The Lord is my Shepherd

Aaron Rayburn

Franklin Borrick woke up with the feeling that he was going to die today.

There were no traces left of the dream indicating this assumption, other than the extraordinary feeling his body had when his conscious form opened his eyes.

Maybe he just felt like dying because he knew he had to be at work extra early this morning at a place called The Flower Shop. And today was Valentine's Day, one of the busiest days of the year.

Valentine's Day was a day for lovers, but not for Franklin, for he had no lover. Just Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Grant, and Ben's faces on those rectangular pieces of green paper. That was his love. That, and God.

Was it possible to love money and God?

Franklin thought so because he was living proof. Though he wished he did have a lover to spend this special day with. He thought it kind of weird that he didn't have anyone just from the simple fact that he was a bisexual. One would think finding a companion, being able to pick from both sexes, would be easy. And yet, the simple task had proved daunting; he had no one.

There was a girl and a boy he had his eye on that worked at the bank. Maybe during his lunch break, he'd swing by and surprise one of them with a red rose.

Franklin shuffled groggily into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He hated his appearance, being that he was so critical of himself. He thought his cheeks were too fat, his nose too pointy, his fucking hairline too far gone. Goddamn heredity!

Ten minutes after spreading mousse in his hair he was on his way to the dreaded flower shop. When he opened the shop's front door, Gloria Patzerelli, the bitch owner, emerged from around a corner, carrying a vase of a dozen red roses. She was short and pudgy and her frosted head looked like a garden shrub after a snowstorm. There was a red pen balanced between the fold of her head and right ear. She looked up at him disparagingly.

"And where have you been?" she asked, slightly out of breath. "You're ten minutes late." She didn't give him time to answer as she bustled past him. "Don't you realize this is friggin Valentine's Day? Doesn't anyone know that besides all these people without name tags?"

Franklin smiled. It was good to see Gloria flustered. Good for her as well. A little sweat and frustration never killed anyone. Welcome to the club. "God has graced us with such a beautiful morning," he said. "I had to stop …" He bent toward Gloria's bouquet. "And smell the roses."

"Well, you better smell them now, because I'm gonna shove'em where the sun don't shine in about two seconds!" said Gloria, perturbed.

Franklin held his hand to his heart, acting as if he took offense to the remark. "Why, Mrs. Patzerelli! I've never!"

"And I'm sick of all your damn excuses!" she said, her short finger poking out of her fist, her thumb next to her nose, her eyes leering.

"Sorry," Franklin said. "It's just that my hair was working against me this morning."

Gloria looked at his hair, shrugged, then rushed off in her familiar agitated state. She came back, putting her finger by her face again. "Just get on your route! The van is already loaded." She handed him a clipboard. "After all this is delivered, you come back and get another load. No playing around. Not today. Let's just get on with it."

Franklin gladly took his leave of Gloria's presence. He hopped in the van and took off, not bothering to check the inventory or if it was secured for travel.

On his way to the first destination, he thought very briefly about quitting; just parking the van and walking off. That would be funny. But not worth losing his job over. Hell, Gloria might even file a suit against him if anything happened to the van and/or the inventory he basically left for looters.

He wondered how people on the planet got to work the job of their dreams. For him it was being a porn star. But in reality, he wanted to be a pilot. He loved planes, but didn't have 20/20 vision. And he was afraid of heights. So that kind of put the dagger of death in that quiet little dream. So maybe he could settle for an air traffic controller.

Franklin pulled up to the curb of Vinton Ave., just a few blocks from the shop. He opened the back doors of the van, pulled out a lovely vase of twelve roses and strolled up the brick walkway to the wide double doors of a house he wished he lived in. He put his finger up to the doorbell, but the door swung open before he could push it.

"Don't you be putting your nasty homo fingers on my doorbell!" came a voice from inside the doorway.

Recognition entered into Franklin's face. "Vinny," he said cautiously. "What's going on?"

Vinny jerked the vase from Franklin's grasp. "Don't talk to me, you flaming faggot!"

Vinny was kind of like the school bully, but wasn't. He went by the motto, "leave me alone, I leave you alone." It seemed more than fair. He had dark hair that ran down both sides of his face, grazing the tops of his bulging shoulders. He also possessed a menacing brown-eyed stare above a square jaw.

