Frostbitten: The Complete Series (17 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY
THE BANK ROBBER

The colour drained from Kane’s face. He took a breath and looked over.

On the ground next to him stood a pair of tall black leather heels, fitted perfectly to the stranger’s toned leg. Covering her dark-skinned legs was nothing but a thin pair of diamond-patterned nylons, which met a beige, flared tutu-like skirt. The fashionable ensemble was anything but weather-appropriate.

The mystery woman’s tall heels pushed her sultry semblance onto the edge of risqué, as the baseline of her short skirt appeared almost impossibly shorter.

The stranger who’d stepped beside him was no stranger at all—it was Brittany.

Kane let out a subtle sigh of relief. “Hey,” he replied.

“Is this your bank too?” she asked.

Brittany was wearing a fitted black leather jacket over her frilly tutu. Around her neck was a thick fur shawl—another expensive accessory from her apparently endless closet.

“Uh—No. I was just in the area and needed some money.”

“That’s brave of you—with all those bank fees they slap you with these days.”

Kane forced a laugh. “Yeah,” he said.

“Processing,” the ATM machine read. After a moment, money started to pour out—twenty-dollar bill after twenty-dollar bill. The stream was seemingly endless. Brittany couldn’t help but notice.

“What are you buying?” she asked curiously.

“Rent. Rent is due today.”

More bills poured out of the machine. Kane began to stuff the money into his pockets. His heart raced as adrenaline pumped through his veins. “I missed last month too.”

“What are you renting? A mansion in Beverly Hills?” Brittany asked as she watched thousands of dollars come out of the machine.

Kane had tricked the ATM machine into thinking it was stocked with five dollar bills, instead of twenty dollar bills. So for every five dollars the ATM charged his bankcard, it dispensed a twenty—thinking it had just dispensed a five. In this particular case, Kane had it dispense two hundred twenties—four thousand dollars in cash. As far as the bank knew, he only took out one thousand—three thousand dollars of pure stolen profit.

Finally, the stream of bills ended.

Kane forced an awkward laugh. “I missed a few payments on my car insurance as well. I’ve been pretty lazy with my bills lately.”

Brittany stood and stared at Kane. Brittany wasn’t stupid—she knew that Kane was manipulating the system. Kane could see in her eyes that she knew—and he was nervous.

“Show me how you did that,” she said.

“How I did what?” Kane said with a blank look on his face.

“Give me a break,” Brittany said. “I’m not going to tattle. Just show me.”

Kane stood motionless for a moment. He looked around, and then sighed as he turned back to the machine. “Step closer,” he said.

Brittany took a step closer to Kane.

“Closer,” Kane said again. “Right up next to me.”

Brittany pushed her body right up against the muscular hunter. His body was warm.

“Whisper. Some of these security cameras record sound now,” Kane whispered softly.

“Okay,” Brittany whispered back.

Kane began to punch in the security code. His stubbly cheek was rubbing against Brittany’s impeccably soft face. Kane couldn’t help but notice the sweet scent of vanilla on Brittany’s soft young body waft up his nostrils. He looked over at the prying girl, noticing her devilishly curious smile as she bit her lip.

“You need to know the security code for the machine. You can find them pretty easily if you know where to look on the Internet.”

The security menu popped up.

“Wow,” Brittany said.

“You need to change the bill amount so it thinks the money in the machine is worth less. I changed it from twenty to five. Now I’m going to change it back to twenty.”

Kane made the changes. Brittany looked over at Kane, surprised by his secret bad-boy skill set.

“Now I’m going to put a thousand back in, so my account returns to even,” Kane said as he selected “deposit” and began to stuff one thousand dollars into a bank envelope. After the money was through, he punched in the security code again. “Always delete the transaction log before you leave,” he said. “Or they will trace the missing money back to your card.”

Kane finished the shady banking business.

“I’m impressed,” Brittany said.

“When we pass the guard, pretend to be my girlfriend,” Kane said.

“Why?” Brittany asked.

“Just do it,” he said. “And tell me why the expensive ice cream is better than the cheap stuff.”

