Today’s story is “Hostage” by Reid Minnich, who co-writes scifi, furry and furry scifi with his wife, Stacy Bender.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

You’re listening to The Voice of

Dog.  I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is

“Hostage” by Reid Minnich,

who co-writes scifi, furry and furry scifi with his wife,

Stacy Bender. Please enjoy:

“Hostage” by Reid Minnich

Tuesday mornings were always slow.

The afternoon sun coming through the large tinted window gave the bank’s lobby a brown-grey cast.

A crash from the teller's booth next to mine

made me see red. Once again,

Opy, the opossum and trainee cashier,

lay still on the floor with his paws in the air.

His last attack of thanatosis was caused by finding a Canadian coin in a mouse's deposit.

The customers in front of his window

groaned and fell in line behind my three.

Except for the first one,

a raccoon, who leaned on an elbow and drummed his fingers on the counter.

I kicked Opy’s rigid body,

half in anger and half in hope he would snap out of it.

You would think Opossums would only work low stress jobs,

but they worked cheaper than rabbits.

Rabbits should be paid three times as much.

Everyone knew we were fast,

so my line was always longer but shrank quickly.

After all these years, Mr. Silver, the bank’s manager, never gave me a raise.

The tiger in a gray suit,

white shirt and black tie,

looked over and snarled at Opy’s still form

and stood. For a split second,

I thought he would come help.

He slipped out the door for his usual early, extended lunch.

Why is it all managers were predators?

It was impossible for rabbits to make ends meet.

My own account was overdrawn.

With twenty kits at home and more on the way,

there was no chance things would get better.

When my last customer left,

I tapped on the window and waved at the raccoon.

“Sorry for the delay

and thank you for your patience.

How may I help you?”

The Raccoon’s tail jerked upright.

He turned slowly

with his head hung so low,

his wide-brimmed argyle hat almost slipped off his torn ears.

His chipped incisors

peeked out of his greying muzzle.

When he raised his head,

his identity was hidden by a thin black mask with wide holes where his eyes darted from side to side.

What he was looking for was a mystery as his right eye didn't point straight.

Tense, the alarm button was under my foot.

In ten years, no one ever pushed the button.

Except for the cleaning crew when they vacuumed every first Sunday night.

The moles always managed to miss large areas of the floor

but never missed pushing that button.

The raccoon slid a withdraw slip

from in front of Opy’s window

and pushed it through the hole in the glass that separated us.

Twisting and turning it around,

the block letters were unreadable as if written by someone with palsy.

I pushed it back.

“Sorry. I can’t read it.”

The raccoon’s shoulders bunched

and his eyes drooped.

“My penmanship is usually pretty good, but I was trying to disguise it by writing with my left hand.

It says, put all the money in the bag.

This is a stickup.”

The button clicked under foot, but nothing happened.

I would have run, but there was no easy way to get out of the bank without going through the lobby.

An older chap, the ragged raccoon was as worn out as his clothes.

I didn’t want him to get into trouble.

Whenever the cleaning crew set off the alarm, the police only showed up early Monday morning.

Perhaps he could walk away and forget his moment of foolishness.

“Look, You’re not very good at this.

Maybe you should go back home and try again after you’ve practiced a bit.”

“Practice? How could I do it better?”

He took off his hat and scratched the thinning fur on his head.

I turned the paper around and pointed.

“If you must use a note,

type it out. You should have a period after bag, not a comma.

Otherwise it is a comma-splice.

Stickup is one word,

and you left out the A.

For that matter, you could just take the note with you or say it aloud.”

He slapped his forehead.

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

His head dipped and his eyebrows bunched.

“It’s my first time.

I’m a little nervous.”

“You’ll do much better next time.

Now if there’s nothing else I can help you with, it’s my lunch time.

Several police cars screeched to a stop outside.

Wolves in police uniforms and bulletproof vests poured out

and leveled their guns at the windows.

"This is the police.

We have the place surrounded.

Come out with your hands up.

up." The raccoon balled his fists.

“Now look what you’ve done.

You delayed me.”

Reaching into his pocket, he raised a gun and pointed it at me.

He yelled at the window.

“I’ve got two tellers in here.

If anyone comes in,

the rabbit dies and the other gets it next.”

The shadows ducked down.

"Stay back, men. Hold your fire."

The pity I felt turned to dread.

Would he really shoot me?

The robber turned and waved the gun in my face.

“Put the money in the bag.

Hurry.” There was nothing on the counter.