Franklin reddened, expecting some type of homo remark. But what poor Vinny didn't know, or at least failed to realize, was that he was more than willing to fuck the shit out of Vinny's girlfriend, as well as him.

Franklin stirred uncomfortably as he waited for Vinny to pay him. "I guess I know now who 'Heidi' is," he said, trying to soften the high tension surrounding them.

Vinny measured him with angry eyes. "Hey, homo! Didn't I tell you not to talk to me?"

"Yeah, but I thought it cordial to tell you I have sixty dollars coming to me."

Vinny gave him another condescending stare. "I know how much they are, you fucking queer." He dug for his wallet. "Jesus! I can't believe I'm paying sixty dollars for fucking flowers!"

Franklin found the need to smile, and to speak. "Love is expensive."

Vinny nodded, as if agreeing with him.

"You know," said Franklin, "it would really do your soul some good to have God in your life."

Vinny leered forward. "Oh, yeah?" he said, his tone slightly interested. "If I did, would I be a queer like you?" He smiled cynically and was about to say something else when Heidi came up behind him, exclaiming her joy over the array of roses. She was clad in a pink shirt with a big red heart in its center. Also, her bottom half was lined in a thin pink line of silk panties with a red heart in the center of her crotch.

"Christ, woman!" Vinny exclaimed. "You think you can come to the door with some clothes on?"

"Oh, it's just Franklin," she said, waving to him. "How are you today? You working hard?"

Franklin smiled, then shook his head. "Nah, hardly working is more like it." He looked her up and down, contrary to his best interests. "I see you're looking perky this morning."

Vinny shoved his finger in Franklin's face. "You'll keep your eyeballs on your piece of paper if you know what's good for you!"

Heidi slid in front of Vinny, giving Franklin a half-wave. "Don't pay any attention to him. His bark is worse than his bite."

Franklin had no intention of finding out if that was true.

"Why don't you leave now, Franklin?" Vinny said from behind his girlfriend.

"Of course," he said. "But after you pay up. God doesn't like thieves, you know."

Vinny muscled his girlfriend out of the way. "Let me just tell you something God personally told me," he said. "He hates faggots and he told me to tell you that you don't stand a snowball's chance in Hell on getting into Heaven, just for the mere fact that you like to suck dick." He laughed shrilly, threw three waded up twenties in Franklin's face, then slammed the door closed.

As Franklin stooped to pick up the money, he began to cry. Thoughts of revenge entered sweetly into his mind, but he quickly banished them. Revenge was an evil concept and it wasn't the way God intended for him to live. He stared at his leather bracelet with WWJD on it, as he made his way back to the van. How comforting and encouraging it would be to have the son of God ride along with him, explaining to him in detail what Heaven was like? He couldn't wait to leave this world and spend eternity in a place where love was the sole government. He was sick and tired of people always judging him. All he wanted more than anything else was a little understanding. Was that too much to ask?

It wasn't. Because that was exactly what he got at his next delivery site.

Franklin pulled up to a small, yellow stucco house sitting on the corner of the street. Most of the structure was hidden by overgrown shrubs and vinery. The windows were dirty, some of them boarded up, one of them cracked vertically up the middle.

The porch was situated at the side of the house, the front door obscured by a gloomy darkness.

Franklin wasn't sure this was the right address. It was obvious no one had lived here for several years. He double-checked the itinerary, but there was no mistake. This was the place.

He exhaled, grabbed the flowers and got out. "I guess poor folks by expensive flowers too," he grumbled, making his way along the broken, cement pathway. He brushed aside a few elephant ear plants to make his way to the extrinsic porch.

He found himself standing at the front door, which was comprised of rotting wood with small squares of glass fixtures down the length of it. Amazingly, none of the panes were broken. On the other side of the glass, there was a dirty, yellow blind pulled down the length of the door.

He grasped the black iron knocker and rapped it against the door. The rattling glass made more sound than the actual sound of iron on wood. He looked down and saw smears of red and black around the door handle.

Just get through this, he thought. Three minutes tops.

He wondered just how many more poor houses he had to deliver to today.

Any more like this one will be too many.

Franklin expected someone to peer out from behind the blind, but instead, the door flung open, and a white man with a scraggly beard looked aggravatingly at him. "Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want?"

Franklin stood at this man's front door holding a vase of roses, carnations, larkspurs, and alstromeria on Valentine's Day. It couldn't be more obvious. Though Franklin didn't say anything. He presented the flowers.