Kane reached down and suddenly took Brittany by the hand. He gripped firmly, eliciting an unexpected jolt of elation through Brittany’s body. The two walked towards the bank door, and they stepped outside. The suspicious guard looked over at Kane.

“I don’t care if you have to take out another god damned mortgage—I’m not eating that skim milk crap you bought last week,” Brittany said, suddenly convincingly in character.

“They taste the same! They’re probably made in the same factory.”

“They do not! Besides, I refuse to be seen eating no name brand ice cream. Do you have any idea what people think when they see you eating no name brand ice cream?”

“Oh—enough about the ice cream already!” Kane said as he opened the passenger door to his car for Brittany.

Brittany hopped inside. Kane walked around and got into the driver’s side. He fired up the car as Brittany looked over at him. She smiled.

“That was fun,” she said, biting her lip to contain her excitement.

“Thanks for that—If that guard was any more suspicious of me, he would have shot me right there in the bank.”

Brittany laughed. “You need to cut your hair!”

“Why? What’s wrong with my hair? You don’t like my hair?” Kane asked.

“I like your hair—I think it looks good, but it probably isn’t the most practical bank-robbing hair. If you’re going around doing that, you need to look more professional—like you just got off work at your articling job.”

“Well I suppose I’m not the most practical bank robber,” Kane said, looking over at Brittany. The two looked into one another’s eyes for a moment. Kane looked back forward and put his car into drive. “You won’t tell anyone, right?” he asked.

“No—Of course not,” Brittany said. “Unless you really piss me off,” Brittany joked.

Kane smiled. “Where are you headed? I’ll give you a ride.”

“The library.”

“The library? What are you doing at the library?”

“Finishing the rest of that assignment.”

“Shit—The assignment. I forgot about it.”

“You’re welcome to come to the library to do it.”

Kane smiled, but then remembered his promise to Tarun. “I’ll drop you off—but I have to run a quick errand. Will you still be there in an hour?”

“Yeah.”

Kane drove Brittany to the library, and then made his way back to his apartment building. He parked his car out front, and made his way to Vish and Tarun’s suite.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

He knocked at the door. After a short moment, the door opened, and Tarun stepped out. The young Indian immigrant closed the door behind him.

“You’ve got the money?” Tarun asked.

“Yeah,” Kane said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out multiple stacks of cash and handed them to Tarun.

Tarun stared at the money, speechless. He looked up at Kane and then back down at the money.

“You’ve miscounted,” Tarun said.

“No—That’s for the place.”

“There’s way more than six hundred here...”

“It’s for the place.”

“But—”

“—It’s for the place, Tarun. Just take it.”

Tarun stared at the money in total silence.

“What’s wrong?” Kane asked.

“This is too much—how much is this?”

“Three thousand,” Kane said.

“T—Three thousand?” Tarun had never seen one thousand dollars before—never mind three thousand.

“Yeah—Take it,” Kane said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Rent—the deposit.”

“This is way too much.”

“Why?” Kane asked.

“Because—Because it is. It just is.”

Kane smiled and patted Tarun on the shoulder. “Just take it, man.”

Tarun looked back at the money. “Where did you get it?”

“My dad was a famous brain surgeon. I got all of his money when he died,” Kane lied. “He had more money than I could ever spend in my lifetime. Just take it. Pay the bills. Go to school. I’d rather see it get used than just sit pointlessly in my bank account.”

“Thank you so much—Thank you so much,” Tarun said. “This really means the world to us.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. Look—I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Patrick.”

“Bye Tarun.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A HOPELESS ROMANTIC

With his homework finished, and a few hours to spare before class, Andrew was looking for something to do to fill his spare time. He sat at home, on his computer, mindlessly surfing through the same social media pages over and over.

He sat back in his chair and sighed. He stared back down at the screen, thinking.

Then, he curiously searched a name into Facebook:

Brittany B—

He didn’t know how to spell her long Polish last name. He thought for a moment, testing out different combinations, and scanning the different names that popped up as suggestions.

Then, he saw a familiar face—Brittany’s.

