That night, I dreamed of vaults filled with mountains of cash. Scattered here and there were also plenty of gold bars, just for variety.
But that same night, I also dreamed of flashing lights and police sirens.
In the dream, I was in a castle perched on a high hill.
I laughed like a madman, standing in front of a large mirror, while the tailor took my measurements.
“Monsieur is amused!” chirped the tailor, a small man with a perverse face and disheveled hair who spoke with a lisp and fluttered around me, holding a measuring tape.
“Yes, I’m amused!” I laughed happily. “Ha, ha, ha! Of course I’m amused, I’m rich, right? Come on, stop measuring me so much, man. You’re tickling me!”
“Très bien, monsieur! Shall I make you two suits?”
“Damn it, make me ten! No, wait! Make me ten summer suits and another ten thicker ones for winter. And don’t forget, Frenchman, to use the best fabric, or I’ll break you!”
“Bien sûr! Monsieur has refined tastes!”
Suddenly I turned my gaze and noticed her, Irina, sitting at a table just a few steps away from me.
My girlfriend was sitting on a chair with her hands in her lap. She was wearing a white dress, had a pearl necklace around her neck, and said to me, emotional, with wide eyes and dilated pupils:
“Oh, I’m so proud of you, Tiberiu! Look, you’re on the front page of the newspapers again, darling!”
I walked over to her, delighted, abandoning the tailor, and took a quick glance at the newspaper on the table.
“DESPAIR AND TEARS IN THE BANKING MARKET!
The criminal genius continues to strike blow after blow to bankers.
Seven renowned banks have permanently closed their branches in our city.
Overwhelmed by events, the Minister of the Interior has sought help from Interpol and the FBI!
Forensic specialists say it is possible that the perpetrator is a law student!
More information in the evening edition!”
As I read those lines, the sirens of police cars wailed and lamented.
“Oaaau! Ioaaau! Oaaau! Ioaaau!”
I pricked up my ears, worried. The sirens were getting louder and louder, closer and closer.
“Maybe they’ve found my trail,” I told Irina, frozen with horror, and at that moment, I woke up abruptly.
I was drenched in my own sweat, and it was four in the morning.
An army of cats in heat had started meowing right under our windows. I heard a window opening and my dad throwing a slipper at them.
“Damn you, you rags!” he yelled, sleepy. “Couldn’t you find another place?!”
***
The next day, around nine, I left home armed with a notebook and a pen, but I didn’t head to college or to see my girlfriend.
“Well, that’s it!” I muttered, preoccupied. “Classes can wait! Irina can wait!”
I visited the main banks in the city. I didn’t have the courage to step beyond the entrance. What would I have done there? I had never set foot in a bank. Anyway, even so, looking at them from the outside, it was still quite discouraging. Surveillance cameras, alarm systems, sensors on all the windows… Crap.
I gathered my courage and entered a bank. Maybe, from the inside, the situation wasn’t so complicated.
“What does the gentleman want?”
It was a guy dressed in black. Black uniform. I read the small letters on his badge, and the letters started jumping up and down: “Security and Surveillance.”
“Do you want to make a deposit?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Window number 3. There, on the left.”
I went to window number 3. I looked to the left, I looked to the right. Columns. White marble. Thick glass everywhere. And lots of paperwork. On all the desks.
But where the hell was the vault? Where was the bank’s treasury? There was no sign, no notice.
“These guys are idiots!” I thought, annoyed. “You can easily get lost in their bank crap.”
The woman at the window was smiling at me:
“Good day! What transaction would you like to make?”
I looked at her, then turned my head and looked at the security guard. I turned my head to the surveillance camera hanging above me. I realized it wasn’t the best moment to ask for information about where they kept the vault.
“Sir? I’m listening. What transaction would you like?”
I turned back to her. I think I had a dazed look at that moment.
“I… I don’t want… Excuse me, I forgot something at home. I’ll be back.”
I left the window, walked past the guard, and pushed the door. The damn door wouldn’t open at all.
My heart started beating like crazy. God, I was doomed. I was already caught, and I hadn’t even robbed the bank!
The guard came over to me. My heart was about to burst out of my chest.
“You have to pull, not push,” he said kindly. “It’s written on the door. Like this,” he added, opening the door with one finger.
I felt once again that I hated uniforms with all my heart.
I quickly left the area of that infernal bank and didn’t look back. I walked quickly through the streets and entered the first pub, gasping.
Then I remembered I was broke.
“A glass of… water, please! Tap water.”
I was sipping the glass of water and thinking that banks were complicated. Banks were dangerous. I realized I couldn’t just dive headfirst into banks. Banks were the devil’s work. Satan!
“Maybe it would be wiser to start with something more modest,” I told myself. “A store. A restaurant. A pub.”
Aha! Exactly: a pub! What a wonderful idea!
Not to mention that you can steal money from a pub at night and then come and spend it there during the day. Practically, the money goes back. It’s not even a crime. It’s like… the water cycle in nature. Nothing is lost, nothing is gained.
Everything flows.
My good mood returned suddenly. I revived and started looking around. Funny, I had never analyzed a pub with so much interest. Usually, I would go in, drink, pay, and leave.
Now… it was something new to me. The tables, the counter, the shelves with bottles… ahaaa… the man wiping a glass behind the counter… ahaaa!
Everything appeared to me in a new light.
Pubs weren’t just for drinking. In a pinch, they could also be milked, right?
“Do you want to order something?” the guy asked, looking at me politely and placing the glass on the tray, upside down.
“Another glass of water,” I replied, nodding wisely.
The guy widened his eyes, then smiled, put an empty glass in front of me, and poured me two fingers of vodka.
“It’s on the house,” he said calmly. “But, after you drink it, please leave, okay?”
I downed the vodka, wiped my mouth, and left. The guy was nice. I liked him.
I walked down the street, and the vodka made its way to the core of my brain. I became melancholic.
“I’m not going to rob the guy’s pub,” I decided out loud. “He’s a nice guy. It’s a shame to rob pubs. God will punish you. I need to find something else, something… smaller.”
I searched for a cigarette in my pockets. The pack was almost empty. It was the last cigarette. I smoked it, and my thoughts spun in my head like an out-of-control carousel. Suddenly I stopped walking and opened my eyes wide, looking at my half-smoked cigarette.
“Of course! A cigarette kiosk!” I exclaimed. “A tobacconist! How come I didn’t think of it?”
Exactly! Those small kiosks didn’t have surveillance cameras or guards. It was going to be as simple as a walk in the park. I just had to choose a kiosk, and the rest, as Alfredo would say, would come naturally.
I spent the rest of the day analyzing all the small kiosks in the center with a wolf’s eye. Then those on the outskirts. On my way home, I spotted a few more right on the street where I lived.
There was one worthy of being “visited,” about fifty meters from the house. I circled it, walked around it a couple of times, then decided to act like a professional and do things thoroughly.
I took out my notebook and pen and meticulously noted down everything important: the door lock system, the size of the padlock, the color of the door lock, and – logically, right? – the schedule.
That damn kiosk closed at 8 PM.
“Good,” I whispered to myself. “Dad and mom go to bed around ten in the evening. That means they sleep soundly by midnight. Clearly: around 2 AM, I’ll go out and strike. And by 2:10, I’ll be back with the money. Great! I’ll have time to sleep for about five hours and can go to classes well-rested tomorrow.”
I put my notebook in my pocket and walked cheerfully home. It was going to be a textbook heist. Like in my Law manuals.
A clean heist.
Professional.
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