The Short yet Remarkable Criminal Career of Walter and Scratch

Scratch did not breakfast at this diner very often, but every time he had been here the same old man had been sitting in the corner.  He had a frizzled white beard with a single black stripe all the way down it.  He sat in the corner, reading the daily newspaper.  He got coffee with a lid, but always removed the lid to add sugar and never replaced it.  What Scratch had noticed today was that the old man always seemed to wear the same suit.  He briefly considered telling Walter about it, but decided that his new partner wouldn’t care.  Scratch also briefly considered calling Walter his “partner in crime,” but he realized that actual criminals would never use such terms.

Walter was his middle name.  His first name was, in theory, Stephen, but his partially illiterate father had misspelled it.  For a long time Stefen had been proud to have such a unique name.  But by the time he met Scratch, the novelty of explaining the name Stefen had long since worn off.  Though he hadn’t told his partner, after they robbed this bank Walter planned on using part of his share to have his name legally changed.  Not changed to Stephen.  He’d figure out something unique that was less of a hassle to talk about.

Their decision to rob a bank had been initially brought up as a joke, “the ultimate get-rich-quick scheme,” and before long they had bought a pair of guns and a getaway with little to no difficulty.
The first major hurdle had been buying a pair of leggings from a small clothing store outside the town.  Walter had made the actual purchase, since Scratch had tried twice and come back once with netting and once with the kind that have both legs attached to each other.  That afternoon, the two entered the bank wearing the black leggings in the traditional criminal style.
Automatically they got into the line for the teller window.  After a full minute of waiting, Walter tapped Scratch on the shoulder.  They left the line and walked straight to the counter.
“Why are you wearing pantyhose on your heads?” asked the teller, a woman in her early thirties with thick glasses and a large silver coin around her neck. 
Walter and Scratch glanced at each other.  They had assumed that this aspect of their operation would be obvious.
“Well, we’re robbing you,” said Walter, feeling rather stupid as he said it.
“Really?” said the teller, confused but interested.  “Have you got any guns?”
Walter quickly patted himself down.  He turned to Scratch, anger obscured by the fabric. 
“Scratch, where are the guns?”
Scratch looked at him, head tilted slightly to the side in confusion.  His shoulders jerked with realization.  “Shit, I left them in the car!”
“Well then go get them!”  Scratch sprinted out the door.  Walter turned back to the teller.  He wondered if his sweat was showing through the pantyhose.  “Um, I don’t suppose you’d, uh, not press that button under there?”
“What button?”
“You know, the one that sets off an alarm so that the police know that there’s a robbery.”
“There’s a button for that?”  The teller got out of her chair and went down on her hands and knees.  “How long has that been there?”
Scratch burst through the door, carrying two pistols.  “Got ‘em!” he yelled triumphantly.
“Right,” said Walter, who had entirely forgotten why they were there.  “Now then, ma’am, if you could hand over all the money in the vault…”
“But,” she interrupted, “it’s like I said.  Why are you two wearing pantyhose on your head?”
Scratch joined Walter at the counter.  “Well, it’s like he said,” said Scratch, gesturing to Walter.  “We’re here to rob your bank.”
“But why pantyhose?” said the teller.  “Why not wear something more original?”
“Are you saying I’m boring?!” yelled Walter.  “Are you calling me…” he struggled for the right word.  “cliché?”
The teller shook her head.  “No, not at all.  But you could do something to make it, I don’t know, more memorable?  There’s a costume shop down the road with a lovely selection of masquerade masks, you could get something from there.”
“Fine!” Walter shouted.  He marched toward the door.  “Come on, Scratch, let’s go.”
Scratch, who had been staring at the woman’s neck, jerked to attention.  “Uh, Walter?  Shouldn’t we…”
“It’ll just take a second,” said Walter, throwing the front door open. 
Almost two hours later, Walter and Scratch were standing in front of the locked door to the bank.  In unison they gave a heavy sigh and returned to the car.

Scratch watched the old man reading his newspaper.  The front page article in his newspaper was about some politician meeting with another politician, probably in another country.  As Scratch watched, the man spilled his coffee on the right leg of his pants.   The old man saw Scratch staring at him, and flashed him an angry look that made Scratch turn away, embarrassed.

