Excerpt from Revenge Story
An excerpt from Julia Broussard's new book 'Revenge Story,' published by Adventure Books of Seattle.
Content
Chapter 7 (Excerpt from Revenge Story by Julia Broussard)
(Preface: Ray Morris, a former US Army officer who served in Iraq, and his wife Karen, have fallen in with Morris’
former Top Sergeant Ben Cummings. After a minor confrontation with an Oregon cop that escalated, the Morris
couple took refuge with Cummings. What they didn’t know was that Cummings turned to robbing banks a while ago.
Cummings takes them in, but takes advantage of the fact that the cops are looking for the Morris’ and convinces them
their only way out is to get their hands on enough money so all three of them can leave the country. But things have
gone from bad to worse. Cummings has already killed several police officers and the three of them are placed on the
F.B.I.’s Top Ten Most Wanted List...and they haven’t even robbed any banks yet. Now every cop in Northern California
is looking for them, and that includes staking out many of the local banks.)
CHP officers Michael Watson and Drew Pierce sipped their coffee and kept a steady watch on the front
doors of First National in Eureka. They were parked in an unmarked car across the street and about a halfblock down from the bank. This gave them a good view of everyone coming into and out of the bank. The
bank had been open for fifteen minutes now, and so far, everything seemed normal.
“Ah, they probably won’t try hitting a downtown branch anyway,” said Watson. “Maybe some
smaller bank near the edge of town. You think?”
“Maybe,” said Pierce, who was sitting on the passenger side of the car. He pulled back the slide
gently on the twelve-gauge shotgun he held and checked to insure there was a shell in the chamber. He
lowered the slide just as gently. “Where’s our backup?”
“Ten blocks east,” said Watson. “Martin and that rookie, what’s his name...”
“Turner. Dave Turner.”
“Yeah. They’re over at Chase Bank, main branch.”
“Nobody closer?”
“Not right now,” said Watson. “Look, just in case those guys show up here, I’m not giving them a
chance to do to us what they did to Harris and Gordon. I’ll blow their fucking heads off without as much
as a how-do-you-do. And if you’re smart, you’ll do the same. No one’s going to say anything if we put
them down without a warning shot. You understand?”
“I’m with you, partner,” said Pierce. “Shoot on sight works for me. Just as long as we get our
stories straight afterward.”
As they watched, a white BMW sedan pulled up to the curb on the other side of the street in front
of the bank. Two men wearing long coats got out of the car. One of the men stopped long enough to drop
some quarters into the parking meter. They both headed into the bank.
“Run that Beamer plate,” said Pierce.
“Dispatch,” said Watson into the radio, “one Lincoln six.”
“One Lincoln six go.”
“I need a ten twenty-eight on a white BMW sedan. California license BROKER 1, vanity plate.”
“Roger, one Lincoln six. Stand by.”
A few seconds passed while the dispatcher ran the license number. “One Lincoln six,” came the
response. “Vehicle registered to Wayne Hargrove, Eureka address. No wants or warrants.”
“Roger,” said Watson. “One Lincoln six out.” He looked at his partner and tapped his fingers
nervously. “Just some locals. Rich folks, no doubt.”
“Everyone freeze!” Ben shouted. He leaped over the counter and approached the bank manager. “Tell
everyone to stay off the alarms,” he said, leveling the BAR at her head. “If I see a single cop pull up
outside, I start shooting people.”
The young woman stood up from her desk and put her arms into the air. “Do what he says,” she
said in a loud voice. “Do not trigger the alarms.”
Ray Morris took a spot near the front door, where he could keep watch on the few early-bird
customers now cowering on the floor of the lobby. Another customer walked in and Ray grabbed him,
throwing him to the floor with the others. “Stay there,” he ordered. “Keep your head down.”
Ben marched the bank manager over to the vault cage. There was a door with steel bars. “Open it,”
he ordered.
The woman’s hands shook as she pulled out her key and inserted it into the lock. She missed the
lock and tried again, unsuccessfully. “What’s your name, ma’am?” said Ben. He took the key from her
hand and opened the cage door smoothly.
“My name?”
“Yeah.”
“Penny Appleton.”
“Okay, Mrs. Manager. Go on in. I want the money,” he said. “Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman led him to a grey upright safe the size of a refrigerator. She pointed to it. “In there. It’s
all in there.”
“Open it, please.”
She spun the dial on the safe one way, then another, and then rotated the handle, swinging it open.
Ben grabbed her by the collar and shoved her to her knees in front of the safe. He laid the barrel of
the heavy rifle on her shoulder. “Now if you put any dye packs or bait money into this bag I’ll blow your
brains out, you understand?”
“What bag?”
