Ria's Bank Job (Ria Miller and the Monsters) Read online

  RIA’S BANK JOB

  RIA MILLER AND THE MONSTERS BOOK 1.5

  NIGEL HENRY

  Copyright 2017 © Nigel Henry. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events, or locales, is strange but entirely coincidental.

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  Cover by Clarissa Yeo

  Editing by Teragram Author Services

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Did you like what you read?

  About the Author

  Also by Nigel Henry

  ONE

  CAL TRIED to stifle the shiver that ran down his spine as the bank came into view. He wanted to be brave, but his heart began racing the moment he saw the bright green NightTrust Financial sign as it illuminated the corner of West 4th Street. Fear coursed through him, filling his every muscle and making him feel like he would tremble apart into bits.

  A loud snort sounded to Cal’s right, and he turned to see Bryan rolling his eyes. “Cut that shit out, will you?” Bryan snapped. He put a brown hand to his face, adjusting his sunglasses and pulling his blue baseball cap down. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry,” Cal said, wishing he could will himself to be strong.

  “It’s fine, Cal,” Rachel said as she moved past Bryan and gently stroked Cal’s head. “Don’t you worry about it. Everything’s going to be just fine.” Her words and touch soothed him, and Cal felt a little less afraid. He liked Rachel. She was always kind to him.

  Then there was Dale. Cal watched Dale as the group drew closer to the bank entrance, seeing the way his lips pressed together tightly and his eyebrows furrowed. Dale didn’t say anything to reassure Cal. But that’s because he didn’t have to. Cal knew Dale would kill him if he screwed up.

  “You’re damn right, I will,” Dale said, reading his thoughts. The words only served to make Cal more nervous. He didn’t want to screw up.

  “Just remember why we’re here,” Rachel said. “Just two more and we’re done. Done forever.”

  “Exactly,” Bryan said. “So don’t fuck it up.”

  Cal suppressed another shiver and adjusted his wings. He hated being in the sparrow form right now. He felt so vulnerable, perched on Dale’s shoulder. The moment they walked into the bank, all eyes would be on him. The pressure made his stomach churn.

  Bryan rolled his eyes. “You don’t even have to do anything. Just look around and make sure we don’t get killed.”

  “Everyone shut the fuck up,” Dale hissed, and the entire pack fell silent. Such was the power of the pack leader. Dale glanced at his watch. “Six-thirty. If Eric’s right, they should be arriving right … about … now.”

  At that moment a red armored car with the words “STERLING SECURITY” on it chugged past them and pulled up in front of the bank. Dale watched as two blue-shirted security guards stepped out of the vehicle and made their way to the back. Then he nodded to Cal.

  “Go.”

  Struggling to contain his nerves, Cal stretched his wings and took off. He circled the armored car twice, trying to notice every detail about the guards from his birds-eye view. Both were men, one tall, white and muscular, the other brown-skinned and slightly pudgy. They both had guns, but the pudgy one wore his pants slightly lower than his waistline. That meant it would take him an extra moment to reach the weapon. Rachel could take him. Bryan and Dale would handle the other.

  He landed back on Dale’s shoulder, not needing to relay the information. That was one advantage of being part of the pack. Information flowed between them. Emotions, too, which is why Bryan wanted him to calm down. Thankfully, he felt a bit of Rachel’s poise. It helped.

  “Let’s go,” Dale said. “We do this quickly.”

  Cal’s fear grew as Dale started into the bank, Bryan and Rachel just a step behind. He felt dizzy and had to dig his feet into the threads of Dale’s denim jacket just to keep from falling off.

  With Cal perched on his shoulder, Dale made his way to the back of a three-person line in front of a teller while Bryan and Rachel walked over to another banker and asked questions about opening an account.

  “Fly,” Dale whispered. Cal took off, fluttering around the bank once, taking in the room. One extra security guard. He had a gun, but he was at the door. The others could take him. Everyone else was either old or weak. They wouldn’t fight. He hoped.

  He landed on Dale’s shoulder as a small, gray-haired lady in front of them moved up to the teller and dropped a plastic bag on the counter with a clang.

  “I’d like to deposit these. Could you count them?” she said to the teller, a skinny, clean-shaven man with orange hair. The man sighed, opened the bag, and sighed again.

  “Next in line?”

  A woman at the opposite end of the counter waved Dale over. She was thin, with dark black hair and a smile that made Cal feel sorry for what was about to happen.

  She beamed at Cal as Dale walked up. “What do we have here? What a beautiful bird.”

  “Thank you,” Dale said, smiling like he never did to the pack. “Say hi, Cal.”

  Cal chirped twice, drawing a delighted laugh from the woman. “Oh, that’s so sweet! What a smart little guy!” She stroked Cal’s head and he leaned in, enjoying the feeling. This lady was nice.

  The woman turned her attention back to Dale as a ding from the front doorbell announced the arrival of the security guards from the armored car. “And what can I do for you today, sir?” The woman asked.

