Free ANYTHING 4 PROFIT (ANYTHING FOR PROFIT) by Justin Amen Floyd Page B

the pillow, he was out cold.
                  Mike walked into the living room and stretched out on the thick cushions of the black leather couch. He kicked his shoes off and closed his eyes, playing back in his mind the numerous crimes that he and his homey had committed over the years.
                  Like the time they had kicked in the door of a hustler by the name of Dog barefaced, while his wife and young children were in the house. Dog wasn’t really a major player in the game, but it was still a nice little lick for two young niggas trying to come up. They had hogtied Dog and pistol whipped his wife until he broke down and told them where the money and crack was at.
      Mike’s eyes closed as he took a sordid trip down Memory Lane. Getting comfortable, he thought back on the first major lick he, Ant D, and Meka had ever pulled together a couple years ago…
              “Everybody on the muh’fuckin’ floor!!” yelled the two ski-masked figures standing at the center of Greenville, South Carolina’s First Union Bank. Both men’s attire was entirely blacked out.  They wore black hoodies, black cargo pants, and black Timberlands. Underneath their hoodies, they wore lightweight Kevlar bulletproof vests that were designed to protect law enforcement officers from high caliber handgun rounds. Black leather gloves covered their hands, which were tightly gripping AK-47 assault rifles. Their fingers rested on the triggers, ready to squeeze at the slightest resistance to their demands.
               “I said everybody on the muh’fuckin’ floor! Y’all know what time it is!”
      A tall, heavyset, White man, conservatively dressed in a navy blue business suit, looked at his watch as if that was a question. He was actually attempting to determine what the time was!
      “Man, get yo’ stupid ass on the ground!” the robber yelled, while pointing the chopper at him. Filled with fear, the White man’s eyes got big, and his face turned beet red.  He quickly dropped to the highly waxed bank floor, praying that he wouldn’t be shot.
              The taller of the two masked figures lifted the AK towards the ceiling and squeezed the trigger, letting off a barrage of high caliber rounds. The sound of gunfire filled the air, along with the heavy odor of cordite. Terrified screams of customers and employees filled the bank, and the few who were still standing dropped to the ground like sacks of potatoes.
              It was 9:30 in the morning, so the bank had only been open for business for thirty minutes. There were very few people besides the tellers and managers inside, and that was exactly how the men robbing the bank wanted it. Fewer people meant fewer bodies they had to keep their eyes on.
       On a job like this, there was absolutely no time to waste, so one of the masked men ran over to the long, marble teller’s desk, and slid over the counter. His partner remained at the center of the floor, making sure nobody tried to be a hero. Behind the desk, lying face down on the floor were the three female tellers who regularly worked at First Union Monday through Friday. One was a heavyset, middle aged, Black woman. The other two were young White girls, fresh out of college.
       Using his right hand to keep the assault rifle steady in his grasp, the ski-masked man reached down with his left, and grabbed a handful of soft blond hair. He jerked one of the tellers violently onto her feet. She screamed out in a combination of pain and fear. With tears beginning to ruin her make-up as they slid from her big blue eyes, she pleaded for her life.“P-p-please don’t h-h-hurt me!” she sobbed.
                “Bitch, shut the fuck up! Did I tell you to talk?”
      What little color her pale face possessed immediately drained from it when she felt the barrel of his AK being jammed in  her ribs. “Get a bag, and empty all the drawers into the bag. And hurry