"She hasn't gotten over what happened in Bermuda," I whispered. "She doesn't want to be with a homicide detective. She can't do it. She doesn't want to be with me."
Nana whispered back at me, "You're taking too much on your shoulders. You're taking on blame you shouldn't. It's bending you, Alex. You can break. You listen to Nana now."
"I'm listening. I always do."
"Do not."
"Do too."
"Do not, and I can keep this up longer than you," she snapped. "Besides, it proves my point."
Nana always has the last word. She is the best psychologist in the house, or so she tells me constantly.
Chapter Thirteen
The second bank robbery went off like a time bomb early that morning in the town of Falls Church, Virginia, about nine miles outside Washington.
The bank manager's house was a well-maintained Colonial in a sweet neighborhood where people seemed to genuinely like one another. There was evidence of well-loved children everywhere: Tyco toys, bikes, a basketball net, dueling swings, a makeshift lemonade stand. There was a beautiful garden filled with flowered shrubs. Birds perched on a whimsical weathervane a witch on a broom up on the garage roof. That morning you could almost hear the witch's cackle.
The Mastermind had told his new crew what they would find and how they should proceed. Every move was carefully planned and rehearsed.
The new crew was superior to the Parkers. It had taken half of the money from the Citibank job to interest them, but it was worth it. They called one another Mr. Red, Mr. White, Mr. Blue, and Ms Green. They had long hair and looked like a heavy-metal rock band, but they were an efficient team, very high tech.
Mr. Blue was at the First Union branch when it opened in downtown Falls Church. Ms Green went there with him. They both had semiautomatic weapons in shoulder holsters underneath their windbreakers.