"The Heist" (New Writers Always Welcome)

AGuyWhoWrites

Really Experienced
Joined
May 3, 2011
Posts
246
"The Heist"


The OOC Thread
(which includes the Introduction and Interest Check)​


The phone on the Manager's desk rang ... and rang ... and rang. Peter Taylor wasn't ready to answer it; he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to answer it.

The heist hadn't gone off the way it had been so meticulously planned. He reminded himself that the traitorous asshole who'd done that meticulous planning wasn't it here with him now, with three anxious, heavily armed cohorts, twenty-four hostages, and one yapping chihuahua that, if it didn't shut up soon, Taylor was going to put through a paper shredder.

He leaned a bit, looking out the window of the small, Suburbia Savings and Loan to the street beyond. As if fantasizing that they'd gone for donuts, he thought to himself with disappointment, Yep... still there.

From where he stood, Taylor could see a dozen cruisers, sporting city, country, state, and federal decals. His crew hadn't been in the bank for more than three minutes -- hadn't even entered the little vault -- before he heard the first sirens wailing through the otherwise quiet little town.

Taylor had no proof of what had gone wrong, but he had a pretty good idea: he'd been set up. That's the last time I mix business with pleasure, he promised himself, recalling the heist's Planner, as well as the man's daughters, with whom Taylor had spent an amazing weekend. He repeated his vow, realizing that 48 hours of sex -- albeit some of the most unbelievably satisfying of his life -- wasn't worth 48 years in jail, which was what he'd likely get for his third strike.

Last ... time...

The phone began ringing again. Taylor traded a long, questioning glance with his right hand man, then shrugged.

"We have to answer it eventually," Cramer whispered, adding with distinct sarcasm, "It's not like they're gonna leave if they think no one's home."

Taylor scratched his cheek with a fully extended middle finger, and -- as the other man laughed nervously and clutched his shotgun tighter -- rushed across the lobby, snatched up the phone, and dropped behind the big, heavy oak desk.

"We have almost forty hostages," he began lying, even before a voice sounded at the other end of the line. "We've wired the doors and half of the windows ... so ... if you come through that way, make sure you pick the right one."

A voice began to speak, but ceased as Taylor quickly cut in. "I'm not going back to jail, so ... if you breech, I'll start pushing buttons ... and you can sort out the body parts later. I read that the County just got a new DNA lab, so it shouldn't be hard to figure out which leg belongs to which head."

As Taylor listened, he looked Cramer's direction and caught him mouthing out, Bombs? Taylor shrugged and, also in silence, mouthed back What ever works. A long moment passed with Taylor turning his attention back to the phone. Suddenly, he slammed the receiver down and set the phone aside on the floor.

"Well?" Cramer asked, anxiously. "What did he say?"

"She," Taylor corrected him. "It was the FBI."

"Already?" Cramer asked, almost panicked. "It's only been--"

"Ten minutes, yeah, I know," Taylor finished for his friend. "I know."

"Okay, so ... what'd she say?"

Taylor drew and expelled a deep breath, then turned to his knees and surveyed the bank lobby; across the floor, the hostages were bunched in groups of four or five, their feet all tangled together by phone cords. The Crew hadn't expected hostages; they didn't have handcuffs or rope or zip ties or any other form of binding.

Taylor reflected on the fact that by now, they should already have been lifting into the skies over the little municipal airport. Weather Channel said it was sunny and 85 in Caracas, Taylor mused. Beaches, bikinis, and babes. Fuck!

As he knelt there, he caught sight of a long pair of firm, shapely legs stretching out forever from below a tiny black skirt. The woman they belonged to was facing him, her eyes firmly on his; she was young, perhaps mid-twenties, and beautiful, and again Taylor mused to himself, Beaches, bikinis, and babes.

After a moment, the woman must have realized that Taylor's eyes were fixed upon her tan, bared legs. As Taylor shifted his gaze to her eyes, giving her a polite smile, she returned the smile, then lifted her head from the floor, whispered, "You gotta be kidding ... right?"

Taylor's smile faded. He wasn't sure whether she meant In the middle of a bank robbery you're scoping out my legs? or You don't have a chance with me, asshole! Either way, the woman's comment -- and the short chuckle and turning of her head away from him -- told him he was wasting his time.

Got lots of time, buddy boy ... lots ... of time.

The phone rang again, startling Taylor. He dropped to his haunches again, snatched up the phone, and lifted the receiver to his ear. "Yeah, what?"

He listened for a long moment, answering with a couple of no's, yes's, and other one and two word answers. He finally hung up the phone and looked to Cramer again.

"What'd he ... she say?"

"She wants to know if we would be willing to release some of the hostages."

"What'd you tell her?"

"I said it depends on what the're willing to do for us," Taylor answered. He turned to look at Legs again, finding her gaze back on him once more. He smirked, looking conspicuously to her legs and ass. He added, softer, looking directly to the woman, "Depends, too ... on what the hostages would be willing to do for me."
 
Last edited:
Taylor gestured Cramer to him, then whispered, "I need you to secure our position."