  If Cal had hands, he would have covered his eyes.

  “Simple,” Dale said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a six-inch long, serrated knife. “Get the fuck away from the counter. Now.”

  The woman’s smile faded as her eyes traveled from Dale’s face to the knife. She started to scream, but Dale reached across the counter, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her over. Cal fluttered out of the way, wishing he was anywhere but here.

  The two guards from the truck immediately dropped the bags they carried and rushed to the teller’s aid, only to be intercepted by Rachel and Bryan, who revealed their knives in time to stab the would-be help.

  Bryan grabbed one of the bags and headed toward the exit with Rachel. “Let’s move!” he shouted.

  Cal started fluttering to the door but turned back to see Dale as he fought with the third guard. The man drew his gun, but Dale tackled him to the ground and the weapon went skidding across the carpeted floor.

  The two men rolled around, trading punches while everyone near ran for cover. The two continued rolling until the guard came on top. He punched Dale in the face again and again, until blood leaked down Dale’s nose, coating his lips.

  Dale looked to the side, spotting the guard’s gun just out of arm’s reach. Still taking blows to the face, Dale stretched, desperately trying to get to the gun.

  “No!”

  The teller ran out from her corner,
kicking the gun from Dale’s reach and sending it skittering across the floor. She tried to get away again, but Dale punched the guard in the face, knocking him off, before turning and grabbing the woman by the ankle.

  She screamed and kicked at him, but Dale punched her hard across the jaw. She clutched her face, crying as Dale stepped over her, his mouth covered in blood and his eyes wild. Cal knew that look. Dale would kill her.

  “Please, don’t do this!” She screamed as Dale picked up the knife. He drew it back, and that’s when Cal decided he couldn’t just watch.

  Summoning all his courage, Cal fluttered between the woman and Dale. “Stop!”

  Dale’s eyes went wide. The woman’s, too. Cal knew she’d heard him. But he continued. “We have everything! You don’t have to hurt anyone!”

  “Get out of the—”

  The security guard, having recovered, slammed a baton across Dale’s head. Dale stumbled and turned around as the guard swung again, aiming for Dale’s forehead.

  The blow didn’t connect. Because at that moment Dale was no longer there. Instead, fluttering next to Cal, was a fat gray and white pigeon.

  The guard and the woman watched the exchange with wide eyes as the pigeon turned to Cal.

  “Let’s go!” Dale said to Cal as he flew toward the door. “And if you ever get in my way again, I’ll kill you.”

  Dale took off into the night as the police sirens sounded. Cal followed, knowing full well that Dale meant the threat.

  TWO

  “I GET to be bad cop this time, right?”

  I can barely contain my excitement in the backseat of my parent’s black Ford Prius as we drive toward the NightTrust Financial Bank branch on West 4th Street. Mom and Dad have to let me play bad cop. I called it, and everyone knows you have to respect the sanctity of calling it.

  “No one’s playing anything,” My mother says from the passenger seat. “These people are the victims. We’re not here to interrogate them.”

  “Unless one of them was secretly in on it,” I counter. “Isn’t that how it goes with bank robberies? There’s always an inside man.”

  “How about we hold off on the conspiracy theories until we actually get to the crime scene?” Dad suggests.

  “Whatever. I bet you it was an inside job.”

  If it seems like I’m being paranoid, that’s because I just had to deal with another inside job, one where two half-human spiders posed as teachers in order to kidnap and eat students in my high school. That shit sucked. And to top it all off, one of them broke my car window, which is why I’m stuck in the backseat of my parent’s Prius.

  So yeah, I’m feeling a bit stabby right now. And I mean that literally.

  My name’s Ria Miller, and my parents and I stab things for a living. Well, not so much for a living as much as to stay living. We’re monster hunters; the people you call when the things that go bump in the night say “screw it” to bumping and skip ahead to snacking, slashing, and now, apparently, bank robbing.

  About a half-hour ago my Dad got a call from Inspector Perkins at the police department about a bank robbery that witnesses said involved people turning into animals. Now, I’m not crazy about having to protect banks, but if we are dealing with shape-shifters, it’s probably going to be out of the NYPD’s expertise.

  So that’s where we come in. Hopefully, it’s as simple as show up, find out what’s robbing the banks, trace them to their hideout and stab them a couple of times until they decide to do something more productive with their lives. Like, go on a reality show or something. I’m not really picky.

  We pull onto West 4th Street and are greeted by about six police cars and two ambulances lined up and down the block near the bank. I can see a red armored car parked in front and paramedics are wheeling out a man on a stretcher toward the ambulance.

  “Shit,” I say aloud. “What happened here?”

  “Language,” Mom chides me. I roll my eyes.

  We park the Prius a few blocks away and hop out. I stretch my legs and yawn. Manhattan’s not a long way from our house in Brooklyn, but rush-hour traffic will probably kill more people than werewolves.

