Twice Tempted

Regretfully, I have no satisfying explanation for my irrational and shocking behavior. I heard a lot about morality when I was young but I never thought much about it. Deep down inside I believed that I was of the highest moral character. Most of my parents and friends I am sure felt the same way about me, at least no one ever told me differently. But not being much of an intellect, I never explored the depth of my morality.

Was this ostensible morality the result my appreciation of righteousness and clear understanding of the consequences of immorality, or was I simply a sheep blindly following the flock out of fear, ignorance or indifference?

In retrospect the later explanation seems most appropriate particularly in light of the story I am about to tell you. There is no doubt that I had accepted virtue as my way of life, but because I had never really fully explored the propriety of good versus evil my morality was inevitably shallow. When I was confronted by the temptations that I am about to divulge my frail moral shield was shattered and I surrendered to greed, deceit and debauchery.

My greatest regret in all this was the embarrassment and humiliation that I brought to my family and friends. I could take whatever was my due, but my friends and family had tremendous faith and great expectations for my future. They deserved more. It grieved me greatly to see their hopes and dreams shattered before the national media. That was unbearable, and more than once I considered ending it all rather than face their inevitable torment.

It was as an election year and my heavy involvement in politics kept my mind off Candy, the ravishing blond bank teller who had taken a peculiar interest in me. Although I would see her briefly nearly every day I tried to avoid any lengthy encounters that might lead to trouble. We had become good friends and engaged in many interesting conversations from time to time, but I didn't consider seeing her outside the bank as I didn't trust myself around her.

It had been a tumultuous spring as both Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy had been assassinated. My girl friend, Maria and I had actually been at the Ambassador Hotel on the night Kennedy was slain. Whereas we didn't see the actual assassination, we did see Sirhan Sirhan arrested and the body of Robert Kennedy wheeled into an ambulance. The incident had shaken us both since my ambition in life was to be a congressman or senator. For the first time we saw a wicked glimpse of the harsh realities of politics.

By the end of the school year the presidential primaries were nearly over and the presidential campaign was about to go into high gear. It was a busy time for me juggling school, politics, work and Maria. On this particular night in mid June I was anxious to get home to study.

When I pulled into the bank parking lot at 6:30 p.m., it surprised me slightly that Sam wasn't there. The weather had been good and I thought Sam, the Arrowhead Lake messenger, would be on time. I surmised that he either had car trouble or one of his banks were late. I decided to go in and pick up the bags and then wait for him in my car.

As I walked toward the bank's front door I noticed a policeman drive by in his squad car and give me a hard look. I assumed the police knew that messengers went in and out of the bank all the time and didn't pay much attention to it. Nevertheless, a chill went down my spine as I watched him disappear over the hilltop.

After pulling out my ring of keys, I fumbled around to find the right one. Successfully identifying it, I slid it in the key hole and opened the glass door. Not being in a great hurry since I knew I had to wait for Sam anyway, I wandered around the lobby for a minute and sat down on a large beige sofa. It was dark with but one small light dimly illuminating the entire lobby area. Scanning the room I noticed the bags on the floor near the tellers' windows. I looked over at the plush office of the bank's president and decided to sit in his chair. His office was quite lavish and as I leaned back and relaxed I wondered what it would be like to be a bank president. Not so bad, I thought, but how many bank presidents could you name?

Suddenly I heard a noise. I vaulted myself out of the chair and ran into the lobby. I looked around but did not see the source of the sound. What I did see, however, was quite a shock. It was the bank vault, it was open again!

For several moments I stood starring at the open vault in a state of shock. I am not sure if I felt like someone who just won the lottery or just got sentenced to life in prison. After recovering somewhat from the initial surprise of seeing the vault open again, my first inclination was to call Sinclair. I walked over to the phone and started to pick it up, but suddenly a strange curiosity overcame me and I hesitated briefly. Glancing once again at the open vault, I wondered why I shouldn't at least go inside and see what was in there. I knew the alarm was not activated yet, so it wouldn't hurt just to look.

