'Your name?

'Jeff Compton.'

'Age?'

'Twenty-six.'

'It says here that you made an appointment in advance. Have a seat over there.'

Jeff nodded and did as the woman behind the counter asked him, she looked good. He tried for a moment to maintain eye contact with her, but she gestured impatiently for him to let the next one in line take his turn. She didn't blush even a little. Annoyed, he did as she asked him.

As soon as he had sat down on the only chair left, he looked around. The room was high, and the windows had stained glass in them. If he didn't know better he would have guessed that he was in a church. The huge vault on the other side of the building betrayed the opposite.

He had always liked the Bank of London, "Underground TS Bank" as it was chalked in huge block letters above the entrance. He didn't go there very often; the bank was mainly for rich people.

The first time he went there was as a six-year-old boy. His father had just died and he went with his mother to collect the money she was owed according to his will. She was just a little too happy for a young widow, that hour in the bank. He didn't even blame her for killing him.

The second time he was at the bank was when he robbed it. And that happened to be today.

So far, everything was going according to plan. The guards were in exactly the right spots, the spots they had been given through Harold's sources. All he had to do now was wait for Harold.

He looked around the building again. The evening light was refracted through the windows, casting a dull glow over the brown tiles that were also in the bathroom at Jeff's house. They were shiny and clean, but the thousands of feet that had walked over them had faded them in places. He began to tap the floor with his shoes. They matched the floor nicely; the black leather seemed to shine as much as the square tiles.

'Stop that.'

Horrified, Jeff looked around, had they already been caught? The robbery hadn't even started yet.

Instead of the policeman he had expected, he looked into the face of an old man. He had white hair and a cap on his head that looked like he had grabbed it from the trash. There were food scraps in his white mustache, and beneath it, two grumpy corners of his mouth curled up.

Jeff looked him straight in the eye. "What are you meddling with?

The man looked at him simultaneously surprised and even more furious as if he had just found his wife in bed with another man. 'I'm older than you, so you're just supposed to show respect to me. If you can't then, then...'

Jeff would never hear what the man would then if he didn't show respect, which a loud bang abruptly ended his sentence. A moment later, the man collapsed. His white hair began to turn red.

'Everyone quiet! I have a bag here that will be crammed with money in ten minutes. I've already shot that man over there, and I won't hesitate for a moment to finish someone else off.'

Harold played the stage perfectly. That was expected of Jeff as well. Everyone ran off towards the exit. Now Harold would not shoot anyone but at most a warning shot. Bang! There it was already, this was his cue to run towards the exit as well. He ran right past Harold a grinned at him, and Harold grinned back. The powder vapor tingled his nose. He sprinted towards the exit and while running grabbed a gun from his bag.

"Everybody stand still! He shouted so loudly that he thought his lungs would come out of his nose. To reinforce his words, he fired once towards the roof.

All the people behind him were startled and turned to face Harold. Jeff took advantage of the moment by standing in the doorway and shooting out a few more times, hitting two people. Everyone ran away from him even harder.

He started laughing to himself. This was exactly how Harold and he had planned it a few days earlier, people were so predictable.

He slammed the doors shut, which was heavy because they were solid iron doors, and threw the huge lock on them. The people who just a moment ago were running away from him were now turning around again. He saw the agony in their eyes as they realized they were trapped. Like mice on a lump of cheese in a cage. The only difference was that these people had not voluntarily chosen to be here, he thought to himself.

'Listen!" he heard Harold shout, a dozen yards away. 'No one who is here now needs to die, except your fragile little hearts.' He remained silent for a moment. If this had been a play, something Harold was no stranger to at all, this would have been the moment everyone started laughing or waiting in suspense, but everyone listening to Harold now was at best doing a quick prayer in agony.

'There are only a few of them, we can take them on with our fists!" someone else shouted.

Several men ran forward to fistfight with Harold, but within a split second, he shot three of them ridiculously expertly, causing the remaining five to hesitate, and also take a bullet to the head.

'Listen, anyone who...'

But before he could finish his sentence, all hell broke loose. A sudden roaring sound sounded from the roof, and when Jeff looked upwards, he saw that the roof of the bank was collapsing. For a moment he remained standing in amazement, but then he came back to the now. A group of people came down via a rope, they were wearing police uniforms and holding huge guns. There was no way the two of them could compete with this.

He heard a familiar panting in his ear. 'We have to run,' Harold said monotonously. And that's what Jeff did.

Once outside, he looked back at the bench. Never before had he and Harold lost to the police, never before. Until today.