“Come out with your hands up,” shouts the captain through a blue and white bullhorn. A squad of officers surround the front of the bank with their cars. The other bulk of the police hold the blockade as the disruptors try to gain ground.
“Get back or I will shoot!” yells a younger officer as the barricade snaps in half. He draws his pistol with a shaky hand screaming “Back up I said!” as the rebels get past the barrier. He levels the barrel to a young woman’s head of similar age. She freezes wide eyed mere inches from the gun. The two are suspended in time, the sound of the crowd drowns out as the officer stairs her down. The moment between the two is broken when another man latches onto the officers arm.
“Murderer!” screams someone in the crowd. The officer elbows the man in the face drawing back into the protection of his fellows.
“Enough of this rabble,” declares the chief to a policeman standing next to him. “Gas these sons of bitches.” A group of officers in full riot gear march towards the group holding long pipe cannons in hand. With a holler, the police release a series of canisters into the pack. The metal projectiles knock a few people to the ground as they descend. When they land they roll releasing a dense cloud of milky brown smoke. The protesters scream as it soon covers them in a haze of poison. They trample each other to avoid the spreading wall, their clothes reeking of the toxic fumes as they breach the plumes.
The police in front chatter to each other when they see the mirror glass door of the bank slide open. A man steps from the shadows with a girl coiled in his arm and a gun against her lower jaw. The man lowers his lips to the young woman’s ear. “Now darling remember what I said. If you move or say a word, I will spray your face all over the room. You got that?” she nods her head as tears drop off her cheeks. His voice is gruff, the trademark of an excessive smoker.
The captain of the police lifts a radio off his chest “Get me a sniper on him, fast.”
“Put down the gun sir, it will be better for everyone if everyone gets to leave today.” says the captain.
The man laughs. “I will put the gun down and even give you the girl.” A few officers approach the stairs with their guns drawn. “Back up you shit heads. Back up!” he says pulling the gun from the girl. Pointing towards the crowd. “Get back or else! If I see a boy in blue,” He presses the gun into the lady’s jaw moving her spongy skin. “Well, would not want to turn her pretty face into a scarlet fountain would we!” He points the gun back to the officers. “Move back I said! Go, now, do it!”
“The gun is off the girl take the shot.” The police chief says over the radio.
A bullet thunders from the adjacent building. The charge soars overhead through the man’s face. In an instant, the image of the hostage and the man flickered away leaving only a small softball sized orb at their feet. “Wrong move assholes!” replies the man over the bank’s intercom speakers.
“Shit!” gasps an officer as an explosion rolls out from the front of the bank. Fire bellows over the ground with shards of debris hitting several bystanders in the wave of heat winds. The remaining protesters ran for their lives along with several officers who crack under the pressure.
~
Apricot huddles to her knees and screams as the ground rumbles. The cables strung to the walls dangle causing the shadows to dance with the rocking lights in their metal cages. Apricot grabs her chest feeling her pounding heart through her shirt. Not too far from her are the metal rungs marking the exit. She could not get to them quickly enough after the booming shook her to the bone. Apricot looks up through the escape hatches metal bars to see blue sky much to her relief. Up the steps she scampers pushing open the grate to the surface.
A smile grows on Apricot’s face as she glances around the dirty backstreet lot to see several trash bins filled with assorted recyclables. She pulls herself up noting she is definitely behind the bank as a tall brick wall with nasty looking razor wire encloses the back-lot. Creeping out of the hole, Apricot allows the metal grate to slam shut with a loud clank. She turns towards the alleyway to observe police pulling people from a rubble torn street flowing with wavering smoke. “Was that a bomb? Who would use bombs for a bank robbery?” She questions aloud to herself. That seemed far too absurd to be the truth. Apricot remembers the Boken’s Sword rule to argument, the simplist answer is the most likely answer. So why would someone use a bomb?
Her hands fidget as a tense feeling washes over her. “Could this be a terrorist attack?” She bites her lip swallowing hard as this whole ordeal twisted from irresponsible to dangerous. “Can’t let nerves get to you girl. You want to be a reporter, nows the time to act like one,” she coaches herself.
Apricot lifts the camera to her face to see the viewfinder is black. She removes the camera from her eye to see the cap is dangling off the lens on a tinsel of white string. Returning the camera back to her eye she sees a hazel eye looking back. Instead of having lashes teeth surrounded the orb. “What the?” Apricot says under her breath. The teeth shut turning into a grin saying “Hello,” in a strange cartoon-like voice. She shrieks and throws the camera. Her hands cover her mouth shaking from the sudden fright. The sound of glass shattering directs her gaze to her feet. Sato’s camera lays broken on the ground.
Apricot drops to her knees lifting the now mangled camera. A small sob escapes her nostril as pieces of glass drop out of the lense onto the pavement. “No,” Apricot says under her breath while a tear runs down her cheek.
“Don’t move.” a young man demands. Apricot looks up to see a man in scruffy clothing holding a pistol. She felt pale as he bobs the nozzle. Apricot accepts the gesture as a direction to stand. She rises to her feet as the chili yellow eyes of this man with a strong jawline regards her. “Wow, he is handsome,” she says to herself.