“Brittany Brucheveskyj…” Andrew muttered to himself as he clicked onto her page.

He sighed as he scrolled through the few photos that she had. All of her photos were selfies. She held the camera out and pointed it towards herself, often featuring her pushed up cleavage. She was smiling in each photo, but her eyes appeared to have a sadness behind them.

Andrew could see right through her flirtatious demeanour, her carefully applied makeup and her pretty-girl persona. He could see that, underneath, she was an interesting, funny and friendly girl. He could tell that, beneath everything, she was a real person.

As Andrew stared at his computer monitor, he started to zone out. He felt a strange connection to his pretty, dark-skinned classmate—a connection he couldn’t quite describe in words. He wasn’t floored by her beauty, or charmed by her wit. He was simply and inexplicably infatuated with her. He felt like he understood her.

Ring! Ring!

Andrew’s cellphone startled him out of his fantasizing daydream. He picked it up and checked the caller ID briefly before answering it.

“Hello?” he said into his phone.

“Andrew?” an unfamiliar older female voice said.

“Hi—Who is this?”

“It’s your Auntie Elizabeth!”

“Oh… Hi Aunt Liz,” Andrew said with forced enthusiasm. “What’s up?”

“I haven’t seen you in years! Not since you and your family went on that big trip!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“What are you up to these days?” She had a high-pitched nasally voice, and she yelled into the phone, as if it didn’t work otherwise.

“Oh, you know—Just going to school.”

“Are you going to SBU now? What are you majoring in?”

“I’m actually just finishing my high school courses.”

“Oh,” Andrew’s aunt said. “They let you do that?”

“Yep…” Andrew replied. “They sure do.”

“How are your parents doing?”

“They’re still in India.”

“India? What? Did you mean Indiana?”

“No—Puri, India. On the Indian Ocean, about three hundred miles from Mumbai. They decided to stay there during their trip. They bought a place and everything.”

“What? Do you have their number? Is that long distance?”

“Yes, Aunt Liz—India is long distance.”

“Wow! I can’t believe they’re in India!”

“I have their number in my phone. I can text it to you, if you’d like.”

“Text—how do I sign up for that?”

“Hold on—I’ll just read it to you.”

“Okay, let me grab a pen.”

Andrew pulled up his parents’ number and read it to his old aunt.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” Aunt Liz told Andrew.

“Thanks.”

“So tell me, how’s life—when are you going to be down in the big city again?”

“Life is good—I don’t know when I’ll be down there again. No time soon, probably.”

“Is there a lady in your life? Should we be booking time off for a wedding?”

Andrew laughed. “No, Aunt Liz.”

“Oh, hooey! I’m sure you’ve got a lovely girlfriend and you’re just too shy to tell me.”

Andrew’s smile sunk. “Sadly not,” he said.

“Did you hear that your cousin Joey is getting married?”

“Joey? Isn’t he like eighteen years old?”

“He’s nineteen.”

“Isn’t that kind of young to get married?” Andrew asked.

“Your uncle and I were eighteen when we got married, and look at us!”

Andrew forced an awkward laugh. “I guess so,” he said.

“And your parents were only twenty when they got married. Your sister—How old was she when she married that guy?”

“She was eighteen, but they’re divorced now.”

“They are? Oh, what a shame. I liked him. What was his name?”

“Eric.”

“Eric—I liked Eric.”

“I’ll let him know the next time I see him.”

“How old are you now?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh—That’s a good age… Can I talk to your sister?” Andrew’s aunt asked.

“She moved to Sweden for University.”

“Sweden! My God, your family has always been so interesting and ambitious. Well—I’ll let you go. It was nice talking to you, Andrew.”

“You too.”

“Oh—Have you heard about this online dating thing?”

“I think I might have heard about it, yes,” Andrew said.

“I hear that it works for a lot of people. You should give it a try.”

“Thanks, Aunt Liz. Maybe I will,” Andrew said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice.

“Bye,” Andrew said, hanging up the phone.

