She walked outside, got behind the wheel of her 1975 two-door Pontiac Grand Prix, drove to the American Federal Bank just off West Airport Freeway in Irving, pulled into the parking lot, stepped into the bank’s lobby, and headed toward the counter, where a young female teller was smiling cheerfully. Most of them are young male drug addicts who don’t have the slightest idea what they are doing.When they burst into banks, their fingers twitch and their heads swivel back and forth as they look for security guards. When they get their money, they run madly for the exits, bowling over anyone in their path, and they squeal away in their cars, leaving tire tracks on the road. “I promise you, my Aunt Peggy was the last person on earth you would ever imagine robbing a bank,” said her niece, Michelle.She then reached for a Styrofoam mannequin’s head that was on a shelf in the closet.A fake beard was pinned to it and on top was a white cowboy hat.She opened one of the lower drawers and pulled out a pair of men’s pants and a dark men’s shirt.From her closet, she grabbed a men’s brown leather jacket that she kept on a hanger.But on a lovely morning in May 1991, Peggy Jo, who was then 46 years old, decided to wear something different.
“Be back in a minute,” Peggy Jo told her mother, tiptoeing past her room. IN THE CRIMINOLOGY TEXTBOOKS, they are invariably described as products of a deprived socioeconomic background.
She turned on the ignition, pushed on the gas pedal, and headed south on Texas Highway 69, straight out of town.
After all those years, Peggy Jo Tallas had returned.
For a few minutes, the two of them would sit at the table, making small talk.
Peggy Jo, who didn’t like to eat until later in the day, would often smoke a cigarette and drink Pepsi out of a coffee cup.