“Now, why would a girl be out here?” he asks.
“I, I am a journalist. I am trying to get a few photos for my article.” Apricot says holding the broken camera in hand.
“Looks like you need a new camera.” The handsome man snickers. “You think I am an idiot or something?” he retorts. “You went through the sewers to get back here. Filthy. Are you sent by the cops? Got a wire on you?”
Apricot shakes her head. “No.”
“Sure, like you would tell me, anyway.” While the barrel faces Apricot, she felt as though it is the chambered bullet which interrogated her; like some kind of rabid dog, leashed waiting for word from its master, looking for reason to bore itself into her stomach, pleasured to do his work.
It breaks her thoughts when he continues. “There is one way you can prove you don’t.” He raises his head pointing his pistol at her chest. “Take em off.” Her face grows flush as the order rung in her head. With a deep breath Apricot places her fingers on her shirt. She pauses and swallows. “Go ahead.” he says with a perverse glint in his eye. She peals her coat from her stomach and lifts her undershirt from the band of her skirt.
“Wait.” the man says as he lowers the gun. His gaze diverts to the ground. “You don’t have to do that.” Apricot ponders if it is a trick. Then again, even if it is a trick, he would shoot her, regardless. Apricot lowers her shirt back to her stomach. The man pushes against the door with a clank against the brick wall. “After you.” He says directing her inside.
If she goes inside, she is not sure if she would live or die. The idea strikes her funny. She had her robbery article as a first-hand figure. The coin had flipped, no longer is she reporting on a story, she had become it. If she lived through this, she may hold the story of a lifetime. A book deal even. As she considers the possibilities a smile grows on her face. “What has you so happy? Got some sick fetish for being a hostage?” and in that instant, as she looked at the gun directed at her, the joy is gone. The fear of death snuggly placed in mind.
~
“How the hell do we get out of this?” says a man holding a pistol. He looks younger than the handsome man, a late teen, twitchy too; this makes him dangerous Apricot notes.
The man who captured her shook his head. “I don’t suppose we can just walk out the front door. The back is open, heh, reporter girl found a way through the tunnels. If we slip out though, I am sure we will get chased.”
A lady rests up against a bank teller‘s desk. She either has a resting bitch face or is ready to tear someone‘s head off. Apricot reasons she is in her late twenties or even early thirties judging by her mature yet smooth face. Unlike the other guy she did not carry a weapon but the long jacket she wore could conceal an arsenal. “Well, isn’t this great? We got a swarm of angry police in front, bright eyes is upstairs drooling like a madman, and now we got this kid hostage with us. This was not what we planned at all. What the hell was he thinking?”
“A bomb, Diago is insane.” moaned the young man. He paces in a circle carefully maintaining cover from the front.
Apricot sat on the floor of the decorated bank. In the lobby, the polished marble floor has a huge crack which she assumes is the remnant of the blast. The shattered glass around the windows allows smoke to flow into the room. It is diluted but stilled burned the nostrils.
Apricot decided it was best to just listen to the group bicker. The questions only grew as they complain. One thing above the rest troubles her. What did they expect to gain from a bank robbery? They had done away with paper money since the Emerald Mark became the new standard. She could not bite her tongue any longer. She had to know. “What was your plan?” Apricot burst out.
The handsome man glances over at her while the other two look at each other. “Told you she was an interesting one.” He says with a half smile.
The nervous man laughs. “Well, we aimed to get ourselves a hefty retirement plan… but it is looking like we got ourselves a funeral instead.”
“Maybe, you could turn yourselves in, I mean the bomb was not your idea. Turn on that… Diago guy. He does not seem like he cares much about you.” Apricot suggests.
The girl glances at Apricot taking measured steps towards her. From her side, she draws a thin slab. With a click, the slab reveals a spring-loaded blade. She bends next to Apricot placing the flat of the blade against her cheek. “Comedian, keep talking and I will carve a smile all over your face from bloody ear to bloody ear.”
The handsome man smiles letting off a chuckle that is far too calm. “I kind of like the comedian, someone has to be funny around here. Might as well be her.” She taps the tip of the blade on Apricot’s cheek leaving a small superficial cut. Her brown eyes locking with Apricot’s give a sharp warning. She yields the threatening blade to her palm and stands to her feet.
“She might be right.” The nervous man stifles a snicker. “I mean, I ah, I don’t want to die. We had no part in the bomb. That was all Diego’s plan. Heh damn, I mean, how do you explain that?”
“Diago, what is he doing up there?” the calm man says. “I knew deckjocky was just a plug head.”
“He will still come through for us, right?” the young man laughs. “I mean… he rigged that bomb up… with that holosim from upstairs. Think he has a way of getting out of here?”
“Only one way to find out.” the girl with the blade looks over at the calm, handsome man.
“Yeah, yeah, I will check on our little decker… see if he’s done.” The man jumps off the desk and lowers his hand to Apricot. “I want a body as collateral though.” Her heart flutters leaving her to question her own sensibilities. “Hey reporter girl, mind being my shield?” He grabs Apricot’s hand lifting her to her feet. “Come on it’s this way.”
Comments (0)
See all