The next day they came back, wearing flamboyant feathered masks.  They strode up to the counter.  The teller from yesterday gave them a professional smile, which widened into a genuine smile once she recognized them.
“Hello gentlemen, how can I help you?” she said.  “I see you got new masks.”
“We almost didn’t,” said Scratch.  “It’s outrageous what they charge for this sort of mask.”
“I know,” said the teller, nodding sympathetically.  “I’ve always wanted one of those, but it never seemed worth the money.”
“Really?” said Scratch.  “Tell you what- after this is over, you can have mine for half price.”
“Scratch,” said Walter, in the tone of a parent waiting for their child to turn off the television.
“I know I’d take a loss,” said Scratch, turning to face Walter, “but it’s for a friend, and it’s not like we’ll be hurting for cash at that point.”
“Friend?”
“Well, she’s been very polite to us, and she’s even given us some good advice.  I’ve had worse friends.”
“Speaking of advice,” said the teller, “I can tell you this; you don’t want to rob us today.”
“Why not?” asked Walter.
“Well, right after you two left yesterday, several people came in and took out fairly large loans, so we’re a little lighter than usual right now.” 
“That’s okay, we’ll just take what you have.”
“Hang on, Walt,” said Scratch.  “We could go to jail for this.”
“Are you just realizing that now?”
“No,” said Scratch, rolling his eyes.  “It’s just I want to make sure that the reward is worth the risk.  I’d rather go to jail for stealing fifty thousand than twenty thousand, wouldn’t you?”
Walter looked back at the teller.  She shrugged and grinned apologetically.  “If you come back tomorrow, we’ll have more money to steal.”
“You see, she agrees with me,” said Scratch.
Walter sighed.  “Well, I guess I’m outnumbered. Let’s go, then.”

The next morning, Scratch cautiously watched the old man with the beard and the newspaper.  He had acquired several new stains on his pants, as though the first spill had opened the floodgates to a crashing wave of uncleanliness. 

Walter burst through the bank’s doors again, waving his pistol.  “Hey, so last night I realized that loans are mostly done electronically these days, and- wait, who are you?”
As Scratch joined Walter at the counter, a young man of Asian descent nodded and smiled at them.
“Hello, my name is Ken, how may I help you?”
“Where’s the other teller?” asked Scratch.  “The lady who wore the silver 19th century Victorian medallion around her neck.”  Walter stared at Scratch for a moment.
“Oh, Susan?” asked the young man. “It’s her day off today.  She went upstate to spend the day with her girlfriend.”
“Susan- wait, what?” Scratch angled his head in confusion, causing several loose feathers to float away.  “I didn’t know that she preferred ladies.”
Ken nodded.  “Actually,” he glanced around, then gestured at the two to bend over.  He whispered, “she probably doesn’t want me to tell you this, but Susan’s girlfriend told me she’d be proposing today.”
“Really?” said Walter.  Ken nodded, grinning.
Scratch gave Walter a friendly slap on the arm.  “Well then, let’s do this tomorrow and we can find out if she said yes!”
Walter considered this for a moment, then nodded.  Scratch flashed an excited thumbs-up to an older woman in the line.

The old man with the beard was not at the diner that morning.  Scratch drank his coffee, wondering if the man’s pants had become so filthy that they had gained sentience and abandoned him in the night.  He debated with himself about whether sentient pants were scarier than the idea of an old man wandering the streets in his underwear.

Susan blushed bright pink, then smiled and showed them the ring on her hand.  Scratch roared like a lion entering its surprise birthday party.  “You said yes!”
The entire line applauded.  Scratch pumped the air. “Congratulations!” said Walter, shaking her hand.
“Thank you,” she said.  “We’ll be getting a civil union next June, but we’re getting our families together for the party once I go on vacation this summer.”
“That’s fantastic,” said Scratch, his broad grin disappearing into the sides of the mask.  “Really, I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, boys,” she said.  “And now I suppose you’ll be wanting to rob us?”
“Yeah,” said Walter sheepishly.  Truth be told, his heart wasn’t in it anymore, but it seemed pointless to have tried so hard only to give up now.
Something in his tone seemed to speak to Susan.  “You know,” she said, “today’s Friday...”
“Already?” said Scratch
Susan continued “…so most people get paid today, and they deposit it this afternoon or evening.”
“So what you’re saying,” said Walter as realization dawned like the red sun over the african plains.
“...Is that if we come back tomorrow, we can steal even more money!” said Scratch.  He looked at Walter, and tapped the side of his forehead knowingly.
“All right,” said Walter.  He nodded at Susan.  “See you tomorrow.”
“See you then,” she said.
Walter and Scratch started to walk for the door.  Walter turned back.  “And tell your fiancee we said hi!”
That morning, the old man was back.  His beard had been trimmed, and he was wearing a new suit.  The front page had a picture of the local high school with a student standing in front of it, with a headline about budget cuts for education.

The next day, just before they entered the bank, Scratch could sense that something was wrong.  He looked at Walter, and saw that he felt something similar.
As they entered, the usual small crowd of people looked at them, terrified.  They  were lined along the walls, hands above their heads.  Susan was at her counter, staring straight ahead.  In the center of the room, turning to see who was entering, there was a young man, barely more than a teenager.  He was wearing a ski mask, and he had a gun.  In slow motion the kid pointed the gun and fired.  Walter saw the muzzle flash, and felt something knock him onto his side.  From the floor, Walter watched Scratch running towards the kid.  The kid fired his gun again at Scratch, but either he missed or Scratch didn’t feel it, because the man tackled him and brought him to the ground.
Walter got to his feet as Scratch wrestled with the kid, gunshots firing.  “SUSAN!” Walter yelled.  “Push the button!”

The old man at the diner carefully replaced the lid on his coffee cup to avoid spilling coffee on his relatively new suit.  The front page today had an article about a bank robbery foiled by bank robbers, with a picture of two idiots in masquerade masks standing next to a beaming bank teller.