He looked around his pathetic bachelor pad. There was no sign of female life within the whole space. He kept it clean and tidy, and he had nice, expensive things—a large television, a nice computer, pleasantly framed posters, and high-end appliances. But it was missing that female touch—even just a female glance would have been nice.

Andrew wasn’t the kind of person to get discouraged or jealous by other people. He didn’t care when his friends all took off for university, and he was left behind to finish school. When one of his friends bought his own house, Andrew was proud—not jealous.

And he honestly didn’t even care that all of the people around him were getting married. He didn’t care that his parents were already married by his age, or that his aunt met the love of her life when she was in high school. Andrew was wise enough to know that every individual life was different, and that it was unfair to expect to have everything.

He had always considered himself blessed. He had rich parents and a big free house to himself. His dad’s had a big enough pension to pay for any education he could possibly want. With such a fortunate life, what kind of person would he be if he went around pouting about how he was twenty-one and still didn’t have a girlfriend?

What really bugged him was that everyone seemed to think that it was so taboo to be behind all of his peers. People seemed to pity him when they heard that he wasn’t in university yet, or that he was still single, and not dating. He’d always considered himself an independent spirit—happy to be alone. After his parents stopped in India, he continued to travel alone, and he loved it.

He was happy living alone, and he’d always just thought that the right girl would come along and change his mind one day—but it hadn’t happened yet—and it didn’t seem like it was happening any time soon.

With every passing year, the watchful eyes of the judging drew closer. Each time Andrew went out to the movies by himself, the ticket vendor looked at him with a little bit more pity. If he went out to a restaurant, people would look at him as if he was terminally ill with some nasty disease as they watched him eat alone.

Andrew zoned back into reality, noticing the photo of Brittany on his screen.

Maybe a small part of him, deep down inside, was unhappy being alone. Maybe he used the “independent spirit” line a little bit freely, sometimes as an excuse to make himself feel better.

Brittany wasn’t the first girl that he’d had a bit of a crush on—there were girls before her. Nothing ever came of them though—Andrew never made any moves. He’d never asked a girl on a date. Sure, he was comfortable talking to girls—he was funny and outgoing, but he never actually took the plunge. Maybe it was because he valued his “independent spirit”, or just maybe it was because he feared the embarrassment of rejection.

Andrew shut off his computer and brought himself to his feet. He grabbed his coat and laced up his boots. He was only driving himself insane stooping in his boredom.

Making his way outside, Andrew began to wander the streets of Snowbrooke—something he had been doing a lot since he returned from his travels. Years of adventuring, exploring strange towns and cities, and immersing himself in different cultures left Andrew with a lingering wanderlust. He couldn’t sustain his focus or interest on any one activity for longer than a day, and he found himself getting bored incredibly easily. It didn’t help that he was stuck in Snowbrooke—the most boring town he could possibly fathom—which was saying something, as he’d been to many, many towns.

In a way, he was facing a mid-life crisis. He couldn’t help but feel like his glory days were behind him—that the stories that he told over drinks in bars would be the same stories he would be telling in twenty—thirty—forty years.

Sure, they captivated people now—but when he was a fifty-year-old man, telling the same stories he’d been telling for thirty years, would anyone care? Would anyone even listen?

Unlikely.

Andrew dug his hands into his pockets, hiding them from the cool breeze in the dark evening air.

He turned into a little local café and stopped in line to buy a coffee. He stared up at the menu of different winter themed drinks. Then, he looked around the café at all of the ignorant people—drinking their coffees as they talked and laughed with one another.

They were the same people he’d seen there day after day—people with “routines”—people who looked forward to their daily speciality coffee—people who loved things like “half-off movie night” and “casual Friday” at work. They seemed to get ridiculously excited over mundane activities—letting life slip by under their feet while they sat, lobotomized by society’s dreary little distractions.

Their conversations were always the same—“Did you see the latest episode of that HBO program?”, “I can’t believe the weather we’ve been having!”, and “The music they’re putting out these days is just so foul!”

The content of their conversations may have changed slightly, but the message was always the same: “our lives are boring and we’re too blind to realize it.”