"We didn't order no goddamn flowers," the man growled.

Franklin shrugged, was about to turn away, glad to be leaving, when a voice echoed from deep inside the house.

"Invite the young man in!" said the voice. "Good heavens, where are your manners?"

Franklin glanced past the man, inside the house. He grimaced at the mess, managing to hide his ill expression from the person in front of him. "Uh, I'd rather not," he said. "I'm really busy today and-"

"Nonsense!" said the man, a face emerging to finally match the voice. The appearance of this man was much more pleasant than the one currently standing in front of him. His hair was dark, his skin deeply tanned, his thin mustache neatly trimmed. He wore brown slacks with a tan dress shirt. Just the thought of this guy breaking bread with the previous man didn't settle well. Something was quite off.

"I won't hear of it!" announced the exquisite gentleman. "If you don't come in, then I will inform your employer that you were rude and obnoxious, which will probably cost you your job. Now whaddaya say?"

A wave of chills passed over Franklin. Gloria might tell him to buzz off, but then again, she might not. He took a hesitant step forward.

"But you probably wouldn't care," said the gentleman, "seeing that you have a shit job anyway, but …" The guy seemed to be reading Franklin's mind now. "Since you do have a shit job, then that means you probably need it. Am I correct?"

Franklin nodded, stepping across the threshold into the surprising warmth of the house. He jumped when the door slammed behind him.

The man lifted the vase from Franklin's nervous grip and set it down on the coffee table, admiring the arrangement. "Marvelous, aren't they?" he asked. "Pure divinity!"

"Did you order them?" Franklin asked.

The man snapped his neck toward Franklin. "Of course not," he said, his voice snooty. "My, my," he said, his pinky digging at the corner of his mouth. "Who could've sent me such a beautiful arrangement?" He winked at Franklin. "Did you send them, lover boy?"

The guy who answered the door burst out laughing.

"I just deliver them," said Franklin. "I can't afford anything like that."

The man extended his lower lip and stamped the floor. "Oh, pooh! You're such a tease!"

"Well," said Franklin. "I really should be getting back to my route."

Both men burst out laughing now.

Franklin didn't see what was so funny. He sensed a negative vibe floating in the air.

"Before you go," said the gentleman, "I want to introduce you to the fellows of the house."

Franklin stood still. After a moment of undecidedness, he nodded. "All right." Where was the harm in meeting a couple of people?

"My name is Rich," he said, placing his hands on his chest. "And this is Babbs." Rich turned, looking down the hallway. "Hey, Leroy! Come on out and meet this fine looking specimen!"

Seconds later a tall black man came ambling out, wearing a gray T-shirt. There were heavy sweat rings around the neck line, armpits, and around his protruding belly button. "Can't you see that I'm busy?" he prattled, not looking up, cleaning some kind of long iron rod. When he finally did look up, he saw Franklin fumbling nervously with his fingers. "Well, hello there," he said, smiling. "It looks like you finally found someone to play with, Rich." He said this without taking his eyes from Franklin.

"You bet!" Rich answered.

Franklin's nerves were beyond calming. Inside, he was a ball of writhing worms.

"What's the lad's name?" asked Leroy.

"My word," said Rich. "I never thought to ask." His piercing stare bored into Franklin like a harpoon.

"My name's Franklin," he said. "Can I leave now? I have a lot of deliveries yet to make."

Rich placed his hand upon Franklin's shoulder, and squeezed abnormally hard. He guided him toward the ratty-looking couch and pushed him into it. "Sit down. I insist."

"I want to leave now!" said Franklin, wishing his voice didn't sound so demanding. He couldn't help but think about his first thoughts when he woke up this morning. It didn't seem as if the idea was that far-fetched after all.

"Do you believe in God, Franklin?" Rich asked, his right foot propped on the coffee table next to the vase of roses.

Franklin nodded. "Of course. I'm an ambassador for him."

"So you believe you're going to Heaven?"

Franklin nodded. "Without a doubt."

"So you tend to lead a model, Christian life?"

Franklin nodded. "Of course," he said, not knowing where this was going.

"Aren't you aware that the Bible frowns upon faggots like you and me?"

Franklin was appalled. Getting into a holy war with this guy was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He shook his head.

