Flash Fiction Friday -- The Bank Robbery

So, I’ve decided to rework Stealing *again*. One day I’ll get it right, lol. This is the beginning of the latest version of chapter one. Feedback welcome.

The Bank Robbery
© 2008 Suzanne Lazear

The man in front of me in line kept fidgeting nervously, shifting from foot to foot, looking around, checking the time on his cell phone. Suspicious. Or, like me, he could just have a need to fidget, to move. The long bank line certainly wasn’t. It was a Wednesday for crying out loud. Whatever it was, I was losing my patience. With my luck they’d detain be because I had an out of state account.

My phone buzzed. It was my boss. Secure channel. It was not a social call. “I’m on vacation, Terry. Someone better be dead.”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine, sweet cheeks.”

I hated it when he called me that. “You have ten seconds.” After all, I was on vacation. But why I decided to go to Seattle, in November, to visit my friends Derrick and Alice instead of going to Hawaii like a sensible woman was beyond me.

“I need you to gather some Intel for me, Rory baby.”

I really hated it when he called be baby. “No.” I moved forward in line. Now the only person between me and a teller was Mr. Shifty. About damn time.

“Come on, you’ll be compensated for your time. Just like always.”

“Nope. I haven’t forgiven you for the last time I helped you while I was on vacay. Go bug someone else.” Now, I liked Terry, he was a decent boss, but I hadn’t gone on an interruption-free vacation of more than two days since Terry took over my department a few years back.

“Here me out Rory, you’ve got to be my go-to girl on this one. It’s local.”

“I’m always your go-to girl and I hate Intel.” Someone left and Mr. Shifty took his place at the empty window. Almost my turn.

I looked out the glass windows onto the bleak and dreary November afternoon. It rained too much in Seattle. I heard a familiar click. Immediately my attention shifted as my body went on alert. My left hand reached under my leather jacket for the gun I always wore. Even when off-duty. But I was never truly off-duty.

Oh, no he didn’t.

Someone screamed. Mr. Shifty had a gun. I sighed, hand curled around Bane, my trusty Glock. Out of all the banks in Downtown Seattle why did you have to hold up this one? It was a decision he’d always regret.

“Duty calls, Terry.” Give me ass kicking over Intel any day.

Mr. Shifty fired his gun into the air. More screams. Bodies hit the floor. Mine filled with adrenaline.

“Was that gunfire? Rory, you’re out of your jurisdiction. You know I hate it when you go ro—”

The phone was closed and in my pocket. My gun was out, and I was flying at Mr. Shifty. My curvy, muscular body hit his as I pummeled him to the ground. The gun flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor. Someone called 911. People were sobbing. Screaming. Cheering.

Mr. Shifty fought back. Kicking, swearing, trying to get the upper hand. He was taller and bigger than I was. But he wasn’t in as good shape. I was a highly trained FBI agent. I also wasn’t human. Poor sap never had a chance. Humans had no idea what lurked among them.

Bane was pointed squarely at his chest. The other held his hands above his body. My body straddled his, pinning him to the floor.

“You picked the wrong bank to rob.” He had the look of a haunted man. A desperate man.

But instead of pleading for me to not shoot, like so many, he spit in my face. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, bitch.”

And I cared because? I hit him across the face with the side of my gun. “Shut up, shithead.” I used the back of my hand to wipe the spit off my face. But I had seen worse, much worse. And that was before I joined the Bureau.

“Damn, she’s fast,” one of the security guards whispered. Some help they are. They were watching the show with the customers and the tellers.

Shit. Was I too fast? Sometimes I was. Even after eight years I still had trouble acting normal, blending in with the real world. Approaching sirens interrupted my musings. The cavalry was here. Would they appreciate my help? Probably not. I was a long way from DC. Whatever. Hopefully, I could just get my money so I could return to my regularly scheduled vacation.

The cops stormed in and surrounded us. Their guns pointed at both of us. I knew what they saw. I was a five foot six woman with DD boobs, short auburn hair with red streaks, and a long, black trench coat who was holding a gun. I looked like trouble.

“Drop the gun,” a blonde, beefy uniformed cop, just shy of husky told me. His nametag read Bourguignon and his gun was pointed at me.

“Sure.” I tossed them the gun, but kept pinning the guy down. I had another gun in my jacket. I liked things in pairs.

“She’s the good guy,” one of the security guards piped up.

About damn time they were useful.

“That guy tried to hold up the teller and she just…she just took him out.” Awe crossed his weathered face.

“We’ve got it,” Blondie told me. He had waved hair the color of newly minted gold, and big blue eyes. He looked like he should be surfing, or playing sand volleyball, or chasing girls or something. “But don’t go anywhere.”

And I have a choice? This wasn’t the first time I’d practiced random acts of crime-busting. I got up, and was immediately accosted Blondie while his team took down Mr. Shifty.

Those blue eyes narrowed as the cop looked me over. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

Did he really want to know?

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