St. Clair Ch. 04: The Angel

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'll probably have to anyway, if my car needs more repairs."

The half-answer, even as wryly as it was given, was a better answer than Swede had been getting, so at least he had that.

She pulled Swede into the grocery store. "Let's get the steaks and charcoal, the weather this afternoon should be perfect for the cook-out. Tammi said her and TJ will bring over cole slaw, and potato salad." It was, perhaps, an obvious and weak attempt at distraction, but combined with the not-quite positive, not-quite negative answer, it was enough to relax Swede a little.

Distracted by their largely unspoken conversation, neither Jenny nor Swede noticed the two run run-down vans pulling around the corner onto the street. They parked next to the massive limestone-walled ice factory, opposite the bank a mere half block away.

It took Jenny and Swede about ten minutes to weave through the small store, collecting a tray of steaks and a 20-pound bag of charcoal before heading to the checkout counter where Cindy waited.

Jenny looked at Cindy's hair critically. "So when are you going to let me cut your hair, Cindy? I could do a lot with it."

Cindy grimaced slightly. "I can't, really."

Swede grinned and put the bag of charcoal down on the counter. "I don't think her answer's ever going to change, Jenny. Shit. Gotta get matches." He stepped down the side aisle.

"If it's about money, I'd do it for free; you'd look really cute in a pixie cut. You could tell everyone who cut your..." Jenny's voice trailed off as she saw an absolutely stricken look cross Cindy's face. "Hey, Cindy, if it bothers you that much..."

A harsh voice from behind cut her off. "That's the way you used to wear it. Isn't it, Angel?"

The widened eyes and obvious, paralyzing horror on Cindy's face froze Jenny for a second, then she spun to face the voice.

There were two men, a muscular Hispanic-looking guy was right behind her, staring at Cindy, and a strung-out younger guy, stood farther back, looking at Jenny with oddly shaky eyes. It wasn't the eyes that really held her attention, though. It was the gun the younger guy was pulling out of his jacket.

Cindy just whispered, "Ramon."

So many things were wrong, Jenny didn't even try to figure it out. "Danny! Gun!"

Ramon was caught flat-footed by the slender black woman's call. Even more so by the grim, almost eager look on her face. The confusion lasted just a fraction of a second, just until Danny "Swede" Sorenson appeared, brushing aside a stack of canned vegetables, .45 in hand.

When the huge blonde deputy swept out leveling his gun, Ramon dove straight to the ground by the end of the checkout counter. Hamza began firing frantically, sending bullets everywhere. As loud as the Glock seemed, the sound of the two shots from Swede's .45 were overwhelming. It was also immediately effective, dropping Hamza in his tracks.

Swede immediately stepped over and kicked Hamza's battered Glock across the floor, then spun to survey the scene, but it was a hair too late. Ramon had jumped to his feet and grabbed the back of Jenny's collar. She'd seemed frozen in place by the sudden explosion of violence, just standing still as Ramon pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of her head. She barely reacted, only making a soft cough. Ramon glanced around; his target was nowhere to be found.

As the big blonde guy centered on him, Ramon hunched down behind Jenny. "Don't do it. Drop the gun or she's dead."

Swede kept his gun levelled but otherwise ignored him, fixated on Jenny. "Jenny? Jenny?"

A slight cough from the girl was the only response. Ramon looked at her face and saw blood on her lips. "Shit. I didn't do this."

Jenny finally spoke. "He was here for Cin... Cindy. She's gone."

"It's the right lung, Baby. We'll get you to a doctor and you'll be fine." Swede caught Ramon's eye. "Let. Her. Go."

Ramon dragged her slowly back towards the door, more disturbed by Swede's deadly calm than he would have been by panic and anger. "Not happening. I'll let her go when I'm fucking clear."

"She dies, you die."

Ramon nodded. "I know. Just let me get the fuck out of here, and you can have her."

Swede followed wordlessly out the door and slowly down the street.

###

"On the floor. Everybody on the floor please." The calm politeness of the statement was offset by the weapons in the men's hands.

Andrew Weber, assistant Bank Manager, with almost 30 years in the business, calmly gestured for everyone to follow the instructions. They'd drilled on this over and over. No heroes necessary, just let them take the money. The FBI could track it all down later, and insurance would cover what was taken anyway.