"Well quit trying to deny it!" Rich snapped. "Everyone in this room knows that you and I will suck a dick for next to nothing! But that's not in God's plan! He wants our faces in a disgusting pussy! He wants us to procreate!"

Franklin's heart was pounding viciously inside him. He decided that his early morning assumption was not exactly dead on. It was close, but not quite right. He wasn't going to die, but this guy, Rich, was probably planning to rape him. That was the ill feeling he had. So there was only one thing to do: he had to get out of there. And as quickly as possible.

He made a dash for the door, but Babbs and Leroy were quick to snatch him up. Franklin screamed at the top of his lungs, mimicking that of a girl. He hoped there was a courageous individual walking outside who had heard him.

Babbs and Leroy pinned him back on the couch. Rich put his face an inch within Franklin's. "What's the matter, Franklin? Afraid I'm going to suck your dick? Maybe I will! But we've got better plans for you than that! Trust me!"

Franklin's wide, worried eyes followed Rich's movements to Leroy's small iron pipe. In his peripheral, he saw the vase of roses had been overturned, red rose petals scattered across the table.

Rich knelt down again within an inch of Franklin's face, an iron pipe cocked over his head. "This is going to be a very fun experience," he said with thick adulation in his voice. "I can't wait to implement it." He looked over Franklin's features, his free hand grazing the outline of his jaw. He lowered it to Franklin's lap. "Maybe I will suck your dick." He laughed. "But you'll never know." He extended his lips, touching them to Franklin's lips. "Good night, lover boy!"

A blast of pain fell on top of Franklin's head and he was out.

Franklin murmured, then slowly opened his eyes. He was sitting upright. There were three men staring precariously at him from the other side of the room. There was a tightness surrounding him. His head thudded painfully. And there was a faint ticking sound coming from somewhere close.

"Franklin?" said Rich, sliding toward him, waving his hand in front of him. He opened his hand, revealing two caplets of Tylenol. "Open your mouth. This will ease the pain."

Franklin lowered his jaw and Rich tossed the pills in.

"Drink," said Rich.

Franklin sipped the water heavily, swallowing the pills.

"What is this?" Franklin asked wearily.

Laughter.

"Just don't make any sudden movements," said Rich. "We'll explain later."

Franklin widened his eyes, taking in all the gadgets that were strapped to him. "What are you doing?" he asked, his tone more frantic. "Why am I tied up?"

"Shhhhh," Rich soothed. He cupped his ear. "Can you hear it?"

Franklin listened. The ticking sound. "What is it?"

"It's a bomb," said Rich. "And you're attached to it. Or rather, it's attached to you."

Franklin was going to faint. But he told himself not to or else the bomb would go off. His mind searched for the correct questions, but nothing was coming.

"I'll be willing to bet a million dollars that you're wondering what we plan to do with this little set up, don't you?" Rich asked, steepling his fingers together.

Babbs and Leroy snickered, a screwdriver held securely in Babbs's clutch.

Franklin nodded slowly, tears forming in the ducts of his eyes, the first thought of the day again entering into his mind.

You're going to die today.

He truly believed it now. But he was ready. He was a child of God. And if God deemed it necessary to take him, then by all means, he was ready.

Take me, Lord. Get me away from these devils.

But another part of Franklin felt that he had a lot of work to do yet. There were many lost souls in the world that needed God's saving grace. He knew his confidence in Christ could make a significant difference, leading lost souls.

Why not start now? that allusive part of his mind suggested.

He opened his eyes and stared into Rich's dark brown sockets. "The Lord Jesus loves you," said Franklin. "You don't have to live your life this way."

Shock and amusement fused into Rich's face. "The Lord Jesus? You think the Lord is going to save your punk ass?"

Franklin nodded. "He already has." He swallowed thickly. "And he can save you too. All you have to do is ask him."

Rich glanced over at Babbs. "Hey, get the transmitter."

Babbs disappeared, then returned seconds later with a hand-held device that had a number of lights and buttons on it, most notably, a big flashing red light.

Rich took it and held it in front of Franklin. "This red flashing button represents your future," he said. "If I push it, that means your life is over. If you do what we tell you, when we tell you, then I won't have to push it." He looked at the transmitter, then back at Franklin. He shook his head. "I'm not trying to guess here, but I don't think you've ever had suicidal tendencies before. With you talking about Jesus and shit, I don't think you'd deliberately kill everyone around you. To my understanding, God frowns on shit like that. Am I correct?"

