The Quasiverse Blog

The shotgun blast is a metallic roar that slams off granite in a ringing wave as the pellets pepper the composite tiles above.

Now it’s very real.  Armed robbery and illegal discharge of a firearm within city limits.  I’d been hoping we could keep our pending charges to a minimum, but now I can only hope things don’t get any further out of control.

“All the way down, ladies and gentlemen,” Ditch says, bringing the shotgun level at his hip again.  How many hours had he practiced before the mirror, swinging that gun around and imagining the cameras, the infamy, the glory?  More than I can count.

I tensely remind myself to just do as I’m supposed to: watch the left side of the bank, keep my pistol aimed away from the other guys, and stay calm and follow orders with everyone else.

“Very good,” Grinder says as the teller hands over the last bag of money.  “Now join your friends on the floor and we’ll be out of your way in thirty seconds.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for your cooperation,” Ditch announces, gesturing for Mac and I to withdraw.  I mimic Mac’s exit, backing toward the door and keeping the pistol aimed forward at the customers on the floor.

“Go ahead,” Mac tells me as we near one another.  With relief, I turn and run through the doors, then jump into the waiting van.

Mac is right behind me.  When he gestures for the pistol I relinquish it gladly.  Zed revs the engine as the others emerge, and I marvel that the day is still quiet, without sirens.

Then I see the woman between Ditch and Grinder.

“Mac,” I hiss.  “What the hell – a hostage?  Kidnapping, unlawful restraint –”

“Shut up, pre-law,” Mac snaps back.

I shut.  Ditch lifts a hand as if to shove the woman into the van, but his hand stops short as if his intent had been to gesture, to invite her into the vehicle.  I catch a glimpse of her profile as she steps up off the curb; her face is composed, without fear, but there is a hint of something, almost a flavor, of irritation.

As she slides onto the bench behind Zed, Grinder follows her and Ditch swings into the passenger seat as the van starts rolling.  Grinder wrestles with the door against inertia, and as I’m watching her, she’s watching him.

One corner of her mouth lifts just a little, and it seems something sharp and hot sparks through the air around her.

Grinder yelps as the door obeys with a vengeance and catches his fingers between its edge and the frame.

Ditch snaps at him to be quiet while Mac snickers.  I say nothing, and our hostage turns her attention to her hands, examining the well-kept nails as if more concerned about her manicure than her safety.

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