Ben pulled out a black garbage bag and dropped it on the floor. “This bag. I know what bait
money and dye packs look like, so don’t try it. Now get the goddamn money into the bag, every cent.”
“Yes, sir.” She reached up and removed a few bundles of bills from the top shelf, setting them
aside on the floor. “That’s all the bait money,” she said. “And the dye packs.”
“Smart girl. Now put the rest of it into the bag.”
The frightened woman pulled row after row of bundled cash from the remaining shelves and
stuffed them into the garbage bag. She held the bag up for Ben without looking at his face. “That’s all of
it, sir. Except for what the tellers have in their drawers.”
Ben pulled her to her feet and hefted the bag. It was surprisingly heavy. I was right about this
place and the big cash drops, he thought. Must be close to a half-million bucks. “We’ll forget about the
tellers, Penny. You did well. Now get back out there and sit down on the floor,” he said.
She walked out of the vault cage and sat down near her desk. Ben leaped back over the counter
with the heavy bag of money and smiled at Morris. “See? Told you it was easy. Let’s go.”
Outside the bank, another call came in to the stakeout car. “One Lincoln six,” said the dispatcher.
“One Lincoln six go,” Watson answered.
“Additional on your white BMW with the BROKER 1 vanity plates. A man claiming to be the
owner just called it in ten twenty-nine Victor. Details are still coming in, but he said he was the victim of
a home invasion. Officers are in route to the victim’s home, code three.”
“Dispatch, one Lincoln six,” said Watson. “You have the address on that Beamer registration?”
“Two sixteen Elk River Road.”
“Shit!” Watson said, smacking his partner on the shoulder. “That address is right near the
shootout. They’re in the fucking bank!” He shouted into the radio, “Dispatch! One Lincoln six. Those
murder suspects are inside the First National right now, main branch. Requesting backup. One Lincoln six
out goddamnit!” He dropped the microphone. “Let’s go!”
Both men jumped from the car with their shotguns at the ready and ran across the street toward the
bank.
Ben and Ray emerged from the bank with their weapons hidden under their coats and calmly headed for
the BMW. They saw the two cops instantly.
“Take this,” said Ben, handing Ray the bag of money. “Get to the car. I’ll cover. Hurry up.”
As Ray Morris ran for the BMW, Ben brought up the BAR from under his coat and squeezed off a
loud burst. Bullets splattered the pavement around the officers, missing them, but forcing them to duck
behind a parked car two slots back from the BMW.
One of the cops fired a shotgun blast at Ray, hitting him. The force spun him around like a ballet
dancer doing a pirouette. He fell to the pavement near the passenger door of the BMW and grabbed his
leg. “I’m hit!”
Ben dodged a couple of shotgun blasts tossed his way and ducked low, running for the car and
firing his BAR at the same time. The heavy bullets punched through the metal and glass of the parked car
where the cops were hiding. The officers returned fire with their shotguns, blowing out a storefront
window behind him. He slammed another magazine into the BAR and fired a second time, hitting one of
the officers, who staggered back and collapsed into the street. Shoppers and passersby ran for cover,
screaming and shouting. Somewhere up the street, two cars crashed into each other and car alarms blared
up and down the block.
Ducking behind the front of the BMW, Ben took a quick glance at Ray, who was lying on the
sidewalk near the passenger door of the car. “Get your lazy ass off the ground! Get in the fucking car!” he
yelled.
Ray stayed low and opened the passenger door, throwing the moneybag into the rear seat after
some effort. His leg was covered in blood and his face was ashen. He crawled inside and shut the door.
The other cop continued firing shotgun blasts at the BMW, but the car parked between them was
making him miss.
Ben ran around to the driver’s side of the BMW and fired off a long burst at the remaining cop.
The cop ducked even lower behind the car he was using as a shield and Ben saw him cramming more
shells into his shotgun.
“Come on, Ben!” Morris shouted from the car. “Let’s go!”
Ben emptied the remainder of the magazine at the cop and then opened the door and tossed the
BAR into the back seat on top of the moneybag. Then he took a grenade from his pocket and pulled the
pin. He lobbed it high into the air with an expert toss and watched it hit the roof of the car where the cop
was hiding. It rolled off toward the trunk area and exploded with an ear-splitting crack. “How do you like
me now, you bastard!” he shouted, pulling out a pistol.
A couple of seconds later, the cop stumbled out from behind the parked car. Blood was streaming
down his face and he was holding both hands over his ears. The shotgun was on the ground.
“Ben! Come ON!”
Ben took careful aim with his pistol and fired several shots at the officer. The bullets spun him
around and the cop finally collapsed in the street near his partner. Ben jumped into the BMW and started
it, pulling away from the curb. As he glanced into the rear view mirror, he saw that neither of the cops
was moving. “I think I got that last one good,” he said as they sped away.