After checking the front door to be sure Sam hadn't arrived, I made my way slowly over to the vault and peered inside. Unfortunately it was so dark I couldn't see anything so I searched around the bank lobby for a match. Finding none, I remembered a flashlight was standard equipment for bank messengers and there would be one in my glove compartment. I walked quickly to the front door, opened it and headed for my car. Suddenly two headlights blinded me; instinctively I lifted my arm to shield my eyes from the glare. Startled by the light, I immediately panicked thinking it must be the cop who was cruising around the neighborhood. What I am I going to tell him? The door opened slowly, I was paralyzed with fear, then a voice said, "Fred what in the Devil are you doing running across the parking lot? I nearly ran you down."

"Sam . . . oh it's you, you startled me," I said feeling greatly relieved.

"Who did you think it was going to be, Bigfoot," Sam laughed.

"No, I was expecting you, I just didn't see you coming."

"Hey, I didn't see you lock the door when you came out."

"I didn't, I came out to get a flash light. Something's wrong with the night lamp so it's really dark in there."

"Huh . . . I thought maybe they left that there vault open again and you were loading up some cash."

"Yea, I wish," I laughed. "Hey, how come you're so late?"

"Them rascals up at Big Bear don't know how to count. Two of them tellers were out of balance for nearly thirty minutes if you can believe that?" Sam walked around to the trunk of his car and opened it.

"Yea, I don't think they hire tellers for brain power," I noted.

"No, them bankers are pretty smart. They get them good-looking chicks to sit there behind the counter and smile pretty at all them young executives who control all them corporate dollars."

"You think so?"

Sam reached into the trunk of his car and pulled out the Arrowhead and Big Bear bags and handed them to me. "Sure thing, haven't you ever noticed that the nicest little building in every town you'll ever travel to is a bank. And if you step inside you'll find the prettiest women in the entire town sittin' inside. Sure enough, women like to be around money, I guarantee."

"I guess you're right," I said. "That hadn't ever occurred to me before."

"Well you best be getting out of here, ole Jim's going to be pretty damn anxious for you to arrive with all them hot women a waiting for him."

"You're right, I better get my flashlight and retrieve those bags."

"Be careful, don't trip over anything."

"I will . . . be carefully I mean. See ya later."

"Adios."

After opening the trunk, I threw in the two bags and then found my flashlight. Sam jumped into his car and drove off. I quickly ran back into the bank, locked the door behind me, walked over to the sofa and collapsed. Now I was screwed! If I called Sinclair now, how would I explain why I hadn't noticed the bank vault being opened before I talked to Sam. Wait, I thought, the night lamp might save my butt.

I walked over and was about to unscrew it when it suddenly occurred to me I better not leave finger prints all over the bank. So I searched my pockets for a handkerchief or something with which to unscrew the bulb. Finding nothing, I went to the kitchen to get a towel or rag. I walked into the kitchen, found a towel and headed back to the bank lobby. Very gently I unscrewed the bulb in the lamp and then I hit the bulb on the desk, not hard enough to break it, but enough to shatter the filament inside the bulb. Then I replaced the bulb and screwed it in securely.

Briefly I worried that from the parking lot Sam might have seen that the night lamp was still lit. I quickly dismissed that concern as I noticed the sun shades were drawn. Then I thought back to every place in the bank I had been. It seemed the prudent course of action was to wipe away any finger prints that I might have left in the wrong places. The first location that came to mind was the President's office as I would have put my hands on the arms of his chair. I went into his office, rubbed both arms vigorously, then I racked my brain to remember any place else I might have ventured. Nothing came to mind so I picked up my flashlight and left the president's office.

Shining the flashlight on my watch I saw that it was 8:15 p.m. "Forty-five minutes late, Damn!" I exclaimed out loud. I headed for the vault to close it so no one would think that I had contemplated stealing the money. Using the towel so I wouldn't leave fingerprints, I grasped the vault with two hands and pulled it toward me. Then I remembered, the whole reason I went out to the car was to get the flashlight so I could look inside the vault. I've come all this way now, why not see what was inside?

After throwing the towel over my shoulder, I shined the flashlight into the vault. It was much larger than I had expected. Just inside there were several rows of safety deposit boxes and a small room into which customers could go to examine their valuables. To the left all of the teller's trays had been lined up neatly against the steel wall of the vault. They were full of money, but only pocket change compared to what should be just ahead. Flashing my light into the darkness, I observed a steel gate. I approached it cautiously thinking, maybe it would also be unlocked. After pulling a towel off my shoulder, I placed it around the handle of the gate. Then I squeezed it firmly and turned it to the right, then the left, but nothing happened. I turned it again harder but it wouldn't budge.

