One Bad Barney

By DeX on Wednesday 29 July 2009 21:54 - Comments (2)
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Everything was going just as planned, until Barney barged in. “Don’t you fackin m-move!” his Russian accent jackrabbits as his greasy hands rattle-snaked the gun which he held leveled at my torso. I looked down at the little red dot from his sight which buzzed like a bee over my belly, zoomed off to the ficus plant on the desk, back to my chest and down again to my belly. “Doncha fackin’ m-move or I’ll shoot! I can’t let you do it-t!” Phlegm jettisoned from his tongue. Barney had limits I apparently underestimated or misunderstood. He can’t kill though. “Steady Barney! Man! If you are going to shoot me, you will need to take the safety off.”
“Fack…” Barney jumped and checked the side of the gun, the bee buzzed off settling on one of the cashier’s forehead. She stared into the barrel, eyes bulging in curious shock. “No no! The switch on the left Barney, for Christ sake!”
A click sent the magazine free-falling to the bank floor. “Fack!” Barney bellowed swaying the gun down in an attempt to catch it.
“Slowly now Barney.”
He froze knowing I had beaten him in the side-arm-basics department of criminal life. This little bee however sucked his wrinkled forehead as steady as ever. “Just put the gun next to the clip and step back.”
Whale sounds began to echo from the fat figure as he put the gun on the granite. “It’s OK Barney. You panicked and that’s OK. You should not even be here.” I picked up the gun, slippery from Barney-lard, pulled back the slide and released. One cool full metal jacket round popped out into my hand. It’s one of those moves you do to make you look like an obvious criminal superior.

Barney had been unable to keep up his fathers Russian-mob expectations. He was lucky to be alive honestly as he would have made the best mob-war hostage ever in my eyes. He turned to electronics for reasons unknown. I would like to believe he wanted to be of some benefit to the family as some form of brains behind the brawn so to speak. It’s more likely that he locked his bedroom door and spent his days looking at internet pornography and learning about whacking. He whacked his way into some development company and pulled some out blueprints of this bank somehow. I had no clue when it came to computers, but that was ok because I was more of a hardware guy anyway. And that is how I found Barney, selling his blueprints on the black market. Maybe daddy’s proud now.
“I f-f-facked it did I not?”
“It’s ok Barney, let’s just get back to the plan.” Could not deviate from the plan now, and Barney looked honest enough. “Do the computer stuff Barney.”
This however yanked my head right back into business mode.
“Fuck Barney, just get back to fucking work! We’ll solve you later!”
“Have you ever seen Pulp Fiction?” I cocked my 5-7, which is unnecessary, but can be very effective in the Hollywood sense of things.
“Fack akey akey akey…” His red Santa-cheeks pleaded innocent under his long grey hair. He got up slowly, knees doing the hokey-pokey.
Minutes seemed to pass as he moved to one of the computers. It was time to get back to business. I gave the instructions to one of the two tellers as the other one seemed a little too unstable. By this I mean she was curled up in a corner hugging a like picture frame or something. There could be many reasons for this. Maybe it was emotional leverage so I wouldn’t shoot her because then whoever was in the picture would be alone. Or, as I would like to believe, it was a picture of the bank manager who would be so damn proud that his employee held on to it till her death. Too bad he would also see that she should have protected the fucking money. “Toss the phones and your friend into the men’s room.” The more stable girl pushed on her pocket and slid out her phone. It scuttled over the floor as she crawled to the frame-hugger. A second phone scuttled as they both moved to the men’s room, a few feet away. I secured the room behind them with a wedged broomstick.

Now the bank floor was empty. I had made sure of this by giving the managers beamer a slight tire problem before we came. I would expect him to arrive in about 20 minutes. By that time we should be ready. The sign on the door read: “Closed due to technical problems. Please come back later”. I liked it this way. No hostages or bludgering fools trying to disarm the situation by saying silly stuff like “Let’s sit down and talk about this.” or dull duck tape discussions like: “Hmmmmmm, Hmmmmm!” or “Nnnnnnng! Hmmmmm Ngggg HHHHHMMMM!”.
Barney rattled on the keyboard, his bunny-eyes screwed up in concentration. He said he would need to be on-site in order to get some why-fye signal which he could exploit and whack the serfer. So he would stay in the van and use his labtob. He should have stayed in the van.

“I’ve done it Mr. Dalton. I re-encrypted the files. It will take them years of brute force to crack them! The back-up tapes are a problem though. They’re time-scheduled to run a mirror at 17 hundred.” A different Barney now, he looked the part.
“English Barney.”
“I have get to the back-up serfer.”
“They have two?”
“Whole farm of them actually.”
“A serfer farm.”
“Never mind. I need some time to crack it open.”
“I have some plastics if that’s what you mean?”
Barney’s brow ascended forcing the rest of his forehead to shift. “Let me work.”
“Fine. If you say my name again you lose a knee.” Just to make sure I was in charge. The keys rattled again.

I don’t really know why I bought into this plan. Taking computer files hostage seemed like a stupid idea, but Barney baffled my head with bullshit like: Data-encryption, proxies, rooters, keysets and hexobismicalwhatyoumaycallits. Basically, he told me that we could put important information into their own safe and change the combination. Then we ask the manager to pay a hefty sum of money for the combination. All this would be done from a safe place were the heat couldn’t touch us. It’s here were I start feeling a little old for this job. Then again, I have a 5-7. Barney has greasy hands and can only type.