I looked up and tilted my head.

“What bag?” The gun swung erratically as he patted his pockets.

He pulled out a paper bag embossed with the logo of a discount store

and pushed it through the hole in the window.

The handful of hundreds covered the bottom,

but the twenties, tens,

fives and ones filled it full.

Too large to fit through the hole,

I tossed it over the glass.

The raccoon tried to catch it

but slapped it sending it spinning,

flinging bills in the air.

With his free hand,

he swept them off the floor

and counted as he pushed them back into the bag.

“That’s all?” He gritted his teeth

and shook the gun at me.

“Sorry. We’re a small branch.”

“What about his drawer?” He nodded toward Opy.

“Do you have another bag?”

The raccoon’s eyebrows disappeared under his hat.

His shoulders slumped

and he shook his head slowly.

I pointed at the garbage can near the forms desk

with the blank deposit and withdrawal slips.

“There is a bag in there.”

He looked over, turned back to me, and gave me a friendly smile.

“Thanks.” Keeping the gun pointed in my general direction,

he fumbled with pulling the top off the can

and dumped the receipts on the floor before lifting the bag out and handing it over.

He trembled as he looked out the tinted window.

I wasn’t any happier about the police being here than he was.

Being a prey animal,

and him a lessor predator,

the police viewed our deaths as a public service.

Opy’s drawer was more disappointing than mine.

The robber looked up from the second bag and shook his head.

The hand holding the gun sagged.

“There's not much here.

What about the vault?”

“There’s no money in the vault, only safety deposit boxes.

All that is left are coins.”

He held out the bag

as I shoved them through.

When the bottom of the bag burst, coins spilled out around his feet.

As he shifted to stem the flow,

his feet slipped out from under him.

“We have the place surrounded.

Release your hostages and you will not be harmed.

You’ve got five minutes.”

The raccoon stopped trying to get up.

His head lolled from side to side.

His cheek fur grew wet under his eyes.

The gun slipped from his hand

and chattered on the floor with a plastic click.

"I can’t do anything right.

Go on. Take your friend with you.

I only wanted enough to pay off the credit card and a few house payments.

Maybe my wife can still collect the life insurance.

insurance." Those same words were in my head every morning.

In my ten years of growing desperation at my own financial woes, I dreamed up several plans

but never had the courage to act.

The raccoon had the same problems and the courage,

but no plan. I came around to the lobby,

sat on the floor beside him,

and rubbed his shoulders.

"Don't give up. I'll get us both out of this.

this." He snorted and wiped his eyes.

"You'll help me?"

I pulled him to his feet.

"I'm going to help us both.

Trust me. You and I will both walk out of here with our bills paid."

"How?" The robber bit his lip.

I hurried back to the teller booths.

“There's not enough cash for even one of us.

We’re going to rob the bank electronically.

electronically.“ The raccoon cocked an eye.

"Huh?" Stepping over Opy's form,

I was glad to see his terminal was still logged in.

Ten years of practice was going to finally pay off.

"Do you have an account here?"

"Yeah." He handed me his card.

I read the card. "Konny?"

He crossed his arms.

"That's the male spelling.

spelling." I patted the air.

“Fine. Sure." My hands flew over the keyboard.

I began running transfers of small amounts from random accounts into Konny's account.

“There’s a shredder by the manager’s desk.

Grind up all the money.

money." “You’re kidding; right?”

I shook my head but didn’t look up from the terminal.

“We are going to make an accounting nightmare that they'll never figure out by hiding the money.

It will take them weeks to find it all.

Maybe they never will.

Meanwhile, they won't be looking for hundreds of small mistakes in the electronic records.”

The clicking of the keys was almost a musical note.

I’ve never typed so fast in my life.

A voice boomed, "There's no escape.

Let the hostages go and you won't be harmed.

You have four minutes and we’re coming in.” Konny cringed as the shredder chewed through fistfuls of bills.

"That’s not much time.

time." “It will be enough.

Trust me.” I lost count of how much I transferred.

It was a tidy sum,

but was it enough for both of us?

I started entering

larger amounts. “While the shredder is busy,

hide wads of the scraps in every cranny you can reach.”

He worked quickly for a raccoon,

sprinkling the bits on the floor,

stuffing them into the air vents,

and shooting them through the pneumatic tube.

The shadows outside the plate glass

dodged back and forth

trying to see in but kept their distance.

“You’ve got three minutes and we’re coming in.” My hands were

growing tired, but I was still entering a dozen transactions a minute.