Silent tears flooded down Franklin's face as he nodded. "I just want to serve the Lord in any way I can. I listen to him."

Rich waved the transmitter in front of Franklin and whistled. "Well, for right now, you'd better listen to us. We hold your life in our hands, not him."

Franklin nodded. "Okay," he choked.

"When we gonna take him out, boss?" Babbs asked.

"In a minute," said Rich. "I'm giving him some time to compose himself. This is a heavy load he's taking on right now."

"What am I going to be doing?" Franklin asked, his eyes closed, his subconscious praying.

"Oh, look!" shouted Leroy, pointing. "He's praying!"

Rich put his finger on Franklin's chin and gently lifted it, his eyes opening. "The Lord, in your mind, may have saved your soul," said Rich, "but he has no power in saving your ass. The only person who can do that is you." He paused and reflected. "So are you ready for me to tell you what you'll be doing?"

Franklin waited a moment, then nodded.

"You're going to get us some money," said Rich, his narrow face slithering into a nasty grin. "You're going to walk into a bank, fill some bags, and walk out. Simple."

The only thing Franklin could think of was Rich getting his money, and then detonating the bomb. Tears fell from his eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Rich asked. "It's a very simple task. And if everything goes smoothly, I'll even let you keep some of the loot."

There was grumbling behind Rich and Franklin.

Rich turned his head. "Do either one of you have anything to say?" he barked angrily.

Babbs was about to speak, but Leroy slapped him in the gut. "Nothing back here, boss," he said.

Franklin's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The faint ticking at his midsection seemed to grow loud and tedious in his ears. The metal strapped to him was growing heavier by the minute. He stared into Rich's dark eyes, wanting to see the same compassion he'd seen earlier, but there was nothing but lusting greed.

"Why me?" Franklin asked, teary-eyed. "I haven't done anything to deserve this. I'm just a flower delivery guy."

Rich held up his hands defensively. "I know you haven't, Franklin. And I'm really sorry. But we're going to do everything in our power to make this as painless for you as possible. You have to trust us on that."

"The guards at the bank will shoot me," said Franklin.

Rich shook his head. "No, they won't. Believe me. We've done a ton of these bank robberies across the nation. They're not actual cops. In fact, they'll be too scared to do anything."

"How many banks have you robbed?" Franklin asked, amazed to know they had come from across the nation, uncaught.

Rich shrugged. "Too many to count," he said.

"Then aren't you rich enough?" Franklin asked.

"My dear, Franklin, have you forgotten my name already?" said Rich. "Two things you need to remember: You can never be too skinny, or too rich." He stood up, then grabbed Franklin's left ear, pulling him up from the couch.

Franklin was surprised at how heavy the attached bomb had become. He couldn't walk into a bank like this. Mentally or physically, he couldn't go through with it.

Rich tossed him against the wall.

Babbs put his hands to his face, cringing. "Careful, boss. You might accidentally trigger the bomb."

Panic wormed its way through Franklin's soul. It was obvious Rich didn't give a flying fuck if Franklin lived or not. He put a small, thin-plated metal helmet, lined in wires, over Franklin's head.

"I want you to listen carefully to the rules," said Rich. "There is a small camera attached to your helmet. I can see everything from my work station, so don't even try anything funny. There is also a microphone that magnifies your voice ten times, so don't be whispering anything out of the way. If you do-" He held the transmitter up to Franklin's eyes, his long finger positioned lightly on the flashing red button. "KAPLOW! Get my drift?"

Franklin nodded.

"You're going to hand the teller a note," Rich went on. "Then you're going to give them these bags." He stuffed two cloth bags into Franklin's back pockets. They hung out of them like a mechanic's grease rags. "Then you're going to take the full bags, exit the bank, turn right, walk down the sidewalk until you come to the alley, which isn't more than fifty feet, turn right again, walk down the center of the alley until you come to a sewer grating. Got it so far?"

Franklin nodded depressingly, the helmet pinching his ears.

"Leroy will be waiting in the sewer," said Rich. "You are to unload the bags by dumping them through the grating. Then get the hell as far away from there as possible until the cops surround you. They won't snatch you up because they'll know you'll be loaded down with about seventy pounds of TNT."

Franklin whimpered.

"Once Babbs gives me the okay signal, then I will deactivate the bomb and the ticking will stop. Once this occurs, then it will be safe to shed the gear." Rich paused. "Any questions?"