Everything was going somewhat to plan, when the bank door flew open allowing the bank manager his grand late-for-work-so-bugger-off entry. “What ze fack is going on here!” he roared into the hall. My criminal brain goes “moo” as Barney’s dad, the equally fat Russian mob member Vladimir `Leviathan’ Lev materializes in front of me. He was one of those neckless creatures surrounded by scarves and hats, like a dancing penguin in a bad Broadway performance. I looked at Barney, who looked at his dad and gave a smile. “Barnimir?” The mobster started. “What are you doing here? What is going on?”. I drew my 5-7 which wiped the smile of his asphalt-like face. It’s a cheap way to buy some time to figure this whole thing out.
From the scene I can reach to a number of possible explanations. This all could be some freaky form of coincidence, like my brother Frank whose car door never usually jammed until he got pulled over and was asked to step out of the car. The door stuck. And as he tried desperately to cooperate, the door released catching the officer on the hip who took offence and shot him in the chin.
But more likely is that I did indeed underestimate `Barnimir’ who set this whole thing up to get to his father. But why? “Ok Barney, explain what the hell your dad’s doing here?”
Barney gave a final rap on the keyboard with his fish finger and stepped away. “Jastice Mr. Dalton,” Barney said nodding towards the big bird. “My father saw no good in me, and I saw no good in him. But he makes life impossible, like brick tied to birds tail. Always flap flapping but never taking fly. He is no good to the world, so we show him now. His money? All gone! Illegal blood money washed clean here in bank. All gone! Money from killing and stealing. All go-”
“I get the point Barney.” I sliced the monologue like a katana. “What the fuck do I have to do about this? What is 50 percent of “All Gone!”? Nothing Barney, ab-sa-sootley nothing! What about the encrusted files?”
“Encrypted files. Insurance that we don’t get whacked Mr. Dalton. With his companies money under our control, we st-”.
“Oh hell no!” like a blunt broadsword this time, “You are one bad man Barney! You whacked one of your fathers serfer to get the blueprints? And now what? You want to become your dad?”
“I’m not a batman”

Things were obviously not going to plan when I looked at Vladimir who had used the gap in attention to grab his .50 Desert Eagle. “Lover your weapon Mr. Dalton.” He said in a smug cigar-smelling smile. I calculated quickly and came to this decision. Lowering my gun would get me back to jail, where I’ve just spent 2 decades. So instead, I swung it slowly but firmly to Barney’s forehead. “Heh! Do you fink I would care if he were dead?” He probed, obviously trying to assert my bluff.
“Your assets are more dear to you then him. Unfortunately, he has all of your assets. Even the innate criminal mastermind bit.” Bluff or not, I did have a strong point. A .50 round however would definitely be a party stopper. I tried to explain. “All the accounts have become encrupted. This means that you cannot read them unless you decrupt them with Barney’s code. He even cracked the back-up serfer to make it mirror better.” I prayed I was making sense. The `Leviathan’ seemed to be crunching numbers in his head. The morning light blazed the lobby now. Barney’s knees were taking strain. Then the .50 started moving and stopped when it reached his son. “So if I shoot him first,” he started head tilted slightly sideways, “then you won’t have any leverage, or any money. So you won’t shoot him, but maybe I will. Then I can get my men to undo what he did.”. My 5-7 swooped back to Vladimir. “Go ahead. You kill him, I kill you. Good day for the world. One Russian overlord dead, and his assets unrecoverable. I’ll be a hero acting in self defense and you a man who killed his own son. Move that gun and I’ll drop you like a bitch, I don’t fucking care.”. I was shaking a bit, the tension tickling the inside of my brain. My concerns settled on Barney. His noble acts today surprised me. The care for undoing his dad’s business, trying to stop me doing something stupid like killing someone by barging into the bank, standing up to his father and conning me into doing this whole thing. Admiration. I kept my eye on Vladimir, who still looked like a dazzled poker-player trying to determine his position in the game. He had none. In the corner of my eye I could see Barney trembling. I stuck to my plan: wait for Vladimir to give in, or drop dead.


Barney’s weak knees had given in and he hit his head on the desk. Instinct took over: I pulled the trigger. So did Vladimir. Consciousness was being yanked through the pulling hole in my side and I faded in and out of time, only barely able to notice differences in light. Sunlight, darkness, fluorescent lights, darkness and sunlight again followed by a chilling definite darkness.
There was no plan when I woke up. Chilly chains around wrist, bound to the hospital bed. Leads were attached to the insides of my elbow and two important looking officers approached the bed. “Good morning Sean,” one said. “Barnimir tells us you’re quite the hero. Care to share your story?”
My abdomen was bandaged with extra cotton wool pressing over my right kidney. I felt euphoric, like I could just tell the whole story and not care what happens to me. The realization that Barney was alive made tears appear. A feeling that Mr. Dalton should never show. What was in this I.V. anyway?
“Well officers.” I started off, voice groggy like I’ve been swallowing tar. “Everything was going just as planned, until one bad Barney barged in…”