(Preface: Ray Morris, a former US Army officer who served in Iraq, and his wife Karen, have fallen in with Morris’
former Top Sergeant Ben Cummings. After a minor confrontation with an Oregon cop that escalated, the Morris
couple took refuge with Cummings. What they didn’t know was that Cummings turned to robbing banks a while ago.
Cummings takes them in, but takes advantage of the fact that the cops are looking for the Morris’ and convinces them
their only way out is to get their hands on enough money so all three of them can leave the country. But things have
gone from bad to worse. Cummings has already killed several police officers and the three of them are placed on the
F.B.I.’s Top Ten Most Wanted List...and they haven’t even robbed any banks yet. Now every cop in Northern California
is looking for them, and that includes staking out many of the local banks.)
CHP officers Michael Watson and Drew Pierce sipped their coffee and kept a steady watch on the front
doors of First National in Eureka. They were parked in an unmarked car across the street and about a halfblock down from the bank. This gave them a good view of everyone coming into and out of the bank. The
bank had been open for fifteen minutes now, and so far, everything seemed normal.
“Ah, they probably won’t try hitting a downtown branch anyway,” said Watson. “Maybe some
smaller bank near the edge of town. You think?”
“Maybe,” said Pierce, who was sitting on the passenger side of the car. He pulled back the slide
gently on the twelve-gauge shotgun he held and checked to insure there was a shell in the chamber. He
lowered the slide just as gently. “Where’s our backup?”
“Ten blocks east,” said Watson. “Martin and that rookie, what’s his name...”
“Turner. Dave Turner.”
“Yeah. They’re over at Chase Bank, main branch.”
“Nobody closer?”
“Not right now,” said Watson. “Look, just in case those guys show up here, I’m not giving them a
chance to do to us what they did to Harris and Gordon. I’ll blow their fucking heads off without as much
as a how-do-you-do. And if you’re smart, you’ll do the same. No one’s going to say anything if we put
them down without a warning shot. You understand?”
“I’m with you, partner,” said Pierce. “Shoot on sight works for me. Just as long as we get our
stories straight afterward.”
As they watched, a white BMW sedan pulled up to the curb on the other side of the street in front
of the bank. Two men wearing long coats got out of the car. One of the men stopped long enough to drop
some quarters into the parking meter. They both headed into the bank.
“Run that Beamer plate,” said Pierce.
“Dispatch,” said Watson into the radio, “one Lincoln six.”
“One Lincoln six go.”
“I need a ten twenty-eight on a white BMW sedan. California license BROKER 1, vanity plate.”
“Roger, one Lincoln six. Stand by.”
A few seconds passed while the dispatcher ran the license number. “One Lincoln six,” came the
response. “Vehicle registered to Wayne Hargrove, Eureka address. No wants or warrants.”
“Roger,” said Watson. “One Lincoln six out.” He looked at his partner and tapped his fingers
nervously. “Just some locals. Rich folks, no doubt.”
“Everyone freeze!” Ben shouted. He leaped over the counter and approached the bank manager. “Tell
everyone to stay off the alarms,” he said, leveling the BAR at her head. “If I see a single cop pull up
outside, I start shooting people.”
The young woman stood up from her desk and put her arms into the air. “Do what he says,” she
said in a loud voice. “Do not trigger the alarms.”
Ray Morris took a spot near the front door, where he could keep watch on the few early-bird
customers now cowering on the floor of the lobby. Another customer walked in and Ray grabbed him,
throwing him to the floor with the others. “Stay there,” he ordered. “Keep your head down.”
Ben marched the bank manager over to the vault cage. There was a door with steel bars. “Open it,”
he ordered.
The woman’s hands shook as she pulled out her key and inserted it into the lock. She missed the
lock and tried again, unsuccessfully. “What’s your name, ma’am?” said Ben. He took the key from her
hand and opened the cage door smoothly.
“My name?”
“Yeah.”
“Penny Appleton.”
“Okay, Mrs. Manager. Go on in. I want the money,” he said. “Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman led him to a grey upright safe the size of a refrigerator. She pointed to it. “In there. It’s
all in there.”
“Open it, please.”
She spun the dial on the safe one way, then another, and then rotated the handle, swinging it open.
Ben grabbed her by the collar and shoved her to her knees in front of the safe. He laid the barrel of
the heavy rifle on her shoulder. “Now if you put any dye packs or bait money into this bag I’ll blow your
brains out, you understand?”
“What bag?”
Ben pulled out a black garbage bag and dropped it on the floor. “This bag. I know what bait
money and dye packs look like, so don’t try it. Now get the goddamn money into the bag, every cent.”
