admit, at times the guy is my kind of crazy. That is if the cop didn’t blow him away first.
“I said, reach for the sky peons!” This time he yelled it out. The teller stopped counting hundreds. There were still two stacks to be counted. I reached in and swept them down into my purse, and the teller didn’t even notice. They were mine anyway, but I gotta say I felt positively ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ for a smidgen of a moment while I collected the rest of Maisie’s money.
The people all looked sleepy, as they slowly began to put up their hands. The tension in the bank became thick; I don’t think anyone wanted to make a move.
Then a mother grabbed her child and put the kid behind her. An old guy on a cane began shaking so badly, I thought he’d fold like an origami, but he managed to slowly pick his way over to some chairs and eventually sat down.
A big body-builder type swore up and down like he was practicing his singing scales, but he never made a move. He stood there swearing, then he muttered, really low, almost into his shirt and soon enough it rose into a crescendo of expletives. I heard him say, “Not again, effing banks.” I guess he’d been robbed before.
Beside me another guy had one of those walking sticks that he unraveled like ninja nunchuks, and the stick became a stool. He sat on it and looked patient.
The rest of the crowd stood where they were, arms in the air, limp tree branches waiting to be picked clean of valuables, like an orchard at harvest time.
I was pretty sure only I knew that Devon’s gun was a toy. With his gun out, he walked to the front of the line. He grinned at me and winked, and I felt weak in the knees. My only terror came from my fear of being associated with him and this stupid robbery, at the same time I felt my heart rush, in a crazy, unexplainable moment of attraction.
Then he shoved me out of his way and pointed the gun at the teller.
“Just the big bills,” he said to her.
The teller looked at me!
I nodded at her. Yes, go ahead give him the big bills!
“Hey, sexy,” he said to me.
Nooo. Don’t talk to me.
The teller then looked at Devon. Her voice barely got above a whisper. “I don’t have any big bills. She’s got them all.”
Crap , she looked at me again. Thanks, lady, for throwing me under the bus. I thought Devon was going to turn to me and ask for more money, but he made a little gesture with his gun at my Gucci. Then he turned back to the wicket and reached through the wicket’s tiny little opening for shoving things through and managed to grab a handful of what little cash remained on her counter.
He turned back to me -- grabbed my purse from my fingers and swiftly shoved it into his backpack.
The snap of a gun holster brought me to my senses.
From the corner of my eye I saw the female cop stride to the front of my line with her weapon drawn!
“Stop! Police!” She barked out at Devon.
Everything seemed to happen in slow-mo.
Once upon a time that cop was way back at the end of the teller lineup but in two giant steps she was nearly on top of us, so close I read her name tag. Justine Daliday.
Good name for a cop, I thought.
While all eyes remained focused on Devon and the cop, no one took any notice of Emilia until it was too late.
Emilia, with her sword whizzing at full tilt, got to Devon before the cop, how she did that I wasn’t sure, but she came at him swinging – and worst of all – she hip-checked the cop out of the way.
I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but I’m certain the bank’s people will play it back on their security cameras for a long time coming. Emilia, about to bring her sword down on Devon, bumped Justine backwards. Justine went for a little spin-or-rama until she recovered her balance, her eyes wide and bugged out.
While Justine recovered and spun around with weapon in hand, Devon, about to be sliced, diced and skewered, waved a quick hand at Emilia, , like a windshield
“I said, reach for the sky peons!” This time he yelled it out. The teller stopped counting hundreds. There were still two stacks to be counted. I reached in and swept them down into my purse, and the teller didn’t even notice. They were mine anyway, but I gotta say I felt positively ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ for a smidgen of a moment while I collected the rest of Maisie’s money.
The people all looked sleepy, as they slowly began to put up their hands. The tension in the bank became thick; I don’t think anyone wanted to make a move.
Then a mother grabbed her child and put the kid behind her. An old guy on a cane began shaking so badly, I thought he’d fold like an origami, but he managed to slowly pick his way over to some chairs and eventually sat down.
A big body-builder type swore up and down like he was practicing his singing scales, but he never made a move. He stood there swearing, then he muttered, really low, almost into his shirt and soon enough it rose into a crescendo of expletives. I heard him say, “Not again, effing banks.” I guess he’d been robbed before.
Beside me another guy had one of those walking sticks that he unraveled like ninja nunchuks, and the stick became a stool. He sat on it and looked patient.
The rest of the crowd stood where they were, arms in the air, limp tree branches waiting to be picked clean of valuables, like an orchard at harvest time.
I was pretty sure only I knew that Devon’s gun was a toy. With his gun out, he walked to the front of the line. He grinned at me and winked, and I felt weak in the knees. My only terror came from my fear of being associated with him and this stupid robbery, at the same time I felt my heart rush, in a crazy, unexplainable moment of attraction.
Then he shoved me out of his way and pointed the gun at the teller.
“Just the big bills,” he said to her.
The teller looked at me!
I nodded at her. Yes, go ahead give him the big bills!
“Hey, sexy,” he said to me.
Nooo. Don’t talk to me.
The teller then looked at Devon. Her voice barely got above a whisper. “I don’t have any big bills. She’s got them all.”
Crap , she looked at me again. Thanks, lady, for throwing me under the bus. I thought Devon was going to turn to me and ask for more money, but he made a little gesture with his gun at my Gucci. Then he turned back to the wicket and reached through the wicket’s tiny little opening for shoving things through and managed to grab a handful of what little cash remained on her counter.
He turned back to me -- grabbed my purse from my fingers and swiftly shoved it into his backpack.
The snap of a gun holster brought me to my senses.
From the corner of my eye I saw the female cop stride to the front of my line with her weapon drawn!
“Stop! Police!” She barked out at Devon.
Everything seemed to happen in slow-mo.
Once upon a time that cop was way back at the end of the teller lineup but in two giant steps she was nearly on top of us, so close I read her name tag. Justine Daliday.
Good name for a cop, I thought.
While all eyes remained focused on Devon and the cop, no one took any notice of Emilia until it was too late.
Emilia, with her sword whizzing at full tilt, got to Devon before the cop, how she did that I wasn’t sure, but she came at him swinging – and worst of all – she hip-checked the cop out of the way.
I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but I’m certain the bank’s people will play it back on their security cameras for a long time coming. Emilia, about to bring her sword down on Devon, bumped Justine backwards. Justine went for a little spin-or-rama until she recovered her balance, her eyes wide and bugged out.
While Justine recovered and spun around with weapon in hand, Devon, about to be sliced, diced and skewered, waved a quick hand at Emilia, , like a windshield
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