wallis a sign, Citizens Bank & Trust, Ft.Smith, Arkansas.

Tom speaks softly, but in a firmvoice.

"Come on, come on please, littlelady.

"Hurry up little one and noone ... nothing will happen, I promiseyou."

As the Teller is handing over thecash, the sweet mid-thirties bleachedblonde pleads, "Don't hurt me ... pleasedon't hurt me and you can have all themoney.

"I swear ... it's not mine it's thebank's."

Tom's reply is simply a soothing,

"There, there now."

He once again gently caresses theteller's hands and tapes her shakinghands around the little 4"x4" giftwrapped box; across the top and thendown to the bank counter's surface.

Tom, looking out from behind hissunglasses, offers, "Now, now ... pleasestay calm and keep this little boxpinned down to that countertop for nextfive minutes then you will be allright."

With this said, he smiles, turns,and exits the bank. Three or four stepsinto the fog bank and he vanished ... heonce again seems to again disappearinto the thick street level cloud.

* * *

Later in the evening and off in acorner hotel bar, Tom and several othertravelers sit drinking. The smell oftired folks and salted peanuts hoverover the bar. Some folks are loungingaround while others are at the bardrinking, chatting, relaxing. Tom hason a basic white dress shirt and tie.However at this time of day, the tie isloose around his neck. All around areseveral empty seats in the bar area. Inview, mounted above the bar in front ofthe large mirror, way above the dozensof liquor bottles almost to the ceilinghang two wall mounted 42" plasmatelevision sets turned on. The one onthe left displays the first real sportschannel, ESPN and the other one is onthe late local news.

The folks in the bar can make outthe end credits of a show, the lead-infor the 11 o'clock news. A femaleanchor on a split screen is talkingabout the daring daylight bank robberythat occurred earlier in the day. Tomis soon joined by his cohort John whohas ditched his work clothes, hisofficial dress uniform and has dresseddown to shorts with a pullover pologolf shirt. He is off duty for real.

"This ought to be good," Johnsays, speaking under his breath.

Tom quips with a snicker, "Now,now; let's listen young man, uh ... towhat they're going to say."

The evening news comes on and theysort of catch a glimpse of a black andwhite grainy photo of a surveillancesnapshot photo flashed across thescreen. This is their lead storytonight. As is typical of these banksurveillance photos, the quality ispoor, which makes the print almostimpossible to figure out who the man inthe photograph is. Of course, much ofthe person's features are obscured bythe dark sunglasses, goatee, mustacheand ever-present hat.

The lead female reporter startstalking, "Just after opening theirdoors this morning, a lone robber heldup the Citizen Bank & Trust with a fakebomb and escaped with an undisclosedamount of money. The device was inactuality only a bomb threat; no realexplosives were found by the PoliceDepartment's bomb squad. Localdetectives and the FBI are looking intothis robbery and sources here indicatedoff the record ... this may be the workof a serial bank robber who has hit inseveral different states since lastyear.

As is so typical of today's newscoverage, the side-kick talking head,man with perfect jet black hair sittingnext to her reads his part from theteleprompter.

"Yes, News Eleven has followedthis story all day long and our sourcesare indicating now thus far that therehave been at least eight robberiesacross the southern half of the UnitedStates of America. Sources also tell ushere at News Eleven, again off therecord, that the FBI's crack, BankRobbery Nation Wide Task Force islooking into these cases. Each oneoccurred in a different state, but thesuspects always wear some sort ofuniform and leave behind or use sometype of a fake bomb in a small box topull off the robbery."

Our female reporter continues,"Yes, as far as we know, this iscorrect, Tim. Now it turns out that thefake bomb used in today's robbery wasnothing more than a small gift box witha lone business card inside.Authorities are not telling us at thistime what was on the card or what thefront of the card said. A source closeto the investigation did confirm to ushere in the newsroom that the cardcontain some sort of writing or groupor series of numbers written ... maybetyped on the card, but nothing more."