"Shit!" I said out loud as I was upset that I wasn't going to be able to see the six-plus million dollars that were supposed to be in the vault. "That damn Hamlin lied to me, that bastard."

With my curiosity frustrated, fear overcame me again and I turned and walked quickly out of the vault, careful not to touch anything. I took my towel, grasped both hands on the large interior handle of the vault door and began to move it slowly toward me. Suddenly I heard a cough. Startled, I turned around quickly and found myself face to face with the bank's cashier, Harvey Hamlin!

"Oh!" Mr. Hamlin.

"What in the fuck are you doing, Fred?!"

The sight of Hamlin stunned me. In an instant my mind tried to fathom what was happening. I've been caught red handed in a bank vault with over six million dollars. The only fortunate thing was I didn't have my hands full of money. Worst case I'm charged with attempted robbery and thrown in the slammer. Best case I get fired for not calling Sinclair immediately.

"Uh . . . Mr. Hamlin . . . what are you doing here so late?"

"Answer my question!? What the hell are you doing!?"

I felt the blood rushing to my face and I began to sweat profusely.

"Uh . . . uh . . . well . . . I thought you had forgot to close the vault again . . . and . . . uh . . . rather than call Sinclair and get you in trouble again I was going to close it for you."

"Oh . . . right, you were just going to close it," he said in a sarcastic tone.

"Yea, that's right. Yea . . . I didn't want you to get in trouble again."

Hamlin starred at me skeptically and then suddenly his face relaxed as he contemplated what I had said.

"Oh . . . I see . . . hmm . . . gee, I am sorry Fred . . . that's the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long, long time. I'm really at a loss for words."

"Well, what's the big deal? Everybody screws up once in a while," I said.

"I am sorry, this week has been such a damn nightmare for me. Do you know what I just did?"

"No, what?"

"I just kicked the fucking bank examiner out of my office."

"Why would you do that?"

"That son of a bitch had been on my ass all day long and I just got fed up. Now I am in big trouble. He's going to report me to his superiors and they'll probably fire my ass. Oh shit! What a stupid idiot I've been."

Mr. Hamlin sat down on a teller's stool and began to cry. I felt awkward and wanted to make a hasty exit.

"Jesus. I am sorry Mr. Hamlin," I said. "I guess I better go."

At that moment the phone rang and Harvey hurried around the corner to his office to answer it. Being curious as what was going on, I followed him.

"Hello . . . yes, this is Harvey Hamlin."

"Oh . . . hello Mr. Swan . . . yes . . . I know I shouldn't have lost my temper . . . well he was very unprofessional too . . . what irregularities . . . you're giving me notice . . . no . . . you can't fire me . . . you bastard!"

Harvey threw down the phone, kicked his desk in disgust and then began to cry again. Suddenly he turned pale, bent over and began to gag.

"What's wrong Mr. Hamlin?"

"I don't know, I feel dizzy and I can hardly breath. What's happening to me?"

"Here . . . sit down at your desk and maybe you'll feel better."

"The room is spinning. Fred, help me . . . I can't breathe . . . gasp!"

"Hang on . . . I'll call an ambulance."

"Help me Fred . . . please help me." Mr. Hamlin coughed several times and then looked into my eyes and said, "Tell Brenda I love her."

"What? I'll call an ambulance and you can tell her yourself."

"Please, tell my kids that I will miss them," he whispered as his eyes closed and he became limp in my arms.

A cold chill ran down my spine as I realized he may be dead? I felt for a pulse but there was nothing. I began to pound on his chest hoping his heart would again start to beat but he remained lifeless. Then I gave him mouth to mouth artificial respiration hoping he'd cough and suddenly come back to life, but he failed to respond. I began to cry. It wasn't that I knew Harvey very well, but to have him die in my arms disturbed me greatly.

As I started to regain my composure, I began to analyze the precarious predicament in which I found myself. What would I tell Sinclair? Let me see, if I closed the vault and then called an ambulance, would I be okay? Probably, but I didn't want to make a mistake. I looked at my watch and was distraught to see it was already 9:05 p.m. How could I explain the loss of thirty-five minutes? Not being able to think clearly, I began to pace back and forth.