"Don't look at me." One of the men had slid over the counter and was speaking evenly to the three cashiers. They were lying face down on the floor; none of them so much as glanced up. They didn't need to, the bank cameras would provide all the evidence anyone needed, after all. Besides, the robbers were all wearing hoodies, sunglasses, and had black bandanas to mask their faces. Except the big bald guy with the shotgun, who only had a bandana.

One by one, the gunman had the girls open the cash drawers, Sara, then Kelsey, then Peyton. Each girl opened her drawer and was sent to lay down in a row in the lobby. Andrew kept focusing on breathing. He knew everything was going to be fine. They'd practiced this, the girls knew exactly what to do, and the gang members seemed intent on getting in and out as fast as possible. The only customer was Eric Layton who'd just dropped off his Dad's hardware store receipts.

Eric worried Andrew just a bit. He was the only one who didn't know his part. The girls did, and the robbers seemed to, but Eric was sweet on Kelsey, so he might do something stupid. He managed to peek out of one corner of his eye and saw that guy with the AK-47 was standing over Eric and talking to him. "You just stay down, boy. We'll be done and out of here before you know it. You'll have a cool story to tell all your friends, and nobody gets hurt."

Andrew breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to be dealing with professionals. A toe kicked him in the ribs, not too hard. He looked up at the gunmen, the one holding the AK. "You the manager?"

"Assistant manager."

"Bank Manager for now, anyway. Let's go get the vault."

Luka led the "assistant manager" to the vault behind the counter, hands clasped behind his head. Emil was emptying out the bank drawers. "Don't take any dye packs."

Emil shot Luka a look. "I know what I'm doing."

The manager, apparently very calm, glanced down at the cashiers in passing. "Stay calm and do what they say."

Luka smiled under his bandana. It was nice to be working with a professional for a change. He glanced at the man's name tag. "So, Andrew, is this on a time lock?"

"No, sir. Those are getting pretty rare these days. No real point to them." Andrew opened the lock quickly and stepped back.

Luka glanced in, then shook his head. "Hardly worth the trouble anymore isn't it?"

Andrew shrugged. "It's all electronic now. Used to be they'd bring in 30 or 40 thousand in cash some days, big sale barn days for cows and stuff. Now we're lucky to see two or three thousand brought in. Still, we haven't had a pickup in five days, so..." His voice trailed off and he gestured helplessly.

"What can you do? Technology is changing everything." Luka gave a half-hearted smile under his bandana.

Andrew mused nostalgically. "End of an era, I guess."

Both men were silent for a moment. Luka had him get back on the floor, then went back and picked up the few bags of bills, not bothering with the coin bags. He'd told the guys that if they wanted coins, it was easier and safer to knock over laundromats and carwashes.

Emil had finally finished cleaning out the drawers and walked around the corner of the counter to him.

Luka looked over at Levi. "Looks like we're done here." He could see Tarik grin under his mask. It'd gone just as smoothly as Tarik had expected.

The sound of automatic fire from outside erased Tarik's smile.

###

Ramon edged down the street - the vans were on the opposite side. The blonde guy was pissed, but so far he was keeping his cool, moving along the wall, staying in doorways and wherever there was a hint of cover, keeping his gun slightly down to avoid shooting the girl. He was obviously a cop of some kind, but he'd bargain, Ramon was sure of that: trade the girl for a chance to get away. Get to a van, slam it into reverse and get out. If those idiots weren't done with the bank, too bad; Levi could make it out on his own. Maybe Ramon would get lucky and Levi would get killed.

"Stay cool. I didn't shoot her, and I just want out of here. You stay at the end of the block, I get into the van. I'll let her go right there and you can take her to the hospital. You have all the time in the world to chase me, but she doesn't have that time."

Swede just nodded at the man, trying to memorize every line of every tattooed cross. There really was no denying the cold logic of the argument. He had to get Jenny to a hospital. But there'd be a reckoning later.

Jenny stumbled a bit, but the guy held her carefully upright. He even seemed to be trying to be careful with Jenny, although it was probably to keep Swede calm. She caught Swede's eye. "Swede, he knew Cindy and she knew him, called him 'Ramon.' She was terrified."

Ramon shrugged. "'Swede,' right? None of that matters now. We gotta deal with the mess we got."

Swede nodded again. "Let's just get this done."

Ramon gave a brief smile. "Nobody wants that more than I do."

Swede stopped at the corner and let Ramon edge away, stealing glances back towards the vans on the opposite side of the street.

