“Dude, did you get the ski masks?”

“Not yet.”

“You know it’s tomorrow,” said Kevin. “What the fuck are you waiting for? What about Tasers? Did you get them?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Tasers might be a bad idea,” said Mitch. “We’ve decided to go without the Tasers.”

“Why? What if-”

“If we can’t get the money without Tasers, we’re just not getting the money,” Mitch said. “I looked it up online. If you rob someone without a weapon, it’s a whole different deal. It’s, like, two years max. But if you’re even carrying a Taser, it adds like three years to it.”

Kevin thought about this for a few seconds, then said “All right.”

There was a tense silence in the room, which had never happened during their planning sessions before. Within twenty-four hours, it would be done, over. Kevin, who had recently watched a documentary about D-Day, imagined that they were the Allied generals the night before the invasion. Nothing to do now except wait for the time to be right. And, of course, get some motherfucking ski masks.

He looked around the room at his partners as if seeing them for the first time: Doug, who seemed strangely distant, removed from the whole thing, as if he still hadn’t made up his mind to go through with it, and Mitch, who seemed highly motivated, energetic, yet bothered about details. That was a good sign. He wondered what they thought of him. How did he look right now? Stressed? Distant? Determined? He realized what the mood in the room was-it felt like they were all waiting for another one to call it off, and no one would speak up. He felt the need to leave before anyone, most likely Doug, backed out.

“I’d better be getting home,” Kevin said. “Linda has some errands to run, and I have to take care of Ellie.”

“Hey man…” Doug said, rising from the couch. Here it comes, Kevin thought. He’s going to back out. Fine. He and Mitch would do it and have more money to split. “Can you do me a favor?”

Kevin squinted at him. “What?”

Doug handed him the little toothbrush wrapped in plastic. “Can you get a swab from Ellie’s mouth with that? I need it for a drug test.”

Kevin looked at the toothbrush. “Yeah, sure.” To make Doug feel better about asking, and because he thought Mitch was secretly laughing, Kevin added, “I had her pee in a cup once when I was on parole.”

Mitch laughed out loud, a welcome sound in the tense room. “Get outta here, man. See you tomorrow.”

The way he said it, the words had significance beyond their meaning. It really was as if they were all heading for the beaches of Normandy in the morning. Kevin liked the feeling of drama, the sense that everything insignificant now had historic and powerful meaning in their lives. Turning the doorknob. Was this the last time he would ever turn this doorknob? Going home and seeing Ellie. Would that be the last time he would see her? He cleared his mind. He didn’t want to think about that.

“See you tomorrow, dudes.” He slammed the door. Either way, this was his last night as either a broke man or a free man. Time would tell.

IT WAS SNOWING. That alone cheered Kevin up, especially as the Weather Channel hadn’t predicted it. Kevin saw it as a good omen, a sign from god, and kept repeating how good it was until Mitch finally asked him to stop mentioning it.

“It’s just snow, man,” he said. Mitch, who was a practicing atheist, imagined that if god really did exist and actually took an interest in an armored car robbery, he would be more likely to side with the guards.

“Did you get the ski masks?” Kevin asked Doug as he climbed into the pickup. Doug wordlessly pulled from his pocket a handful of old, worn green wool caps, into which he had painstakingly cut eye holes. Kevin stared at them.

“Dude, are you fucking kidding me? Why didn’t you just buy new ski masks?”

“What’s wrong with using these? You can use them as ski masks.”

“Was it because you were worried we weren’t going to pay you back? For ten dollars’ worth of ski masks?”

“Dude, those’re fine,” said Mitch, who was concerned that one of the others might try to pick a fight intentionally so that the whole plan would disintegrate. Now was not the time to bicker, couldn’t they see that? But Kevin, who’d apparently had his heart set on black ski masks, wouldn’t let it go.

“Would it have been so hard to go to the mall and buy a nice set of black ski masks?”

“I don’t have a car anymore,” said Doug. “So yes, it would. And at the end of the day, do you think we’re all going to be sitting around going, ‘Ya know, man, everything would have gone so much better if only our ski masks had been a different color.’”

“I’ll drive the Impala out there,” said Mitch, ignoring both of them. He was gripped by a fear that everything was going to fall apart, which made him talk fast and loud to drown them out. “I’ll follow you,” he said to Kevin, making firm eye contact to draw him away from the ski mask conversation.

“I’ll ride with you,” said Doug, getting out of the pickup. It might be better that way, Mitch thought, because it would put an end to the childishness. Kevin nodded, and Doug slammed the door shut.

“What’s his problem?” Doug asked as they got into the Impala. “Excuse me, but I thought this was a robbery not a fashion show.”

“No big deal, man. He just got hung up on details.”

“But what the-”

“It’ll be fine,” said Mitch, cutting him off. “Put your gloves back on.”

Doug had been idly pulling one of his gloves off, apparently forgetting that the night before they had spent an hour wiping down every part of the car that might contain a fingerprint-underneath the dash, the radio, the fuel filter, the wing nut that fastened the air filter to the engine, everything. All they needed now was to absentmindedly touch something and have to do it all over again.

“Dude, this car drives like shit,” said Mitch, who was having trouble getting it up to fifteen miles an hour as Kevin sped off in front of them. “I thought you fixed it.”

“The engine works fine,” said Doug. “It’s getting gas. You gotta let it warm up a little more.”

Mitch floored the accelerator and the Impala bucked and chugged then shot ahead, banging Mitch’s head against the headrest. Then the car began to buck and chug again, nearly smashing Mitch’s head into the steering wheel.

“I put new gas in it, high octane,” said Doug. “I figure it had been sitting for a long time, so the shitty firing was because there was water in the gas.”

“How much gas did you put in? The needle’s almost on empty.”

“Two gallons,” said Doug.

“Two gallons? Why didn’t you fill the tank?”

“That high-octane stuff is expensive. Why throw money away? We’re only going to drive it a few miles.”

“This is our fucking getaway car? Jesus,” Mitch snorted. He pulled over and called Kevin on his cell. “Dude, we gotta stop for gas.”

“Didn’t dipshit put any gas in the tank?” Mitch was holding the phone close to his ear just in case Kevin said something like that. The last thing he wanted right now, when it seemed like things were actually going to happen pretty much as planned, was confrontation.

“OK,” said Mitch, as if Kevin had said something agreeable. He hung up and they pulled into the first gas station, the one where the Mexican girl worked. It occurred to Mitch that Doug hadn’t mentioned her in a while.

“You want to pay for it?” Mitch asked, thinking that giving Doug a chance to talk to the Mexican girl was doing him a favor, then realizing too late that he was basically accusing Doug of being cheap. Doug got out silently and went into the store. Mitch watched through the window as he paid the girl without talking to her, for the three hundredth time. Perhaps when you were on your way to commit a felony wasn’t the best time to put your moves on a girl.