Franklin began to mumble the Lord's Prayer, tears leaking from his eyes. He shook his head.

"If the Lord loves you as much as you say he does," said Rich, "then he'll get you through this and put us on the road. Hopefully, you'll never see us again."

Franklin seemed to be beside himself.

"So everything is understood?" Rich asked, making sure.

Franklin nodded, knowing Rich had asked him something, but wasn't quite sure what. He was too engaged with the Lord at the moment.

Leroy chuckled. "Hehehe, the Lord cain't help you now, son," he said, snatching Franklin by his rope, jerking him through a back door and into the back of a light gray van.

They drove a short distance, then stopped. Rich was in Franklin's face again. "Just remember, faggot. Don't try to do or say anything out of the way, or I'll know about it." He showcased the transmitter.

Franklin nodded, wishing Rich would either do it or shut up about it.

Leroy spun Franklin around and cut his binds. The back door of the van popped open and Franklin found himself staring at Babbs. The sky was dark and overcast, no doubt a premonition of things to come.

Rich and Leroy helped Franklin to his feet, then slipped a black cap over the top of the helmet. Babbs then put a black toboggan over the black cap.

"There, boss," said Babbs. "That should do'er."

Rich gave Franklin a small push toward the bank. "Now go make us some money, fag-boy."

Once Franklin began to lumber down the alley by himself, the van sped away, kicking bits of small gravel onto his back. He stopped, debating on whether or not he should go through with it. Then an electronic voice-Rich's-thundered into his head.

"Get to it," it said.

Mortal fear gripped Franklin by the heart. He put a fumbling step forward. He felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him, then it passed. As long as he focused on what was to be done, and how courageous he was going to be once this was all a part of his past, he would be all right. God would make sure of it.

He ambled around the corner of the large building, pulling his large coat closer together. It was a good thing it was winter outside, otherwise he would look pretty suspicious walking into a bank with a heavy coat and toboggan on.

That awful ticking pounded at his brain. That was the worst part; hearing the ghastly tick-tick-tick-tick echoing against every corner of his mind.

Seconds of your life, ebbing away into nothingness.

He looked up at the huge red, white, and blue bank sign before pushing through the large glass doors.

As he filed into the large, cathedral-ceilinged bank, a sweet aroma filled his nostrils. He immediately searched the corners for security guards, but there were none. He stepped along the thin carpet to the soft maroon ropes that led to each teller's station. He felt every eye upon him; every flick of eyelash moved with him.

They were watching him.

Because of suspicion.

But he couldn't help it. He felt like he was going to vomit. He wondered if anyone could hear the vexatious ticking inside the flaps of his coat. Surely they could.

Franklin tried not to look at anyone, keeping his head down. Fortunately, there weren't many people in line, which was weird because it was almost noon, the lunch hour.

Franklin raised his head and gazed over the tellers. A customer was just leaving, which meant he was next.

"Can I help someone over here, please?" a young blonde asked, looking directly into Franklin's harried face.

Franklin slowly sidestepped to her counter.

"How are you today, sir?" she asked, measuring him uncertainly.

Franklin said nothing, keeping his head down. He put his hand inside his coat pocket, retrieving the index card Rich had given him. He could only imagine what was going through the poor teller's mind.

"Don't fuck this up, Franklin," said Rich. "You wouldn't want yours and everyone else's guts plastered to the wall, would you?"

Franklin grimaced at the thought. His hand shook horribly as he handed the young teller the card.

She held it to her face, her eyes quickly scanning the scrawl. She reread it, then her eyes flicked to Franklin's pleading face. "What is this?"

"Please," he whispered.

"Show her the bomb, Franklin, you faggot!" Rich roared through his earpiece.

Franklin pulled his coat open and silently cried when he saw how big the teller's eyes became.

"Ohmygod," she mouthed, backing up.

Franklin pulled the bags from his pockets and laid them on the counter. He watched the rapid rise and fall of the young girl's chest and wished he could tell her how sorry he was and that none of this was his doing.

There was a rustling behind him. He turned quickly and saw a number of people rushing out of the bank. They knew what was going on.

Quick, Franklin thought. Go get help.

"Forget them, Franklin!" said Rich. "Concentrate on the teller. I want to see the money go into the bags."