“Yes, sir.” She reached up and removed a few bundles of bills from the top shelf, setting them
aside on the floor. “That’s all the bait money,” she said. “And the dye packs.”
“Smart girl. Now put the rest of it into the bag.”
The frightened woman pulled row after row of bundled cash from the remaining shelves and
stuffed them into the garbage bag. She held the bag up for Ben without looking at his face. “That’s all of
it, sir. Except for what the tellers have in their drawers.”
Ben pulled her to her feet and hefted the bag. It was surprisingly heavy. I was right about this
place and the big cash drops, he thought. Must be close to a half-million bucks. “We’ll forget about the
tellers, Penny. You did well. Now get back out there and sit down on the floor,” he said.
She walked out of the vault cage and sat down near her desk. Ben leaped back over the counter
with the heavy bag of money and smiled at Morris. “See? Told you it was easy. Let’s go.”
Outside the bank, another call came in to the stakeout car. “One Lincoln six,” said the dispatcher.
“One Lincoln six go,” Watson answered.
“Additional on your white BMW with the BROKER 1 vanity plates. A man claiming to be the
owner just called it in ten twenty-nine Victor. Details are still coming in, but he said he was the victim of
a home invasion. Officers are in route to the victim’s home, code three.”
“Dispatch, one Lincoln six,” said Watson. “You have the address on that Beamer registration?”
“Two sixteen Elk River Road.”
“Shit!” Watson said, smacking his partner on the shoulder. “That address is right near the
shootout. They’re in the fucking bank!” He shouted into the radio, “Dispatch! One Lincoln six. Those
murder suspects are inside the First National right now, main branch. Requesting backup. One Lincoln six
out goddamnit!” He dropped the microphone. “Let’s go!”
Both men jumped from the car with their shotguns at the ready and ran across the street toward the
bank.
Ben and Ray emerged from the bank with their weapons hidden under their coats and calmly headed for
the BMW. They saw the two cops instantly.
“Take this,” said Ben, handing Ray the bag of money. “Get to the car. I’ll cover. Hurry up.”
As Ray Morris ran for the BMW, Ben brought up the BAR from under his coat and squeezed off a
loud burst. Bullets splattered the pavement around the officers, missing them, but forcing them to duck
behind a parked car two slots back from the BMW.
One of the cops fired a shotgun blast at Ray, hitting him. The force spun him around like a ballet
dancer doing a pirouette. He fell to the pavement near the passenger door of the BMW and grabbed his
leg. “I’m hit!”
Ben dodged a couple of shotgun blasts tossed his way and ducked low, running for the car and
firing his BAR at the same time. The heavy bullets punched through the metal and glass of the parked car
where the cops were hiding. The officers returned fire with their shotguns, blowing out a storefront
window behind him. He slammed another magazine into the BAR and fired a second time, hitting one of
the officers, who staggered back and collapsed into the street. Shoppers and passersby ran for cover,
screaming and shouting. Somewhere up the street, two cars crashed into each other and car alarms blared
up and down the block.
Ducking behind the front of the BMW, Ben took a quick glance at Ray, who was lying on the
sidewalk near the passenger door of the car. “Get your lazy ass off the ground! Get in the fucking car!” he
yelled.
Ray stayed low and opened the passenger door, throwing the moneybag into the rear seat after
some effort. His leg was covered in blood and his face was ashen. He crawled inside and shut the door.
The other cop continued firing shotgun blasts at the BMW, but the car parked between them was
making him miss.
Ben ran around to the driver’s side of the BMW and fired off a long burst at the remaining cop.
The cop ducked even lower behind the car he was using as a shield and Ben saw him cramming more
shells into his shotgun.
“Come on, Ben!” Morris shouted from the car. “Let’s go!”
Ben emptied the remainder of the magazine at the cop and then opened the door and tossed the
BAR into the back seat on top of the moneybag. Then he took a grenade from his pocket and pulled the
pin. He lobbed it high into the air with an expert toss and watched it hit the roof of the car where the cop
was hiding. It rolled off toward the trunk area and exploded with an ear-splitting crack. “How do you like
me now, you bastard!” he shouted, pulling out a pistol.
A couple of seconds later, the cop stumbled out from behind the parked car. Blood was streaming
down his face and he was holding both hands over his ears. The shotgun was on the ground.
“Ben! Come ON!”
Ben took careful aim with his pistol and fired several shots at the officer. The bullets spun him
around and the cop finally collapsed in the street near his partner. Ben jumped into the BMW and started
it, pulling away from the curb. As he glanced into the rear view mirror, he saw that neither of the cops
was moving. “I think I got that last one good,” he said as they sped away.
