Smash and Grab

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace accepted the glass but didn’t drink. ”Mmm. Was mostly thinking about the rain we’ve been having, I think.” Her skin felt heavy, the back of her brain a pile of unresponsive metal. Sluggish, like usual around this 3pm slump, but with the added off-the-cliff slump of adrenaline leaking out of the pores. She sighed, leaned back, and finally guzzled the water. She smacked her lips , sighed, and set the glass down on Huan’s desk. ”Just about fell and killed myself out in it. Real neck-breaker. Though…” She looked up at Huan, bit her tongue, turned back to the desk. In spite of herself, a smile skulked at the edges of her lips. ”As far as near life-ending wipeouts go. Was a Hell of a moment.”

”Anyway!” Her hands clapped to her thighs and she stood. She pulled a fake brochure for her fake network installation company from her fake uniform’s pockets, lay the sheet face down, flat on the desk, and used a real pen to scribble her real phone number on the paper. ”Yonder roseate light sends a homeward shiver through my wings an’ all. Number’s on the desk. Call when you’re ready to cash out. With your grace I’ll, eh, be skedaddling…”

And if Huan let her, she would indeed be slipping out the door, though it would not be until she was well clear of the building and homing in on her escape van that she’d have the temerity to pull out her phone and call the Pirate Queen herself.

[Monsy]

One moment you’re a techie marching in with a dolly cart full of bullshit, and the next, leaving with a prize in one of your riskiest jobs yet. When she stepped on those smooth fitted concrete squares, looking at the small boulevards, unknowing bystanders and parked cars, a weight came off her shoulders. The wind was nice and made the sweat on her nape cool. She sighed, pinching her nose. Options, options.. Options. Yeah, she needed to pull her head straight. Shimmer was gone. Cool. Who knew what she was saying up there now that she wasn’t eavesdropping. Sure, she stalled. But -- who cares, right? Who fuckin’ cares. As Angelina walked to the van, she curled the most devilish of smiles. Then she squatted, well, winced and hurried to her bottom before pulling out a shoelace. It made a fine little string that she tied into a small loop, stood up, then fed it through the door until it came out on the inside. A little left.. A little right. Pull. The peg was pinched, and with one steady rise, she got the magical click.

“Too easy.” Then she loaded up her Rodney and got in. “Thanks for somethin, Shimstah.” Angelina said aloud, pulling out the van keys from her pocket. You never knew what was going to happen. And if anyone was going to get out, it will always be whoever wins. That’s why, when your partner is struggling with locks, you make your move into their pockets, making magic on magic squared. The key slipped in. But then she just stared at it. One second quickly turned into a dozen, and she pushed her lips together tight. That black-haired girl was creeping its way back in.

“Now lets drive off and get away like the most bandit of bandits!”
Rachel looked to her passenger seat, with a girl of red hair, black horns, skull shirts and chequered skirts. Herself. “Can’t we wait just a lil longah? She could be right behind me. This shit almost worked on the first fuckin' go.”

Angelina snoozed in her seat in response, then jerked up, shaking her head. “Huh? Boooring. Are ya dumb or ya stupid? Almost doesn’t pay the bills. She fuckin' sucks at this. Why should we share our loot and our glory anyway? This is our out, bitch. Take it!”

The atmosphere snaps back into focus and she was still staring at the key in the ignition. The sirens pulled her back. Distant, probably irrelevant for the next few minutes if it’s for them. At last, she started it. The metres revved up, flickered, with the dash coming on and a smooth purr hit the engine into its stride. It’s the simplest fucking thing that got her heart to race. The finish line. All she needed was to cross it, shift it into reverse, pull out, shift into drive and sail off towards the roads. All clear.

Until…
“Ugh.” Angelina picked the phone from her pocket. While merging into an expressway, Angelina let her wig go free and let that red hair finally breathe as it deserved to, then flipped open the burner. “Sup. Tanya, right? Ya still hangin’ with Miss Brightspring? I know ya heard those sirens.”

[ThatPolishDude]

There was something off about Shimmer's answer, not enough to truly make Huan suspect she was lying, the part about falling to death seemed to be true but there was something off or missing. It might have just been Huan being overly suspicious or that the other woman was giving off that feeling due to stress and she knew that was an option too so she wouldn't pressure any further, there was little point to that. "Sure... I'll be in touch." She said simply, sending her unwanted guest away.

It took her a moment to notice the calling card, mostly because she did not pay attention to where she set the board in the first place, the moment that it happened being a little blurry as the break-in was a bigger shock than what was meant to be stolen. Still, when she saw the card, she did not even need to read it. It quickly got thrown in the trash as Huan let the anger build inside her for the day. The little thief would have hell to pay for that stunt, as for Shimmer, it would depend on how things would unravel and on the time Huan calls in her debt.

[Malkavia]

”Nah, Brightspring’s long behind. Wasn’t about to call you with her anywhere near. I’m out on the road. Sidewalk. Fuck, whatever.”

The trek from chez Brightspring back to the parking deck was at once easier and harder than the walk up, and for the same reason. Now that she was heading downhill on the sidewalk, controlling the cart became more difficult. It wanted to pull away from her and go careening off into some Japanese bystander, especially with her phone crooked on her shoulder.

”Now listen, I know it didn’t…” Shimmerlace bit her lip, scanning around all the while, freezing here and there. On the alleyway dumpster, the windowsill flowers of a streetside apartment—anywhere she spied a splash of scarlet. She bit her lip, imagining all the while Angie curled up in some urban hiding spot, hiding from the fuzz. ”I know it was all…proper fucked to fuck and back. Right. But you got the gold, right? And there’s no fuzz. There’s no fuckin’ anything. So…I mean…kinda a win. Least that’s how I see it.”