  Dad takes the lead toward the bank, and I’m content to let him and Mom go first. I haven’t been quite so hot about police ever since I had a run-in with a few of them during the whole spider thing. It was a case of mistaken identity, really: they thought I murdered a girl in an alley when really it was a piece of shit vampire that I’m going to kill if I ever see again. Could happen to anyone, really, and I managed to get away. But that doesn’t mean I’m keen on doing anything to jog anyone’s memory about that night.

  Dad pulls out his phone, taps a few buttons and holds it up to his face. “We’re here. See you soon.”

  A few moments after he hangs up, I see Inspector Steven Perkins as he steps out of the bank. I’m used to seeing him in jeans and a sports coat, but I guess bank robberies call for you to dress for business because he’s wearing his white commanding officer’s shirt, black tie, and even his police hat. He looks tired. His face is red, and he’s even sporting a new pair of bags under his green eyes.

  He spots us, then walks over to a few cops nearby and says something to them. They nod and head off toward one of the ambulances, clearing the way for us.

  “Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Perkins says as he and Dad shake hands. I consider mentioning the traffic but reconsider. He doesn’t seem to be in the joking mood.

  “No problem,” Dad says. “What are we looking at?”

  “From the surface, it looks like your standard crew bank robbery. Three perps: two men and a woman. They enter the bank, attack the tellers, stab the guards and make off with a cash deposit. Only thing is two eyewitnesses say they saw the man turn into a bird and fly away.”

  “That’s a new one,” Mom says.

  “I was hoping that was something you’d dealt with before.”

  Dad shakes his head. “Wolves, bats, and spiders, we’ve dealt with. Birds are a new one.”

  I snort at the mention of bats and everyone looks at me. “Sorry,” I say. “I just pictured a vampire flying off as a bat holding a sack of cash with tiny feet.”

  Dad continues. “Any chance we can take a look around?”

  “I’ll do you one better,” Perkins says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out three wallets. He hands one to each of us. I flip it open and see my photo on what looks like a very convincing FBI ID card. According to this, I’m Special Agent Hicks.

  “They’re finally ready?” Dad asks, eyeing his badge.

  “Yeah, and you wouldn’t believe how many felonies I had to let slide in order to get these made,” Perkins says. “Pay me back by catching these sons of bitches. Show those as you walk in and you’ll get through.”

  He starts toward the bank. We all follow. A few of the cops give me confused glances, but I ignore them and keep on toward the entrance. If I’ve learned anything about faking it, confidence is the key.

  It’s not until I get inside the bank that I can really see how much hell broke loose. There are two pools of blood near the front door, with more blood splattering across the carpet by the teller counter. A couple of desks have been knocked over, and some flower planters were shattered. Then I see a couple of plainclothes cops taking pictures of a big fucking knife and I realize we might be dealing with more than just your garden variety monster.

  “I’m guessing the guards didn’t bring that to the party,” I say to Perkins as we continue past the entrance.

  “Nope.” He points to a short white woman who’s holding an ice pack to her jaw while talking to one of the cops. Judging from her black suit and green tie, I’m guessing she’s a bank employee. “She says one of the perps tried to stab her and then turned into a bird after getting clocked with a billy club.”

  “I don’t like the idea of monsters that use knives,” Mom says.

  “I wish that was the weirdest part,” Perkins says. “Come on, see for yourselves.”

>   He leads us to the woman and tells the officer interviewing her to go canvass the vault. He then introduces us to the woman.

  “Thank you so much for your patience, Ms. Carmichael. These folks would like to ask you a few questions. This is Special Agent Tomlinson, Special Agent Friday, and Special Agent Hicks,” he says, motioning to Dad, Mom and me.

  “It’s Shelly,” the woman says.

  Dad nods and pulls a notepad out of his back pocket. “Of course, Shelly. I can’t imagine what you went through. We have a general idea of what happened, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mind giving your story one more time.”

  Shelly looks to Perkins like she’s unsure about saying anything. That’s when Mom doubles down on good cop. “Please, Shelly. Don’t worry about how it sounds. We have experience with… unusual cases.”

  Shelly looks from Mom to Dad, then takes a deep breath. “I don’t really have much. It all happened so fast. I call this guy up to the counter. He’s got a bird on his shoulder. At first, it’s all cute because he’s making the bird sing and all that. But then he grabs me by the hair and pulls me over. Frank tackles him to the ground—”

  “Frank’s another employee?” Mom asks as Dad scribbles notes in his notebook.

  Shelly nods. “He’s a security guard. The two of them roll around for a bit, punching each other. But then the guy goes for Frank’s gun. I knew if he got it he’d shoot him, so I didn’t think, I just ran out and kicked it out of the way.”

  “Where’s Frank now?” Dad asks.

  Perkins points out the door. “He got beat up pretty bad. He’s in one of the ambulances.”