"Absolutely, Chief," Cramer agreed, using -- as they laughingly did these days -- his friend's former Navy rank. "Windows and doors...?"

"No, put Grimes on the windows ... Gray, too. You take the hostages."

Cramer gave Taylor a hard, knowing look. He whispered, "Is there a reason you're putting Grimes out front?"

Taylor glanced across the bank to the man standing atop a grand piano in the middle of the bank's lobby. He was turning in a slow, never-ending circle, pointing an AK-47 down at the cringing hostages as he mumbled warnings to them.

Taylor had never seen Grimes like this; he was ... frazzled, Taylor's mother would have called it. It was scary for Taylor to see the man so unprofessional. He looked back to Cramer and answered, "I ... have concerns about him. If some over zealous Fed sniper takes a shot at the first movement he detects, I would rather it wasn't you."

"And what about Gray?" Cramer asked,.

"Gray's not gonna let some twitchy cop put a bullet through him."

"I don't know," Cramer said, turning to look at Gray, who was watching over the second batch of hostages in the rear near the bank vault. A smile crossed Cramer's lips as he added, "I think he's suffering a bit of puppy love for the chick with the curves."

Taylor followed his XO's gaze and found Gray watching over all of the hostages but paying particular concern to the woman almost right under his feet. Taylor had only gotten a glimpse of her before they announced the hold up, and yet he'd found her familiar for reasons he couldn't explain. He dismissed the concern, assuming he'd seen her entering or leaving the bank during their two weeks of casing it.

And he dismissed his concern over Gray as well. He couldn't see the woman fully, but he assumed Gray was getting quite a view of the woman's legs or ass and was using the distraction to keep down the panic over the unexpected turn of events.

"We're good," Taylor said firmly, giving his friend a confident look and smile.

Cramer nodded and headed with purpose toward the piano hogging a huge central section of the lobby, calling out, "Pull the drapes! Desks on their side against the doors! I have the hostages. Let's secure this place!"

Taylor watched with pride -- these were his men, Navy or not -- as Cramer ordered the up-front hostages -- who were hog tied at their ankles to one another -- to get to their knees and crawl to the back; while Grimes and Gray moved to the windows to pull the drapes, then push big, heavy desks across the carpets and tile floors and tipped them against doors, turning them into door stops and cover at the same time.

Cramer came to herd the last three hostages, whom Taylor had been casually guarding with his Desert Eagle casually laying across his thighs. Taylor snagged The SEAL by the elbow, then directed his attention to the woman laying a yard away. "I got this'n."

Cramer scrutinized the woman, then gave his superior a questioning glance. Referencing the daughters of the heist's mastermind, Cramer snipped, "Thought you were already ... involved."

Taylor gritted his teeth, then forced a smile. He wasn't ready to reveal that his dalliance with the pair may be the very reason they were surrounded by cold guns and not warm sand. "I need some ... scenery ... since I'm missing my beach."

Cramer hurried the other two to their hands and knees, directing them to the bank's rear. He gave the woman a second glance, then whispered to Taylor, "Just remember ... we're all hoping that your big head will get us out of here ... so, don't let the little head distract it."

As Cramer followed the scrambling hostages, Taylor shoved the big semi-automatic into the belt holster at the small of his back, then moved a chair nearer to the woman and dropped down into it. He smirked at her, contemplated some creative greetings, then decided to keep it simple -- and comical -- asking with a jovial tone, "So, you dating anyone?"
 
Last edited:
9:55 am:


Jill Keenan didn't like surprises, which meant she didn't like what was happening here. The informant -- not one of hers, but one belonging to a City cop -- had called in just before 9:30, saying that a dark sedan was casing the Harvey branch of US Bank, and that its occupants would enter the bank just as the semi-weekly armored car visit was underway, which Keenan already knew would be around 11 am.

Something didn't feel right about it, this standing around and waiting for something to happen. She was a proactive type, not reactive; stop the crime before it starts rather than allow it to begin and risk lives, on either side of the badge. The simple act of sitting in an automobile on bank property with fire arms would be enough to get these thugs off the street for two decades, minimum. Why wait for them to go after the armored car just to get a few more years -- possibly life -- added to their sentences if there was the possibility of a guard, Deputy, passerby, or even a crook getting killed.

But the Sheriff had been adamant that she wait and take the crew in the act. Red handed, he'd stressed.

She checked her watch again: 10:03. She waved one of on-loan City cops over, telling him, "Check on the other units, but call them. No radios, just in case their monitoring the--"

Suddenly an alarm sounded, cutting through the peace and quiet of the small town morning. But ... there was something wrong ... something ... about where--

"Deputy!" one of the City police officers called from behind her. Keenan spun. The cop pointed down the block, to the Suburbia Savings and Loan. Keenan hurried forward, calling to the cop whose informant had provided their information, "What the fuck?"

The cop was already on his radio, calling officers to the S&L while simultaneously shrugging his shoulders at Keenan. From all over the neighborhood, car motors fired up, tires squealed, and uniformed men and women closed on foot.