Ramon could see Petar look around the lead van, the one Adem was driving. Ramon gestured for him to relax and sighed with relief as he did. As long as the kid didn't fuck this up, they could get the hell out of here. All he had to do was keep everyone calm.

He glanced over at Swede, confirming he was right where he was supposed to be. Just as he looked back at Petar, he knew things had gone wrong.

Across the street, eyes wide, Petar was leveling his assault rifle down the street past Ramon.

A stocky, square-cut man in a brown and tan law enforcement uniform had just come around the corner of the ice factory, stepping past a parked ice delivery truck that had blocked him from seeing what was going on.

Before Ramon could even attempt to stop the obvious disaster, Petar fired a long burst. Two rounds impacted on the dirt in front of the man, then the burst stitched upward across his torso, the report of each round distinct and harsh. The last several rounds from the assault rifle slammed into the ice factory wall well above the man, in puffs of paint and limestone. As the unformed man spun, he managed three staggered steps across the street, then crumpled. The woman in Ramon's grasp screamed weakly, "Shannon!"

Swede snarled and began firing steady, rhythmic shots.

Fucked. Well and truly fucked. Ramon didn't have any doubt how the exchange of fire would end; the big blonde guy was obviously competent, experienced, and trained. Petar had probably blasted off most of his ammo in that long blast. Ramon wasn't bothered by that at all; Petar was a fucking idiot, and his almost indiscriminate fire was as much of a threat to Ramon and any passing birds as it was to Swede.

What did bother him was the suddenly impossible distance across the now-improbably vast street to the slender safety of the vans.

As Swede's shot found their target and Petar collapsed like his strings had been cut, Dino and Adem began firing from the driver's windows of their vans. A moment later Filip started shooting from around the front bumper of the second van. Seeking any path to safety, Ramon pushed through a glass door to his left, dragging the limp woman with him, turning rapidly to scan the room. Levi, Luka, Emil and Tarik stared at him in shock.

"What the fuck?" Tarik fumbled one of the bags of bills from the register.

"Your boy, Petar, just blew away a cop. Dumbass. There's another one out there, plainclothes, he got Petar. And we have to get across the fucking street."

"Goddammit!" Tarik gestured wildly with the gun. "This was going fine. That fucking idiot..."

Irritated, Luka turned to Tarik. "Grow the fuck up. Something always goes wrong. And quit waving the goddamn gun around like..."

Before he could get the warning out, the Glock fired deafeningly in the marble-walled room. Tarik looked in astonishment at the gun in his hand. Luka pursed his lips in anger. "Let's just get the fuck out of here..." His voice trailed off when he saw Emil pointing at the bank manager. Or rather at the dead body of the bank manager; Tarik's accidental round had gone straight into the back of Andrew's skull. A pool of red was just starting to sluggishly spread out.

Two of the three cashiers were sobbing in shock, but the third, Kelsey, he thought they'd called her, glared at them with hate.

"I didn't mean to..." Tarik looked like he was going to throw up.

Before Luka could say anything, Levi cut in. "What the fuck did you think was going to happen? It's a gun you fucking idiot; you pull the trigger, a bullet comes out."

Tarik started to babble out an excuse, while Luka looked sadly at Andrew's body; he'd actually liked the guy.

"Enough!" Ramon glared around the room. "We have a dead cop, Petar and Hamza are dead. Now this. Get your shit..." He gestured toward where he'd last seen Swede "... shoot that way and run for the vans. Tell the fucking drivers to back down the street and get out of here."

Ramon's words sunk into Tarik. "Hamza...?"

Levi shook his head. "Shut up. We cut our losses and get the fuck out."

Luka pushed Tarik and Emil towards the door. "Let's go, we'll sort this out later."

Levi smiled slightly as he noticed Luka was pushing the two younger men out ahead of him, then caught Ramon's sleeve. "Did you get her?"

"No. Hamza fucked everything up. I had to use this bitch as a fucking shield to get here."

"Dammit. Gutierrez is going to lose his shit over this."

"He's not our biggest problem right now. We need to get out of here alive before we worry about him."

###

Tammi suddenly slowed the car to a stop. "What the hell is going on up there? Is that Swede? Oh, God, Shannon..."

TJ's face went grim and she pulled her back-up gun from the glove box. "Stay here."

She slid out of the truck and began to sprint forward.