"Still, my sources at the policedepartment to anyone out therewatching—if a bad guy, a bank hijackertells a bank teller that he's got abomb inside of a box, the general ruleis you need to take the threat serious.There is no way to tell a fake bombfrom an actual bomb. Therefore, youhave to believe the threat to be real."

In perfect sync with her, Mr. Malereporter, with the perfect hair adds,"Yes Jane, consider the bomb a realone."

"As you know, I certainly coveredmany bank robberies over the years andmost of the time, the bombs are fakes,but again, when an armed mad-man tellsyou he placed a bomb in the box ... whatcan you do? No one can tell thedifference simply by looking at awrapped up box."

Turning to his right for cameratwo, he changes stories."Now, for our other top stories ...

CHAPTER 3

I don't know why you are treating melike this. The only thing I have doneis carry a pistol into a movie ...

Lee Harvey Oswald

Across the country some 742nautical miles away in the heart ofdowntown Houston, at a discreet littlecop bar named Fuzzy's, a group of mengather, drinking and chatting abouttheir day. Fuzzy's is a Cop bar in themiddle of downtown Houston, the city ofHouston.

There is no neon beer sign hangingoutside to tell all who pass by thatFuzzy's is right here. The owner doesnot need to advertise, nor does he wantto. His special, extremely specialbreed of clients know exactly where thelittle bar is. On the right side of thesturdy steel front entrance door issimply a small 3 x12 brass sign with asimple inscription: PRIVATE CLUB.

The tavern is housed on the firstfloor of a rather old ten story brownbrick office building. The structurewas built after the turn of thecentury. She stands in the shadows ofthe ever present tall fancy 50, 60, 70story modern office towersor ... skyscrapers. This edifice, thisstructure was built by men, real men,one brick and one floor at a time longbefore OSHA and the invention of safetylines. Today, more than half of thebuildings along with half of the entireblock are vacant or listed for rent. Intoday's rough economy, a rather largeportion of the entire downtown officespace is vacant.

Anyone who enters the tavernnotices right off that all the walls,the ceilings, the tables, everywhere—thisis a cop bar. There is policestuff, police memorabilia everywhere.The walls, the tables, everything iscovered with cop-stuff, red emergencylight bars, police motorcycle helmets,a busted up right front fender from amarked police car, Dirty Harry posters,machine gun ads, and more. Hell, evencop stuff is painted on the floor, NoParking, Tow Away Zone, HandicapParking Only! And the collection goesall the way to the ceiling. Attachedway up to the ceiling tiles is part ofa wrecked helicopter ... it now belongsto Louis, the bar owner; it's hiswrecked police chopper hanging downfrom the rafters. Its scent, its smellis that of a bar ... a real bar: Stalebeer, stale cigarettes, old peanuts,and tired stinky workers at the end oftheir long days.

On one of the walls, is a rathernew large flat screen 51" TV with theoriginal Dirty Harry movie made back in1971 running. The movie alone was oneof the greatest recruiting tools forthe nation's police departments evermade. Data at the time indicated thatmore people applied to the local policedepartments after seeing that two hourpiece of film, all by itself was animmense recruiting tool in theseventies.

Across part of the picture, youcan spot that the closed captionsettings are on and you can read thescene where Clint Eastwood as InspectorCallahan is holding his Smith andWesson, model 29 blue steel .44 magnumin one hand and eating a hot dog withthe other saying something about a .44magnum, the greatest handgun in theworld ... do you feel lucky PUNK? ... asthe letters scroll across the bottomhalf of the TV screen.

The clock on the wall behind thebar indicates early morning—2:00 am. Alone Vietnamese man, actually a nativeborn South Vietnamese bar-back named HaTran, is cleaning up behind the largescuffed up wooded bar top. Today, he isa simple bar-back ... a helper ... a menialthankless job, but he is happy to behere in America ... he is mighty happy toeven be alive. Back in the sixties andseventies, he was a soldier, an armyofficer in his home country of SouthVietnam.