Keenan was quickly out in front of a herd of officers with guns pulled. She was fifty yards from the bank when a van on the far side came into view. She called into her radio, "Blue Ford, E-150, driver at the wheel ... presumed armed and dangerous--"

Before she could finish, the van lurched forward with smoke filling the air from one spinning tire. It curled away from the authorities, jumping a curb and tearing through forty yards of roses and rhodies before breaking out onto the highway. Keenan could here the City cop behind her on the radio, reporting the vehicles details; the Deputy turned her attention back to the bank just as a plate glass window exploded, the sound of a shotgun blast accompanying the shattered glass.

Calls erupted from cops all about the building, and the hurrying uniforms that had been quickly heading for the bank's entrance diverted to hide behind the handful of cars that filled the parking lot in front and to the side of the building.

"We have hostages!" a male voice called out. "Come any closer, and we start killing people!"

Keenan waved her people to strategic positions as she called out to one of the cops, "ERT ... now."

"Yes, ma'am," the cop responded, barking orders into her radio.

The Emergency Response Team was only a dozen blocks away, Keenan knew, sitting at the ready in their SUVs inside the garage of a defunct auto body shop. They'd be here in less than a minute, assuming someone hadn't already clued them in on the unexpected development.

Wrong fuckin' bank, the Deputy groaned in her mind. How the hell could the guy have gotten the bank, wrong? She hated using others' informants, particularly ones that were anonymous to her. They were unreliable, and sometimes that fallibility got people -- her people -- hurt, or even killed.
 
Last edited:
The cell in his shirt pocket vibrated, causing him to flinch before snatching it out. "Percell."

"Time for you to leave," a woman's voice said.

He considered the voice for a moment but couldn't identify it.

"Did you hear me," the woman asked, annoyed.

"Who is this?" Percell asked, his tone one of concern; it didn't bode well to be sitting at the wheel of a getaway car and have strange women calling you, telling you to split.

He looked toward the bank and saw nothing out of the ordinary, except even more customers entering. The Crew had been watching the bank for six days and not once had there been a customer waiting for the 10 am opening. That meant the Crew would be dealing with four or five employees and no Security Guard.

And then today, five minutes after the rural Savings and Loan had opened its doors, there were already two dozen people inside. Most looked like bank employees, Taylor had suggested, as if there was an employee meeting that the Crew couldn't have expected.

"Are you listening to me?" the woman snapped. "Time to go--"

"My crew is still inside--"

"They're not your crew," she told him in a calm, level voice.

They weren't, of course; he was a freelance Wheel Man, hired -- not by the Crew's leader, Taylor, but by the man who had planned the heist -- after the Crew's regular driver was injured in a hit and run three days ago.

He didn't know these men, and they didn't know him. But that didn't mean he was just going to drive away and leave them, abandoned.

A bell mounted high on the bank's outside wall began ringing.

"Shit!" he hollered.

Almost immediately, the woman said unnecessarily, "That's the alarm! The job's blown. Get out of--"

"I'm waiting for them!" he argued. "The cop's response time is--"

"They're here!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. He leaned forward, squinting against the early morning light, to look out the van's side window. A half dozen people -- in what he recognized as County Sheriff and Harvey city police uniforms -- were rushing his way ... with their hands full of shotguns and drawn side arms.

Then he realized what the woman had said: They're here ... here". His head turned from side to side, quickly, searching. "Where are you?"

"Go! You have to go!"

His gaze turned back to the quickly approaching cops, then returned to searching for the woman. "what the fuck's going on?"

He repeated his question, but when she didn't answer, Percell knew he was talking to no one; she'd been there, somewhere, but was probably doing the same thing she'd been telling him to do.

He looked to the bank again, desperate for some sign that his crew -- their crew -- was on the way out. They weren't; the only people going anywhere were cops -- now numbering at least a dozen -- and now a half a dozen vehicles, all coming from the east.

Time for you to leave, he said, mimicking the long-gone woman. He fired the van's engine, and slammed it into gear. He turned tight, heading out of the parking lot over a curb; a back tire cut loose from the black top, sending up a cloud of smoke as he left the cops -- and his partners -- behind.
 
Jenn had got up early that morning because she wanted to go to the back before going to work. She didn't have to be there until late in the morning but she didn't like waiting (she was a quite restless woman) so she decided to be the first to get into the bank so as not to have to queue for long.

Thus, she was very surprised to see a dozen people waiting outside the "Suburbia Savings and Loan" when she got there. So many people already at 9:45? She thought about leaving and getting back another day, but what the hell, she was already there, so she decided to stay. Hopefully she could trick any of the men that were already there to let her jump the line, sure her outfit and her charms would work, it had always done. So it was time to take the makeup and the mirror and start working. She could see by the corner of her eye that some men were already looking at her. One of them received a mild slap from the woman beside him for staring for too long at her cleavage. Her trick would certainly not work with that one but she smiled at thinking she had got his attention.

10:10 and she was still waiting. Fortunately, she managed to convince two men to let her move forward. However, the next in line was an old lady and when she realized she wouldn't go farther, she decided to spend the time flirting with the two men, after all, she had nothing else to do.