“Do you do online banking?”

“My wife pays the bills, but I think she does.

Why?” “I’ll explain later.

Call her and ask her to pay off the credit card and make a house payment. Be quick about it.”

Konny nodded and dialed.

“Um…Hello dear.” He jerked the phone from his ear.

“Yes. Of course, dear. I won’t forget the eggs,

but could you –” A shrill voice cut the air and he put his hand over the phone.

Trying to get a word in between the screeching,

he handled the phone like he was trying to eat a very hot pizza,

getting it to his face

and jerking it away.

“It’s the traffic, dear. I’ll be home soon.”

“You have two minutes to surrender or we’re coming in.”

He covered the phone.

“Nothing dear. Just a parade.”

Responding to my outstretched hand,

he reluctantly gave me the phone.

Working the computer with one hand,

I ignored the tirade

and imitated the smooth, deep tones of the manager.

“Hello. This is Branch Manager Silver.

I wanted to thank you for letting your husband come into the bank on such short notice to fill out the paperwork on a long-term note that just came due.

Could you please verify that you can see the balance?”

The seconds of blessed silence were punctuated

with a distorted scream.

“Ah, very good. Now, how much of this money do you want to roll over into another twenty-five-year note?

None of it? I see.

Thank you. Goodbye.”

He caught the phone as I flung it away.

“She’s really very nice.”

I nodded in exaggerated agreement.

“I can tell.” My hands were growing stiff.

I was pretty sure I had entered enough for us both, but wanted to enter a few more transactions.

The tips of my fingers were bruised

and the joints were frozen in sharp angles.

“Unroll those coins into the paper bag.

bag." I set two dye bombs on the counter.

“Put these on top,

but be careful not to drop them.”

“You have one minute.”

The police readied their weapons and gathered at the front door.

“We’ve got to keep them guessing a little while longer.

Take some of the bills

and blow them out the pneumatic tube.”

Konny did as instructed,

and the shadows vanished from the front window.

The police raced around the parking lot,

chasing the fluttering bills.

“Now,” I pointed to the floor,

“get back here, drag Opy over there by the manager’s desk,

and prop him up against the wall.

Put the gun in his hands

and raise his arms like he is taking aim.”

Konny slid the rigid form

and propped him up in a sitting position on the floor.

After a last transaction,

I jogged over to help Konny twist Opy into position.

Pulling the desk lamp down to the floor,

I angled the light up.

The outline of someone holding a gun shone on the opposite wall.

All seemed ready

until I realized I forgot a step.

“Wait here.” I hurried into the back

and opened the refrigerator.

To my horror, the ketchup bottle that had more seniority than I had

was almost empty.

Fortunately, there was a full container of guacamole.

I smeared it down my chest.

“A big van just arrived.”

Konny fidgeted in the hallway.

“What’s that for?” He pointed to my shirt.

“Blood.” “It’s green,” he whined.

“Wolves are color-blind.”

Rolling the manager’s chair near the inner door,

I balanced the bag of coins on the edge of the seat.

“Now take off that mask.

When I say go, carry me out the door and yell for the cops to call an ambulance. Got it?”

He nodded. I patted his shoulder.

“Then it’s show time.”

Twisting the lamp,

Opy’s shadow fell on the front windows.

The silhouettes of the officers reacted by readying their guns.

Taking a deep breath,

I shouted. “I surrender.

I’m sending the hostages out.”

I nodded to Konny.

“Go.” He grunted heavily

as I jumped backward into his arms,

and he staggered toward the door.

He smacked my head into the handle trying to push through.

“Sorry.” Sunlight warmed my face

and I waited. “Go. Go. Go.”

Fur covered boulders crashed into us

and slid past. We fell on the road.

I cracked open an eye but lay still.

The sound of the bag of coins spilling onto the floor was followed

by two pops. The remaining wolves leaped over us and dashed inside.

The sound of a million jingling coins and cursing police

was our cue. “Get up. Let’s go.”

Konny got to his feet

and followed me as we ran past confused onlookers.

We jumped the fence at the back of the parking lot

and jogged for half a mile before we rested.

I punched his arm.

“One line. You only had to remember one line.

Call an ambulance. He’s hurt.

hurt.” “Huh?” Konny’s head bowed

and he worried his fingers.

“Was that important?”

I patted his arm.

“Nah, guess not. Just try to follow instructions next time.”

Konny’s eyes widened.

“Next time?”   This was

“Hostage” by Reid Minnich,

read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog, or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog