The Banks Sisters

  The Banks Sisters

  Nikki Turner

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  -1-

  -2-

  -3-

  -4-

  -5- Yield Not to Temptation

  -6- The Step Monster

  -7-

  -8-

  -9-

  -10-

  -11-

  -12-

  -13-

  -14-

  -15-

  -16-

  -17-

  -18-

  -19-

  -20-

  -21-

  -22-

  -23-

  -24-

  -25-

  -26-

  -27-

  -28-

  -29-

  -30-

  -31-

  -32-

  -33-

  -34-

  -35-

  -36-

  -37-

  -38-

  -39-

  -40-

  -41-

  -42-

  Notes

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my greatest creation, my everything, my only son, Timmond Turner, I could not imagine my world without you! As I watch you turn into a young man, you continue to make my heart smile as you grown into your own. Our bond, and my undying, unconditional love for you, can never waiver! Always know that you have the power to do anything you set your mind to do and without a shadow of a doubt, Mommy always has your back! I thank God for blessing me with you and I thank you for our bond!

  &

  Every Nikki Turner die hard reader! Thank you for picking up book after, book, after book, allowing me to continue to create and share my stories with you! I can’t express my appreciation for you and I will never take you for granted. Without you none of this would be possible. I love you soooo much! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

  “God always gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers.”

  —Mildred “Me-Ma” Banks

  -1-

  A black van had been squatting on the corner of Jefferson Avenue for the past twenty minutes. It was an older model cargo van with limousine-grade tinted windows. It easily blended in with the other vehicles on the busy street that no one paid the van much attention.

  A mistake that would cost everyone dearly.

  Inside the van, behind the dark glass, were five guys on a major money mission. Each man wore all black and was skeed up on a mixture of cocaine and heroin. All of the men, besides the driver were in possession of two things: masks that their faces would be concealed by and an AK-15 assault rifle, which rested inside of gloved palms.

  “You think we should bounce?” asked the passenger wearing a George Bush mask. “Maybe that shit’s an omen.” George Bush was referring to the police cruiser parked in front of the bank that they’d been casing for the past week.

  The driver wearing a Queen Elizabeth mask said, “Fuck that. Police gotta cash their paychecks too. We sit tight, we wait this shit out,” he said firmly.

  Freddie Krueger, in the back of the van, next to Jason, from Friday the 13th, agreed with his long time friend, Queen Elizabeth. “We sit tight and we wait this shit out.”

  Jason was about to toss his vote into the hat when the cop strolled out of the Metropolitan Savings and Loan National Bank, with a big smile, got into his cruiser and peeled off.

  Once the cop beat the corner, it was a few minutes before, Queen Elizabeth said, “Let’s go get this fuckin’ paper.” He reminded them, “No one gets hurt unless it’s unavoidable. But, understand,” he looked in each individual’s eyes, “nothing is going to stand in the way of us getting this money.”

  The clickety-clack of the assault rifles being cocked echoed off the vans bare interior. That was the unspoken communication that everybody was on the page and was ready.

  Freddie Kruger opened the sliding door, “Now let’s go get this motherfucking money!”

  On that note, everybody got out and they sprinted across the street, toward the back.

  Meanwhile inside the bank . . .

  Fate would have it that it was Simone Banks’ first official day on the job, and she was just getting the hang of things.

  Jackie, the bank’s assistant manager, and the person responsible for training Simone said, “You doing real well to be a newbie. You are such a natural at this,” patting her on her back, “what do you do to make this seem so easy?”

  Simone was in training to be a manager, and her first lesson was learning to operate one of the bank’s seven windows.

  “I stay positive and I pray to God,” Simone said holding her breath hoping that this new endeavor would work out for her. More than anything, she really needed the job to support herself.

  “Prayer always goes a long ways,” Jackie said in an angelic harmony.

  “You’re right about that.” Simone gave a smile with a nod, warming up to Jackie as she balanced and refilled her drawer.

  “Are you sure that you never worked in a banking institution?” Jackie asked with a compliment.

  Jackie seemed to be in her mid-fifties. She wore her hair in a tight bun and had an overall good spirit. Simone and she had clicked almost immediately.

  “No, just many years of business school combined with a lot of other courses,” Simone responded. In fact, Simone was twenty-nine-years old and had never had a job in her life. When she was ten Simone and her father made a deal. As long as she went to college, he’d take care of her. And she took full advantage of the opportunity her father afforded her, getting degree after degree.

  But over the past six months a lot had changed in Simone’s life, mostly for the worst. And things wouldn’t be getting better any time soon . . .

  At 12:13 p.m. four masked men stormed through the bank’s doors.

  A man wearing a ski-mask was the first one through the door of the bank, immediately raising his weapon and firing on the security guard. “Fuck on the floor.”

  Before the security guard, a father of two, could reach for his weapon, he ate three slugs to the chest and died immediately.

  “Blah . . . blah. . . blah .” Fear gripped the entire bank. Customers screamed and the employees were mortified filling the bank with screams, squeals, and madness.

  “Keep fucking calm, and nobody will get hurt,” he said, waving the gun. “Don’t fuccckk with me,” he ordered.” The patrons did exactly what they were told. After all, he’d just murdered a father in cold blood, it didn’t seem like he was taking any prisoners.

  The masked man ordered everyone, “Keep your hands in the air. No fucking heroes!” he said.

  Simultaneously, the rest of the gun wielding crew followed suite. They came into the bank, guns blazing on some straight gun-ho style, firing shots into the air, and the customers dove on the floor or hid for cover.

  “Rad-da-ta-ta,” roaring bullets blazed through the air like fireworks. Next came the high pitch screams from the patrons. Some automatically hit the floor and ran for cover while the others were stunned. A few just stood still in freeze mode, and waited for instructions from the guys in charge.

  Then another man wearing a George Bush mask was smacking anybody in his way. “Shut the fuck up!” he said, wanting the patrons to fear him more and seize their screams of terror.

  The shooting ceased and the robber in the Old-Lady-Mask shouted. “Everybody put ya hands on ya fuckin’ heads! If you move—’em I’ma put a bullet in your fuckin’ head!

  Simone prayed to God over and over. But even while praying and being scared shitless, her brain co
ntinued to process the horrific scene, taking place in front of her very own eyes. Four bank robbers, ten customers and eight employees, alive. One—may he rest in peace-already dead. God, she silently prayed, don’t let there be any more.

  “Awwww,” an ear piercing scream.

  The outburst spewed from a woman with bleach-blond hair and red lipstick. The butt of an assault rifle slammed into her face, knocking one of her front teeth out. The tooth caromed off the marble floor and up against a wall.

  “Last warning,” Jason yelled at the lady as she silently wept.

  The oldest of the four men robbing the bank and killing innocent by standers was only twenty-four years old. This was the first bank any of them had ever tried to knock off. They were nervous, but the drugs did a good job at helping them hide it. And the more fear they instilled into their victims, the more emboldened the young killers became.

  Ski Mask jerked the trigger of the automatic weapon. “Barratt . . . Barratt . . .” he let loose an barrage of bullets again. The drugs had him on some renegade, strong arm, power trip. He was feeling untouchable and invincible.

  “Let me be clear. Do as we say, when we say it. If you can do that we gon’ take this money and leave without anyone else fucked up. Get it?”

  Heads slowly nodded.

  Jason, Freddy, and George hit the first three tellers while Ski-Mask maintained control of the room.

  “Please don’t fuckingggg push me.”

  The teller at the second window got too close to the silent alarm, “Bitch, you touch that button, and I swear on my grandma holy drawers you gone die today!” Jason threatened. He backhanded the teller so hard, her legs wobbled, before giving out on her. It was still in question which was harder, the actual smack or her hitting the floor.

  Simone still couldn’t believe this was happening. She wasn’t one to pray in the middle of a room but with what was going on right in front of her, praying seemed like the best thing for her to do right now. Though things were not looking too good for her, her collages or customers, it didn’t stop her. She continued to silently call upon God.

  Simone also prayed that nobody made any hasty moves because she knew these guys were dead-ass serious. The slightest move from her or any of her coworkers could and would cost somebody their life. As her thoughts continued to run wild, out of the corner of Simone’s eyes, she saw Jackie’s finger inching slowly, toward the silent alarm. On one hand Simone, desperately wanted help to come and rescue them all from the bad guys, but she wasn’t willing to risk her life trying to be anyone’s hero. Better Jackie was a braver woman than her.

  “Clack, clack, clack.” More gunfire erupted startling her. The guy with the George Bush mask was in the face of tellers three.

  “Don’t give me that fucking look,” Jason-Mask ran over and jumped over the counter and bashed the next teller in the face, she grabbed her face with both hands and screamed. He grabbed her by the back of the head and rammed her face first into the counter. The blow was so powerful that she went unconscious instantly.

  This sent everybody else in another frenzy.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Jason silencing the hostages who were in uproar over the heinous act.

  While Bush-Mask and Ski-Mask waved their huge weapons around looking at everyone inside. Jason-Mask grabbed another teller by the hair and manhandled her. The poor woman was timid and couldn’t help herself.

  “Bitch put the money in the bag and no fucking dye packs! Hurry the fuckkk up! Bitch!” he shouted as he controlled her movements by her hair. Tears rolled down her face as she tried her best to place money inside a bag, her hands shook badly. She managed to empty the money out of the first drawer.

  The novice crew emptied the first three stations and moved on to four, five, and six.

  “Come on man!” Bush shouted out. “Make that bitch hurry the fuck up!” Just as he seen the man move his hands from his head. Simone saw it too. She wanted to scream out and warn him not to move, “No, put your hands, back up,” but the words didn’t come out.

  The bank robber with the Ski-Mask aimed, fired, and blew the back of the man’s head off. The powerful slugs ripped through the back of the man’s head and exploded his face across the bank. Brain and blood decorated the shiny marble floors. Blood and brain splatter was everywhere and the place was becoming a massacre.

  Everyone’s face shared the same expression: disbelief. Betty scooped the money from the draw as quick, as her nervous hands would allow. Simone prayed that it was fast enough. Tellers operating window five and six had learned from the others mistakes, scooping money up in her hands and dropped it inside the bag and moved on to the next drawer of the other teller that was laying on the floor.

  They quickly did as they were told and kept their mouth closed.

  The innocent bystanders were horrified and only wanted this nightmare to end.

  Window seven, which was Simone’s window, was the only drawer that hadn’t been hit.

  “Bitch you know what’s up.” A small amount of spit came seeping out of his mouth as he spoke. The man standing over her screaming in her face with the gun in his hand was over six feet tall, yet several inches shorter than his lanky friend with the Ski-Mask.

  Simone froze, her feet became like blocks of concrete and she couldn’t move. In her head, she recited her earlier prayer. She kept praying to God but no matter how hard she prayed that God make her invisible, Jason and his friends could still see her. God either didn’t see fit for whatever reason to make her invisible or he had better things to do. Either way, Simone thought she would soon be dead.

  Calmly Ski-Mask, said with the gun in her face said, “Bitch, if you want to be the world’s flyest corpse, keep standing there like a statue and don’t you dare think I’m playing.”

  Though her face and eyes were filled with desperation and tears, you better believe they didn’t have to ask her twice.

  Point taken, she wasn’t about to die for somebody else’s insured money. She started stuffing money into the bag, like it was an Olympic event, and she wasn’t settling for anything less than a gold medal.

  He stood over Simone mean mugging, as she put the last of the cash from her drawer into the bag. After Simone was done, he hesitated.

  “Don’t fuck with me bitch!” he yelled at Simone, “I’ll shoot your pretty little brains all over this counter!” He looked at her with disgust as if, she was holding out on him. She had no clue at all what more he wanted, she had given him everything she had in the drawer but he still wasn’t satisfied. For a split second, she honestly thought that it was over for her.

  All she could think of and hear in her head was a vague voice saying . . . Here lays Simone Banks, may she rest in peace over . . . she envisioned herself in an all white Donatella Versace gown in an all white, gold trimmed casket.

  She convinced herself that she would be all right if she just did exactly as she was told. She was not ready to die and she still was praying to God that he let her live through this. She was taught that if she had the faith of a mustard seed, then God would deliver. But as soon as that thought crossed Simone’s mind, she began to see bits of pieces of her life flash in front of her. Could this really be the end for her?

  Simone couldn’t understand, why her? She did exactly, what he asked for and now he was going to kill her?

  She felt a hard hit on the side of her abdomen and took her a second to realize Jason-Mask had just hit her with his gun.

  “Please don’t shoot me! I did everything you asked me to do!” Simone pleaded. Indeed she could feel her life on a crash course and all she could do was beg for mercy.

  “Bitch! Why in the fuck you playing with me?” he screamed at her, she could see his saliva seeping out of his mouth and then put the gun to her head and cocked it.

  Her heart dropped at the realization that she was about to die. Then out of nowhere she got the strength and boldness to calmly speak out, “I gave you everything and I don’t have any codes to anything,” sh
e wasn’t going down without a fight.

  He gave a long hard look into her eyes, with the mean mug and the gun still to her temple. Then said to her, “That that-there is your Chanel bag right? That there dat boy bag right?”

  “Yes!” She nodded.

  “Shits real?”

  Indeed it was. Simone nodded again. At this stage even if it was a bootleg replica, she would’ve still given the same answer. “Of course!” she proudly said.

  “Well, that shit just saved your life, my bitch been asking for that shit,” he informed her.

  Simone stared at the purse. It was the hottest bag out and an expensive gift from her father. The matching wallet inside was one of the last purchases she made before all the credit cards were canceled and her once lavish lifestyle was pulled from under her feet. Though she loved that bag a lot, she loved her life more. Without hesitation, she shoved it too in the duffle bag with the money. There was no way in the world that she was getting hurt over a pocketbook, no matter how hot, expensive or authentic it was.

  He grabbed the duffle bag, clutched on to it tight, one would have thought that he was Husain Bolt fleeing from a stick-up.

  “Nigga you stealing ladies purses now?” Bush asked, shaking his head at his homeboy. Not waiting for an answer he just gave the demand, “Let’s roll,” Bush shouted. He backed up toward the door and Ski Mask followed. Jason flipped over the counter and hurried toward them making up the rear. He turned around and seen one of the remaining tellers press the silent alarm button. He aimed in her direction and squeezed the trigger. Bullets flew like a swarm of bats coming out of a cave. The slugs found permanent homes inside of her face, neck, breast, and stomach. Her body dropped and the masked men rushed for the door.

  More screams of fears erupted from a couple people, scared shitless and worried that they could be next. But the guys kept heading to the door.

  They were home free and Simone was still alive.

  Finally, the nightmare is over! She looked up to the ceiling as if she could see God. Thank you Jesus!