But at 10:15 she started regretting not having gone back home, cause a group of four men heisted the bank. Some minutes later the 2 dozen hostages had their feet all tangled together in groups by phone cords, Jenn being tied up with the two men she had been flirting with. She was not really worried since the police were already there and the robbers didn't look really proffesional (for God sakes, they hadn't even brought any ropes to tie the people!). One of them mentioned having placed bombs all over the place when the police called, but she could see it wasn't true.

The four men seemed to be very interested in her. Jenny didn't know if it was good or bad. She thought maybe she could charm them to let her go or something, but one thing was getting closer to the bank window and another much different tricking robbers. Anyway, she thought about playing along as long as it was safe.

Suddenly the four men sarted to move around desks and chairs to block the entrances and sent the hostages to the back. One of them, who was always wearing shades, approached her group and started to stare at her legs. He had done that twice before. One of the others came to take the group back with the other hostages but Shades, as she decided to call him, decided she would stay there with him. She was fairly of flattered but also a bit scared, though she tried not to show.

He moved a chair nearer to Jenn and dropped down into it, smirked at her, and asked with a jovial tone, "So, you dating anyone?", he said. She was quite surprised by the question but realized that could get her an exit ticket, so she let the play begin: "You really wanna know, right?"
 
"So, you dating anyone?" Taylor asked.

"You really wanna know, right?" Legs responded in question.

He took a moment to consider both of their questions. No, he really didn't care whether she was dating anyone; it was just the lame line he decided to use for it's comic relief. No, his interest was not in whether someone else was doin' her, but in whether there was any chance that he might. He gave her another conspicuous once over, causing a slight twinge in his groin. This was a woman, a woman worth taking risks with, there was no doubt about it.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked to find Cramer giving him a disapproving look, followed by the tapping of his finger to his temple. The message was simple: keep your mind in the game, or put another way, let the big head do the thinking.

Taylor looked back to the woman. He considered the situation -- both with the army of cops gathering outside, and with the devil-angel lying on the floor before him. This slice if heaven is going to send you straight to hell ... or worse, a cell.

"Seems I've gotten myself into a little situation," he said, glancing over his shoulder toward the windows and authorities beyond. Recalling how unprepared they'd been for a hostage situation, he explained, "Was supposed to be a simple in and out ... no weapon discharges ... definitely no cops or hostage taking."

He looked back to her -- to her legs, her cleavage, and finally her eyes. "But, if you have to take hostages ... I think I done good."
 
"Well, it could have been worse, I guess". She was completely stunned, and, why not, flattered. He was in the middle of a robbery and he was hitting on her.Shades' partner didn't seem to aprove of his behaviour, but he didn't care at all.

She didn't think he would answer her previous question, and in fact was a bit worried once the words left her mouth. For all she knew, he could have slapped her for her insolence. She decided to think twice before saying something else, after all he was carrying two guns and she wouldn't like to annoy him.

It would be better to ease the tension and try to use her power on him for getting everybody out of danger. "So have you thought about your next step? I wouldn't like to be bundled in here for the rest of my life, if you know what I mean..." And she winked him the eye. She wouldn't like to be taken as a hostage with a the gun pointing to her head when the four managed to go out, so she thought she could try and play along.
 
"So have you thought about your next step?" she asked. "I wouldn't like to be bundled in here for the rest of my life, if you know what I mean..."

She winked at him, which made Taylor laugh. He got another dirty look from Cramer -- as well as some questioning glances from some of the line-of-sight hostages -- but he ignored them all.

"My next step?" He shook his head. "My next step was supposed to be lathering sunscreen on a dark skinned Latina ... naked Latina at that."

The phone rang, startling Taylor. He looked back to the woman, a bit embarrassed. He shrugged it away as nothing, standing and saying, "Wow, right then ... reminded me of that time I was caught with Halley Howard in the laundry room of her step-father's house..." And as he turned away to answer the phone, he added, just loud enough for Legs to hear, "...doing things I'd like to be doing with you."
 
"Wow, right then ... reminded me of that time I was caught with Halley Howard in the laundry room of her step-father's house...doing things I'd like to be doing with you."

Wow, maybe I went too far. She was relieved he went away to take the phone, she couldn't have answered that. It was not her idea to make the man wanna bang her. She just wanted to flirt a bit and gain his attention so as to be thought of as a nice hostage no one would like to kill. Ok, calm down. Well, maybe he was talking about something not sexual, right? After all, Halley whatever couldn't be too old if they were in her step-father's house... or maybe he is even worse and likes banging little girls. She was starting to worry and felt others hostages' (and Shades friends') eyes on her and started to feel embarrased.

Hopefully the attention was diverted to Shades and the phone call.
 
Taylor lowered the phone, giving Cramer a look of concern. He gestured his XO to join him behind the Teller counter, and when the man joined him, he whispered, "We're getting some ... let's call it unwanted attention."

Cramer's brow rose, and he casually pointed an extended finger toward the front of the bank. "Maybe you didn't notice all the folks already paying attention to us."

Taylor smiled broadly. It wasn't a smile of humor, though. He leaned in closer. "The Mexi-Feds are here."

"The Federlies?" Cramer growled back, his eyes widening. After Taylor chuckled nervously, Cramer added, "Then they weren't shitting. It's here."