He heard the money tray slid open. The girl began to fill the bags with bundles of hundreds. He looked up from her shaking hands to her face, silently pleading for her to look at him. But she wouldn't.

"Yes, yes!" cried Rich. "Look at all that goddamn money, Franklin!" His laughter was shrill. "Isn't it the most beautiful thing in the world?"

Franklin's love for money told him that it was the most beautiful thing in the world. But every bill being pushed inside the bag was not his, so that made the money very repulsive.

Suddenly Franklin noticed the teller's shoulder dip a bit. He wasn't sure if Rich caught it or not, but he knew she had just hit the panic button. He hoped as much as the girl did that the signal went through. Surely the police could help him. Couldn't they? And surely one of the people who left the bank had called the police, hadn't they? He took a quick glance behind him, wanting to spot a security guard, but they were nowhere to be seen. He also took note that no one was in the bank, which made Franklin very thankful.

"Tell her to hurry the fuck up!" Rich yelled.

"Please hurry," said Franklin.

The teller looked up at him, a cross expression on her face. "I'm going as fast as I can," she said, her voice wavering.

"Your money is almost ready, sir," said another teller a few feet away. "Just please don't hurt us."

"It's not me!" said Franklin, tears leaking down his face. "You have to believe me!"

"Franklin!" shouted Rich. "Shut your fucking mouth before I push the goddamn button that'll send your innards to Kingdom Come!"

The other teller held up her hands. "All right," she said calmly. "It's not you. I believe you."

The young teller handed over a stuffed bag and then the other teller handed him the other one.

"Okay!" said Rich. "Now get the fuck out of there! The police are coming!"

Franklin had half a mind to stay, to let the police stop him from delivering the money, but Rich would never allow it. If the money didn't get to its destination, then … KAPLOW! as Rich verbalized earlier.

Sirens in the near distance.

"If you don't get that fucking money to the alley-" Rich began.

Franklin made his way out of the bank as quickly as he could. As he pushed through the doors he could hear panicked sobbing from inside. He was just glad he was away from everyone. Now he had to save himself.

Outside, the sky was still overcast. More so now since he had just committed a felony. The sky wasn't just a premonition now; it was a reflection of God's feelings. But of course none of this was Franklin's fault. Surely God must know that.

"Get your ass to the alley!" Rich commanded.

Franklin ambled down the sidewalk. He stole a couple of stares at the passing motorists, who were staring dauntingly back at him. Someone rushing out of a bank toward an alley, carrying two full bags of money didn't look promising. That was for sure.

Franklin rounded the corner, skittering down the glass-littered alleyway to the sewer grating. He looked down and saw a dark face looking up at him. If he had been an innocent passerby, the image would have terrified him.

"Okay, faggot," said Leroy. "Dump the money."

Franklin stooped to his knees, the bomb ticking loudly in his free ear, then carefully dumped the bundles through the sewer grating.

"Okay, Frankie," said Leroy. "This is the end of the road for you. I hope you have a good life." He then disappeared.

Franklin stood up, feeling more at ease now that the deed was done. He smiled because he had done what they wanted and now it was their turn to come through with their end of the bargain.

"Rich?" he said weakly. "Are you there?"

No answer.

"Rich!" Tears, once again, streamed down his face. They had tricked him. They had used him. And he didn't even get any of the loot as Rich had promised. The bomb's ticking continued on relentlessly.

Franklin screamed Rich's name again.

"Yes, I'm here," said Rich.

Relief washed over Franklin.

"You've done good," said Rich. "Not perfect, but good."

"Deactivate the bomb now," said Franklin. "I still hear it ticking."

"I want you to listen carefully, Franklin," said Rich. "Go to the middle of the street until the police surround you. Tell them that someone has attached a bomb to you and that it's still ticking. They'll call the bomb squad and they'll deactivate it."

Panic flooded through Franklin's bones. "I thought you could do it from wherever you're at?"

"I can activate it, Franklin, but I can't deactivate it."

The notion of dying came swirling into his mind again. He should've trusted his instincts that very moment upon waking and stayed home the entire day.

But then someone else would be in your shoes right now, Franklin.

He didn't quite know how he felt about that.

"Remember, Franklin," said Rich, breaking Franklin from his thoughts. "One word about us or our descriptions while the bomb is still active … KAPLOW! Understood?"

"Yes," said Franklin, angry.

"Now go and get help."