Cindy straightened up from where she'd been cringing and holding her head in her hands, next to the dumpster, forcing herself to concentrate on escaping. She crawled along the alley until she reached the road. A small brown car stopped nearly directly in front of her and she watched TJ slip out, and begin running down the road toward the sound of gun fire.

Cindy started to creep across the road, trying to get further from the grocery store. It wasn't until she looked to her left and saw Swede firing his gun around the corner that Cindy figured out who TJ was yelling to when she said, "Cover me!"

###

The unmistakable sound of automatic fire caught Don's attention just as he dropped Ellie's tip on the table. He headed out the door at a trot, hearing a spatter of shots all too close.

He started to pull his gun, but pulled his keys out instead, unlocking his vehicle and yanking the Remington 870 tactical shotgun out. Racking a round into the 12-gauge, he headed to the corner to get to the only place that made sense: the bank. Luckily it was less than half a block away.

Completely focused, he didn't even notice Ellie calling Donny and Mel, then following him out the door.

###

Jenny pulled out of her daze for a second and actually smiled. "I don't think you're going to make it. I don't know much about bank robberies, but I don't think that's a good sign. I don't think robberies are supposed to look like Grateful Dead concerts" She pointed weakly out the door at the men running for the vans, hunched over as if against rain, firing blindly down the street towards the grocery store. Orange, purple, and green smoke was pouring from the bags held by the two younger men, forming huge, garish, clouds.

Ramon let her collapse to the floor and shook his head disbelievingly.

Levi gave an exasperated growl. "Dye packs. Fucking idiot..." The boom of a shotgun from the wrong end of the street cut his vent short and he watched Emil falter, then jolt again from another round and go down. The shots had come from the end of the block where he'd seen that little diner.

"Dammit."

The two men started through the door.

###

Adem had had enough. Seeing Petar go down had been bad, but seeing Emil and Tarik streaming brightly colored smoke meant all this had been for nothing. The money would be unusable, even if they got away. He dropped the van into gear and stomped on the gas pedal. The van lurched forward, fan belts screaming if not the tires, as Adem tried to get away. A sickening "thump-thump" of his tires harshly reminded Adem that he hadn't really seen where Petar had fallen. He veered away from the fallen police officer just as a quick, lithe figure darted out past the big blonde guy. The figure tumbled to the ground obviously hit by something, but rolled right back up and began firing steadily at Adem from mere feet away.

Adem got the barest vague impression of an eyepatch before TJ's round found its mark through the door and into his lungs. The van bounced off the ice delivery truck and stopped sideways in the intersection. Adem slumped over the wheel, trying to convince himself he just needed to catch his breath, foot stomping, weaker and weaker, on the floor next to the gas pedal.

As the van came to rest, TJ glanced down at Shannon, taking in the bullet wounds in the right hip and left shoulder. She hoped the vest had stopped the rest.

TJ grabbed the back of his collar and began to back-peddle towards Swede, dragging Shannon and firing though the strange Technicolor haze at the gunmen. Two of them bolted back into the bank. TJ was cursing steadily under her breath; she'd only had her nice new "peg" a couple weeks, and now she'd have to go to Columbia and explain that she needed a new one because she'd let this one get shot, if she managed to survive this.

When she reached the corner, two sets of hands helped her pull Shannon behind the corner.

TJ stared at Tammi. "You have to get out of here. You've got to get Courtney out of here." She knew she sounded like she was pleading, but it didn't matter. Whatever else she was going to say was smothered by Tammi's lips.

"I'm going, but I'm taking Shannon with me to the hospital. Don't you dare get hurt." Tammi turned and looked at Swede. "Danny Sorenson, you make sure she gets back to me in one piece, you hear me? No matter what you have to do to them."

Danny nodded grimly, stripping the gun and extra magazines from Shannon's belt to replace his empty gun, while TJ claimed his radio. "They have Jenny. She said this was about Cindy somehow."

TJ and Tammi looked at each other, then at Swede. "Shit."

While Tammi and Swede loaded the still-unconscious Sheriff into the back of the little brown car, TJ began to call for help on the radio.

###

Luka stumbled for the remaining van, a searing pain in his side where at least one round had found a mark. The smoke swirled and cleared for just a second leaving him a clear tunnel of sight to the large figure of the shotgun-bearing deputy who'd killed Emil. He lined his AK up on the man and fired a short burst that took him down. Hands reached out from the corner of the building and pulled him back out of sight, but since they'd left the shotgun where it was, Luka let them go. No point in killing civilians.