"It's here," Taylor confirmed. "All we have to do now is find it."

Cramer began to smile ... slowly, until his lips were wide with a pleased grin. "We're gonna be rich."

Taylor patted his friend on the shoulder, heading away as he whispered, "Sure... if we ever get out of here."

Taylor stopped suddenly, looking down to the floor. Legs was sitting up, leaning back against the Manager's desk.

And, as he made his way up to the to inform the other men of their situation, Taylor couldn't help but wonder how much of the conversation she'd overheard.
 
"I don't understand," the Manager repeated for the umpteenth time. "We're just a bank. We hold money, we offer free checking ... we try to help families with car loans, and mortgages, and--"

Taylor grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him out of his chair and almost dragging him to a back room where he slammed him against a wall. He allowed the man a moment to regain his composure, then pointed to the Money-Safe vault, ordering, "Open them."

The Manager, gasping to replace the breath knocked from him by the collision with the cinder block wall, looked to the overflow safe deposit fixture and managed, "Which one?"

"All of them."

He looked to Taylor, dumbfounded. "I can't."

The former Navy SEAL cocked his head and smiled to the man. "Why not? 'Cause you don't have the combinations?"

The Manager hesitated, then nodded excitedly. "Yes. I mean no. I mean ... yes, I don't have the combinations. Only the customers do ... have them, I mean ... to their own boxes."

"Box twelve," Taylor said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. He gestured the Manager toward the vault, and when he didn't move, Taylor ripped the Desert Eagle from it's holster and extended it forward until it was only inches from the man's forehead. "Box twelve!"

The Manager cringed, then moved quickly to the vault. He spun through the combination dial of the bank's lock, then -- as Taylor spit out numbers -- did the same to the second dial. The banker opened the little door, pulled out the box, and set it on the table, quickly returning to stand against the wall that the gun man had thrown him against earlier.

Taylor smiled to the man, thanking him, then ordered him back to the lobby. "Cramer, secure our friend again."

Once alone, Taylor opened the box and withdrew a Smart Phone. He immediately pressed a button and lifted it to his ear. After a moment he said, "Okay, it's here ... No, I haven't found it yet ... Yes, of course I'm going to look for it."

He listened for a bit more, then returned to the lobby and crossed it to a window looking out to the east. He peeked out carefully, keeping his body behind the marble pillar separating the large glass panes. He searched, then set him gaze. He raised the phone again, saying, "Yes, she's here."

He listened for another long minute, then turned and returned to the center of the lobby. He cast his gaze to Legs, still leaning against the Manager's desk, those long, luscious legs still loosely bound in telephone wire. He gave her a knowing smile, speaking into the phone said, "Well if we're going to be here for a while ... I guess I might as well find something ... or some-one to keep me busy."

He slipped the phone into the back pocket of his pants and headed for Legs, intent on spending some quality time getting to know her.
 
The Feds are here?. Jenn was surprised. That meant they were no regular robbers. Feds didn't mess with little town bank robbers. So they should have either robbed a lot of banks or lots of money or in multiple countries... It could even be all of the options together. Or maybe they used to place bombs in the places and blow up their hostages after leaving... She decided to stop wondering because it was getting worse and worse in her mind. She tried to focus in the "here and now" and see how everything went.

She didn't like being alone, separated from the other hostages but wasn't sure the bad guys would like it if she moved without being told to. So she stayed where she was, waiting for Shades or his friend to tell her to move. But they hadn't looked at her for a while and the four of them had gathered, probably, to decide their next step. Jenn tried a sexy sitting position to gather Shades' attention and then she would ask him if she should join the other hostages. But when the group headed towards the vault with the Manager of the bank, she knew she'd have to wait.
After some minutes, Shades came back, and after looking for a minute through the window, he finally walked directly towards her. Well, it seems to have worked...
 
Taylor dropped into the chair before Legs again. He was quiet for a long moment; he knew -- just like everyone involved, from hostages to tellers, from the Crew to the Authorities -- that the woman's brain was probably spinning with thoughts. He knew that she had thoughts about him, just as he did about her. And he knew beyond a doubt, that hers about him were far from similar to his about her.

All Taylor wanted was to pay this woman over a solid wood desk and fuck.

A smirk crossed his lips. Getting laid during a robbery ... ain't something that comes with your free checking account. Taylor gave Legs another quick once-over but this time acted a bit less lurid.

"Listen ... we're going to split up the hostages." He gave her a comical shrug. "I think it's a rule ... Hostage Taking, one-oh-one. How would you like a nice, comfy chair to sit in...?"
 
She wasn't sure where his suggestion was going. Split up hostages and give her a chair? She didn't see the connection. Of course it might have to do with the fact that she was getting completely lost at this man's actions. First he just stared at her, then talked about holding hostages.... She didn't know where he was going but she was quite sure that she woulnd't like it very much. but at least she had to try. Maybe the splitting up led eventually to a release...

"And what's the deal?" she asked trying not to show her fears
 
"And what's the deal?" she asked, trying to be bold, he thought.

His smirk lifted on one side. "Negotiating, are we?"