That was the last time Franklin ever heard Rich's voice. He made his way toward the police sirens, toward the blocked off street in front of the bank.

He rounded the corner of the alley and saw squad cars pulled haphazardly up to the bank's curb, their lights flashing in the day's gloom. A light sprinkle began to fall. He ventured into the middle of the street and sat down on the wet pavement, the ticking of the bomb loud in his psyche.

Shouts emitted from the bank's entrance. He looked up teary-eyed and watched the police officers come rumbling out, their pistols trained on him.

Franklin shed his coat so everyone could see the metallic contraption strapped to his body. Tears trickled down his face. "It's a bomb!" he shouted, sucking snot. "Get your fucking bomb squad out here now!" He sobbed heavily. "Now!"

"Where's the money?" an officer shouted.

"I don't have it anymore!" Franklin shouted back.

The officers kept their weapons drawn. One of them spoke into the radio, then informed Franklin that a bomb squad was in route.

There were a few pedestrians lurking behind parked cars, curiosity getting the better of them. There seemed to be a face in every window in the surrounding buildings.

"When will they be here?" Franklin asked.

"Soon," said the lead officer. "But before they take that contraption off your body, you'll need to tell them what happened to the money."

Franklin was silent for a moment. His mind worked crazily, even after his subconscious repeatedly told him that he was going to die, regardless of what he did or said.

"Who is responsible for this?" the officer asked.

Franklin wondered if Rich was still listening. He assumed he and his goons were off into some distant land by now, perhaps the next state, counting their fortune, already planning their next strategic operation.

They had left Franklin to rot, to sweat out his time. That was apparently part of their amusement. They would know what happened to him the moment they checked into a motel and turned on the news.

But then again, maybe the thing strapped to his body wasn't a bomb at all. Maybe it was just a ticking clock designed to look and sound like a bomb. Franklin could remember making a couple of abrupt movements and nothing had happened. Maybe Rich wanted him to keep quiet so they could buy enough time to get away. It was a good plan. After all, they were only after money. Nothing to Franklin's recollection of past news accounts equaled the strangeness of today's events. If they had been doing these kinds of things all along, across the nation, then some of the things would have made the news-unless the set-ups were all a hoax-just to buy time for escape.

Bottom line: Franklin didn't think Rich was out to kill anyone.

"I'm going to tell them about you, Rich," Franklin whispered. "I'm going to tell them about Leroy and Babbs too."

He listened carefully for the next thirty seconds, but no response from Rich had come.

Franklin stared into the worried faces of all of those watching. He craned his neck to look at the obscure faces in the windows of the surrounding buildings. He held up his hands. "All right!" he exclaimed. "I'll tell you!" He licked the salty sweat from his upper lip, wiped the rain from his brow. "Their names were Leroy, Babbs, and the ring leader, Rich! They strapped a fake bomb to me and made me rob a bank! They had me drop the money in the sewer in the alley over there! And then-"

And then a fiery white explosion erupted from Franklin's body.

There was a burst of heat and then the much anticipated nothingness.

A few days later, after the morning sun rose brilliantly from the east, Vinny and his girlfriend, Heidi, were taking an early stroll along the sidewalks of a newly constructed neighborhood. They were laughing, joking around when they passed a new development of houses. Between two of the houses was an open field of freshly lain straw. In the middle of the field were three wooden crosses, positioned upside down, a naked man nailed to each. Their bellies were sliced open, intestines spilled grotesquely over their chests, hanging limply over their heads and onto the ground in a pile of nasty black sludge.

Each cross had a name etched into it.

The one on the left was Leroy; the one on the right was Babbs; and the one in the middle was Richard.

Heidi put her hand to her mouth to stifle the rise of vomit once the stench entered into her system. But she was unable to hold it. It spilled from her mouth, through the cracks of her fingers, onto the newly poured sidewalk.

There was a small wooden sign off to the right of the crosses. The message etched into the wood was:

IN MEMORY OF FRANKLIN BORRICK

TO ME BELONGTH VENGEANCE

THEIR FOOT SHALL SLIDE IN DUE TIME

FOR THE DAY OF THEIR CALAMITY IS AT HAND

I KILL AND I MAKE ALIVE

I WOUND AND I HEAL

NEITHER IS THERE ANY THAT CAN DELIVER OUT OF MY HAND

-GOD

# # #