Roses Are Red

Chapter Forty-One

During a robbery, the new members called themselves Mr. Blue, Mr. White, Mr. Red, and Ms Green. That morning at seven precisely, Mr. Blue was in position in the thick fir woods behind a house in the Woodley Park section of Washington.

As he'd done for the past three mornings, the bank manager, Martin Casselman, left his home at around twenty past seven. Casselman peered around the neighborhood before he got into his car. It was possible he was spooked by the recent bank robberies in Maryland and Virginia. Still, most people never really thought it could happen to them.

Casselman's wife was a teacher at Dumbarton Oaks High School. She taught English, which Mr. Blue had always hated. Mrs. C would be leaving for work sometime closer to eight. The Casselmans were both organized and predictable, which made the job simpler.

Blue crouched beside an old elm that was dying; he waited for a call on his cell phone. Everything was on schedule so far, and he felt relaxed. Approximately eight minutes after Martin Casselman left, the phone rang. He pushed the Talk button.

"Blue. Talk to me."

"Mr. C has arrived for our meeting. He's in the parking lot as we speak. Over."

"Roger that. Everything looks good for my meeting with Mrs. C."

No sooner had Blue pushed End on the phone than he saw Victoria Casselman step out of the front door of the house and lock up. She had on a pink suit and reminded him of Farrah Fawcett in her glory days.

"Where the hell is she going?" he said, surprised. There weren't supposed to be any surprises on this job. The Mastermind had supposedly scoped everything out perfectly. This wasn't perfection. Mr. Blue started to walk fast through the tangle of woods and high weeds separating him from the Casselman house. He could already see that he wasn't going to make it in time.

Mistake.

Mine, or hers?

Both of ours! She's leaving too early this morning; I'm out of position!

He began to run toward Hawthorne Street, but she was already inside her black Toyota Tercel and backing out of the driveway. If she turned right, everything was completely screwed. If she turned left, he still had a chance to save the day. C'mon, Farrah honey, go left!

Mr. Blue was trying to think of something to shout to her -something that would stop her cold. What, though? Think. Think.

Good girl! She had turned left, but he still didn't think he could get to the freaking road in time to stop her.

He started to sprint, head down. He felt a burst of sudden, deep heat roaring through his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to run at full tilt like this.

"Hey! Hey! Can you help me!” he called at the top of his voice," Please help me! Help!"

Victoria Casselman's head of teased blonde hair turned when she heard the shouts coming on her street. She slowed the car a little, but she still didn't stop completely.

He had to stop her.

"My wife's having a baby!" Blue shouted. "Please help. My wife's having a baby."

He sighed with incredible relief when he saw the black sedan stop in the middle of the road. He hoped that no busybody neighbor was watching from one of the houses lined up and down the street. It didn't matter, though. He had to stop her one way or the other. He was still gasping as he ran up to the car.

"What's the matter with you? Where's your wife? "Victoria Casselman called to him through the open window.

Mr. Blue continued to wheeze until he was right up beside the car. Then he pulled out a Sig-Sauer pistol and whacked her jaw with the barrel. Victoria Casselman's head snapped to the side and she cried out in pain.

"We're going back to the house!" he shouted as he jumped into the car. He held the gun to her forehead.

"Where the hell were you going at seven-thirty? Oh just shut up. I

don't really care. You made a mistake, Victoria. You made a bad mistake." It was all Mr. Blue could do not to shoot her dead in the front seat of her car.

me;