"Chief!" Cramer hollered his way.

Taylor looked to his second, and raising a finger to Legs in a wait a sec gesture, went over to the man. They chatted for a moment, at the end of which, he said, "I prefer pizza my self."

He returned to Legs, stopping over her. "Negotiations, then. Fine ... Business Accounts Manager's office ... cushy leather chair. You have to promise no funny stuff ... no secret calls to the FBI, no tunneling through the floor to the nearest espresso shop."

He knelt close to her, close enough to take in the naturally scent of her, to which he drew a deep breath, then looked into her eyes, thinking, God, I love women. She looked about to respond -- either to his very obvious flirtation or his offer of comfort -- when, with a skilled motion, he quickly lifted his pants leg, withdrew a serrated combat knife, and sliced through the phone cords around her ankle, as casually as if he'd been cutting a slice of cake.

"Sorry," he said softly, seeing that the gesture had scared her. He reached to her ankles, pulling away the cord ... and taking a moment to caress the skin that still showed the blood-draining restraint lines. He looked into her eyes, whispering, "Better...?"
 
She started thinking she wasn't going on the right direction and thought about changing her strategy. Hopefully she had some time to think when Shades mate called him. She should definitely try to let him join the others, she would obviously be safer than with that crazy robber.

When he came back and offered her to go to the Manager's office she was going to decline (why on Earth would she want to stay alone in there?) but didn't know how (or if she would be allowed) and felt a bit nervous when he knelt by her. Then, she was finally going to say something when he got out a knife and she petrified. Luckily he just cut the phone cords and released her.
What followed after wasn't at all expected by Jenn, she felt really awkward when he caressed her ankle... that would have to stop right there.

"Better...?" he asked
"Yes, thank you, that was hurting me a bit. And about the leather chair... it is a very nice offer but I don't think it would be fair for the other hostages, right? I don't think I deserve a better treatment, maybe you could just untie us all. I'm sure nobody will do any stupid thing, right?" she said, as she pointed to the group of hostages. All of them nodded in agreement.
 
Taylor followed Legs' eyes and realized that what he thought had been a private moment with the woman had been anything but! The eyes of every hostage within line of sight was on the pair!

He felt his face and neck heating up and quickly turned away from the others. Perfect, a bashful burglar.

When he felt a bit more composed -- louder than his earlier conversation with Legs -- Taylor said, "Of course. I meant everyone. No favoritism here."

He slid the knife back into the ankle scabbard and turned to smile to the others. "Everyone's interested in chairs...? No bindings...?"

Most of the hostages made some sort of affirmative noise or gesture, while a few others -- scared stiff or simply dubious about Taylor's intent -- remained quiet and still.

"Okay, then, gimme a minute to make some arrangements." Taylor looked to Cramer and found him giving him a questioning look. Taylor gave him a relax gesture, then turned back to Legs. He smiled to her, then took her hand. He squeezed it: it wasn't a let me help you up grip or even an attempt at seeming intimate; no this was a tight, almost painful listen closely grip meant to get her full attention.

"I'm doing this favor for you ... not for them," he whispered to her. He leaned in a bit closer, ensuring that only she heard him. "And you will return the favor. Now ... Get up, and follow me."

Taylor stood, again offering his hand with a hard, knowing look.
 
Deputy Keenan growled into her cell phone, "I need to talk to him now... not in ten minutes, not in five ... now!"

A moment later, a voice sounded at the other end of the call. "Sir? Sir, I need to talk to you about ... No ... No ... Yes, but ... Yes, sir, but ... Sir! Please... with all due respect ... will you just listen for a moment."

She turned back to look at the others. "Sir ... Harvey P.D. has their Lieutenant here ... yes, sir, that's her. And ... yes sir, it was her informant who provided the tip this morning." She listened, then rolled her eyes again. "Yes, sir, wrong bank ... but that was what the informant--"

She listened a bit longer, then turned in the other direction. A woman in plain clothes, backed by several men and women in Harvey blue were pressed against the wall of the real estate office that sat kitty corner to the bank, trying to get a look through the side windows. "Yes, sir. The FBI has someone here already ... no sir, I don't know how they got her so fast."

She listened more, then asked with a firm voice, "What about the Federalie? ... Fed-er-a-lie ... yes, sir, Mexican National Police ..."

She spun and looked to the Federalie, adding with great sarcasm, "Well, I guess she could just be a spic cherry picker who found a badge and an M-16--"

She pulled the phone away at his outburst, cringing, knowing she shouldn't have said it as soon as the words passed through her lips. Keenan didn't have a racist bone in her body, but at ever turn she liked to remind the Sheriff that he did.

The Harvey County Sheriff Department was being investigated on a litany of charges after a memo the Sheriff sent out promoting racial profiling was leaked to the press. The Sheriff didn't know it was Keenan herself who had leaked the memo, but she planned on revealing that info to him this fall, right after the voters gave her the Boss's job.

"No sir," she continued. "No, sir ... yes, sir ... That's fine, I'll-- yes, sir, that's fine ... I'll take care of it."

She stuffed the phone into her vest's breast pocket, took a long moment to settle her anger -- which didn't work -- then turned and headed over to the group at the van. The Fed was just arriving from her jaunt to the real estate office, asking immediately, "Did your Boss cede jurisdiction?"

"Yes, ma'am," Keenan confirmed, "but not to you. Not to the FBI."

The Agent's eye brows raised. "Excuse me?"

Keenan looked about the group as she explained, "We're all here for the same reason ... to get the hostages out of there alive and unharmed ... and to put the perps, who ever they are, in a tiny cell for a very long time. And while jurisdiction may seem a little murky here--"

"Interstate bank," the FBI Agent cut in matter of factly, "insured by FDIC. That's FBI. Nothing murky about it."

"Except that Suburbia Savings is not an interstate bank," Keenan corrected. "Nor is it FDIC insured."

"That can't be," the Fed argued.

"Maybe it can't be," Keenan responded quickly, "but it is."

A cop in blue near the van called out, "City bank, city jurisdiction."

The Harvey P.D. Lieutenant hopped in, answering, "No. For tax purposes, the bank was built just outside city limits. It's not ours."

"She's right," Keenan confirmed.

They all looked about one another, then, almost as one, they all turned to stare at the Federalie, who had been silent during the entire conversation. She continued her silence, simply shaking her head, almost imperceptibly.

"She's in charge."

The others turned back to Keenan as she raised her hand to point to a young Asian woman standing several yards away.

"Thank you, Deputy," the woman said, immediately turning away and returning toward a group of dark windowed vans and sedans about which a dozen suited, sun glass-wearing men and women had been standing isolated. They'd shown no interest in joining in the fun with the others.

"Who the hell is she?" someone asked, adding, "And who's she with?"

Keenan just shook her head in disgust and turned away, heading back toward the Command Center. Over her shoulder she answered, "That's a very good question."
 
"I'm doing this favor for you ... not for them. And you will return the favor. Now ... Get up, and follow me." he said, and she definitely realized she had been going the wrong way for quite a long time and that there was no turning-back point ahead. At least I've got more comfort for everybody... everybody but her.

As she got up and followed him she went on thinking. She thought she should have played along longer. She thought that she probably would be better still being tied up. She thought she could be dead by now (or anytime soon) for what she had done. But at last, she accepted that what Shades had in mind was probably nothing like that.

It was not that she didn't like the man, in fact, he was exactly the kind she would take to her apartment any Saturday night: fit, handsome and a bit unruly. But this one time she knew for sure he was not a good man. It was not she hadn't banged bad guys before, she had indeed done (some pervs, tax evasion bussiness man, married man who were for sure not leaving their wives, guys that had been in prison for minor thefts...). But she had known the facts after being with them. That is why they ended in her "flirt&fuck" list instead of in the "flirt but not fuck" one where she placed the men she knew were not trustworthy. But this time she would have to leave her lists aside and forget all she knew about the man. That would probably help her overcome it.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'm just too nervous to think clearly" she whispered to him, thinking it may make things better for her, although she didn't have much hope about it.
 
Taylor clasped Legs at her wrist -- just tight enough to prevent her from pulling loose but, hopefully, not so much to hurt her -- and led her to the back of the bank and into the Conference room. It was a typical meeting room, with a long solid oak table surrounded by padded, spiraling chairs, as well as smaller tables in the corners and lots of dry erase boards and informative bill boards cluttering the walls.

Taylor gestured toward the room, asking Legs, "Will they be comfortable here maybe...?"

He didn't wait for her answer, whipping out his cell phone and pressing a button. A moment passed, during which Taylor ogled Legs again and, finally, asked, "What's your name?"

But before she could answer, he held up an extended finger in a wait gesture and turned away from her. "Yeah, are you guys open...? Good. Get your pen ready, this is a big order ... ready...? Okay, I want two of every item on the menu ... no, I'm not joking. Here's my credit card number."

He pulled out his wallet, then a credit card, and read the information into the phone. As he did, he turned to watch Legs closely. He enjoyed watching this woman; he hoped for God's sake that he would like what he was planning on doing with this woman later. He remembered what his retired-Admiral father said to him after he was arrested for hijacking a Navy payroll van: The one injustice in this world is that you don't get to choose your relatives.

Sorry, dad, Taylor thought to himself, the one true injustice is that sometimes gorgeous bodies are shit in the sack.

A voice in his ear took him back to the issue at hand. "Yeah, that'll be good ... No, delivery ... the Suburbia Savings and loan, out by the high-- ... yeah, that's it. How long?" He listened for a moment, told the person that was good, then asked for ten each of every bottled drink as well. He listened a bit longer, laughed at some comment the person made, then finished, "Listen, when you get here, you're going to see a lot of activity. Don't panic. We're having a ... a law enforcement drill. You know, a bank robbery exercise. Just bring the order to the big blue van sitting out on the corner. They'll get you inside, okay...?"

He listened for another long moment, then added, "Good, see you in an hour. Thanks. Oh! Hold on! I may be a little busy, so ... why don't you add a twenty percent tip to that. And if you can get this to us in thirty minutes, I'll add another hundred bucks to that ... can you do that?" Taylor listened, then smiled. "Good. See you in thirty."

"So, what was that name again?" Taylor asked, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He ogled Legs again, and smiling, asked, "And where the hell were you going dressed like that at ten in the morning?"
 
She couldn't believe he was ordering pizza for everybody. She couldn't tell whether he was trying to really be nice or whether he was completely nuts. She realized he was sure about getting out of the bank with a really big amount of money; otherwise he wouldn't be ordering so big and giving card numbers… Or again, he was just crazy. She thought maybe he had a split personality: just some minutes before he seemed so mad (to led her to think he was going to cut her with his knife) and now he was being so nice (as to order pizza for his hostages)… or maybe she was just misunderstanding him.

His behavior stunned her so much that she almost forgot about his comment on her clothes. How dare he? He hadn't taken his eyes off her, and now he was complaining?

As she raised her eyebrow, she started to aswer: "I don't think you should have any objection to my dress style, for the way you've been staring at me." Yes, of course I noticed. Somehow it turned her on a bit. "And my name is Jenn. Guess you won't disclose your name, right? Mr. I-won't-show-my-eyes? I don't think wearing shades inside a building is less strange than my dressing…"
 
Taylor laughed loud and long. As he composed himself, he told her, "Jenn ... I like your spunk. I do, really. I admire it--" He very conspicuously dropped his eyes to her body. "--just like I admire your body."

He pushed away from the table he'd been leaning against, a smile still on his face, and moved over to her, stopping only when his chest was nearly against her own. He looked deep into her eyes, then allowed his smile to fade away slowly. He looked down to her impressive cleavage, then said softly without any hint of anger or threat, "And, like your spunk ... that body is going to get you into something you don't how to handle one day."

His smile returned, this one with a definite hint of menace in it.
 
She had decided to get deep into the game, not afraid and willing not to back down. His wild captor was not frightening anymore, in fact, he was becoming really appealing for her. She wasn't so sure anymore about not wanting to get into what she thought he was thinking about for her.

"And, like your spunk ... that body is going to get you into something you don't how to handle one day." he had said, and she noticed no hint of anger or threat, so she thought the game was over. But then a menacing smile came back to his face and then she knew the game was on again. She was kind of liking their give-and-take power struggle. She of course knew he was in control of the situation between them but she liked being able to drag him away from his thoughts and into herself. She liked getting his attention.
 
Taylor gave Jenn's cleavage one last, quick glance then headed for the Conference Room's door, saying back to her, stay here.

In the Lobby, he called out, "Pee break! Anyone who needs to go tinkle, this is your chance."

Throughout the group of hostages, a murmur arose, accented by a few thankful comments. Taylor stood over the bunch, explaining the rules with a firm tone and raised fingers: "One: Ladies first, as my momma taught me was always proper. Two: Two at a time. Three: You get in, get out ... no dilly dallying. And four: I watch."

Another murmur and some exchanged glanced revealed the discomfort concerning rule four, particularly from the women. "Sorry, that's the way it is. I'm sure if you were in my shoes, you'd understand. If it makes you ladies feel any better, you will have a fellow hostage -- female obviously -- in there with you. So ... who's first?"

Nearly every female -- some without hesitation, some tentatively -- raised a hand; a pair of males, who apparently hadn't been paying sufficient attention, did as well, but -- as Taylor cocked his head and asked "Do you pee sitting down...?" -- the guys lowered their hands quickly.

Taylor picked two women, moved closer to them, raised a leg, and pulled his knife, causing the pair -- and others -- to cringe. He knelt and, with a more cautious, less dramatic show of knife handling than he had with Jenn, cut the women loose. He stood and, with gentlemanly chivalry, offered a hand and helped each to their feet.

Taylor directed Cramer to move everyone to the conference room; he tasked Gray with helping him go through pockets -- "Cell phones, wallets, keys, change ... everything"; then he ordered Grimes to watch the cops closely and to keep an eye out for my pizza.

"Rule five," Taylor called out, shifting his gaze throughout the hostages as he continued, "is actually for my Crew. Shoot anyone ... who does anything ... that you don't like. Does everyone understand?"

Again, some with immediacy and others with hesitation, the hostages responded with head nods or soft acknowledgments.

"Alright," Taylor said firmly, backing and gesturing the pair of women toward the bathroom hallway, "Let's do this."

The pair rose and started down the hall, but stopped suddenly just past the Conference Room at Taylor's command to do so. He looked inside and, with an almost friendly smile, offered a polite hand to the tall, luscious woman watching him intently. "Would you join us, Jenn?"
 
"Would you join us, Jenn?", he appeared some minutes later with two women heading to the bathroom. She hadn't heard much from the lobby conversation but guessed they were doing a pee break. She didn't have any interest in seen some women pee, but she thought she could attract his attention so that the women could have a little bit of intimacy. Besides, it was better than waiting in the conference room.

She did her best to get his attention but it was not particularly difficult, as it hadn't been during the whole morning. She thought she could also take the advantage of being in the bathroom but wasn't sure about him peeking at her intimate parts while peeing.
 
Back
Top