Tokyo was hot. A cloudless day saw the sun glitter off of glass skyscrapers and from apartment windows. Sweat itches and swelled on Shimmer’s gullet and washed down her front. The blouse on her disguise clung to her front like she’d been the victim of a super soaker assassination. She breathed heavily while struggling to stay in command of her cart.

”Why don’t I pick you up? We can grab some icies. Talk out our next eh…Talk out plans.”

[Monsy]

Driving in Japan was fucked when you can’t lane split. She took it easy, remembering the ins and outs, putting a tight back into her. How much turn for a corner? What about this curve? Speed up, slow down? It’s just like that fuckin’ beater all over again. Trying to re-learn all that with a phone to her ear no-less.

“Kinda a win? Really? Fuck sake--” Angelina ended up hitting the breaks pretty firmly at an intersection, jammed between two cars, on her flank and a curb. But as she had her foot on the break, she leaned over the console and into the glove box, then looked up, spotting a pair of pink aviators. She took it, donned them with one hand then checked the mirror. “Yeah. Yeah--nah.”

Angelina pressed the accelerator as shit began to move, easing back into her seat. Just drive for now. Distance was all she needed -- then you can worry about trackers, storage and all that backup to hold the gold. “Here’s how we play this, yo. You find anothah way home. I keep the van and everythin’ inside. Thistlebro-Thistledown, whatevah the fuck stays with me. And we go our separate ways fo’ good. How’s that for a fuckin’ plan?”

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace was halfway through formulating an excuse before the key detail hit her. ”No you can’t have the fuckin’ van!” The words barely passed her lips but Shimmer realized how light her back pocket felt against her rump. She twisted to slip a hand into the pocket, and in that motion fumbled the phone. ”FUCK!” The pink, plastic block tumbled end over end, she reeled and caught it, but that meant she had to take a hand off the cart and—and fuck it. She let it go. Kicked it, then flinched as pain arched up her side, half heat-borne stitch, half old wounds. The whole thing went careening down the road and would have flattened a bystander or three if they hadn’t already craned their necks to look at the shouting. As it was, they hopped, dodged, and glared as they brushed off the fronts of their business suits before it bounced off an uneven sidewalk crack and careened with a plastic-on-concrete crash onto its side.

Empty. Nothing but lint where her keys should have been. When did that happen? Her mind skipped and spun over the day. First bleary step out of the van, the long jaunt in the tower’s shadow, the wee fuck in the keyhole, bird smashed on tile—When?. It couldn’t have been after Huan turned up. And, speaking of—why? Homegirl, Huan, her muscled majesty. She had been scheduled for a class. Shimmer was sure as fuck on that point. So why’d she show up hours early and ready to throw down? Shimmer’s grip tightened on the phone.

”Alright. Fine. Fine. Well fuckin’ played then cunt.”

The wig was worse outside. It collected heat like a sponge and sent it dripping down her neck. She ripped it off, it and its hair net accomplice, and started yanking hair pins. Her pink locks fell around her chin in frayed, feather-duster swamp-witch mess.

”But don’t insult me with that separate ways shit. You know fuckin’ well you can’t stop me from…” She stammered, bit her lip, clenched her fist. Can’t stop you what? Words suddenly were air her mind had a hard time wrapping, the right zing of a phrase a bit of fairy dust over the crest of the hill. Her face went from red to purple. “I’ll ring your fuckin’ neck, and worse. Make that slice in your side feel like Ma’s sweet dreams kiss, s’what I’ll do. Next time…” Her whole body was trembling, chest revving on fumes, while the words came out like a growl. Next time—”

[Monsy]

It’s a tap on the wheel as the royals and studs sailed their merry way on the asphalt sea. She didn’t hear the sirens any more. That was good. Probably hard to snitch when she’s on the phone. Still, the expressway was a bag of sweaty dicks. Too many cameras and too predictable. She took the first turn off into a steady street that ran uphill and in a small snake. Just needed a curb to start dialling up folks. Well, the first part was easy. She ended up stopping near a small green field, with a semi-active playground beyond the sparse trees. Swing, jungle-gym, sand, slide -- and a weird looking clown head.

The noise of their playing leaked through the windows, so she toggled on the radio, but kept the volume low enough to make her voice crisp and clear. Angelina put a knuckle to her eyebrow, then leaned on the wheel. “Next time?” She scoffed, “Bro, where was my fuckin’ this time? Ya promised ya would do bettah. We had a deal, then ya fucked it. Absolutely fucked it.”

She leaned back in her seat, reclining it until she was staring at that grey ceiling. A deep breath went through her nose, out, and she tried smiling it off. “Wanna know somethin? Nothin’ would've changed if I just let ya fall off that roof top. I’m really regrettin’ it, Shimma. It now tells me you’re a one-hit comet, and I’ll be fucked if I watch a second more.”

The call went dead as she snapped the phone in two over her knee, then tossed into her passenger seat. A forearm covers her eyes, breathing out hard as she turns up the radio till its all she heard. It was shit. But it was noise.

[Malkavia]

Tokyo pedestrians had removed the cart from its spot in the sidewalk-street gutter and parked it in an alley-way, where it would be less of an obstruction to traffic. The life of the apoplectic woman screaming English in public into her phone was none of their business. Lover’s quarrel—or with that hair, perhaps a spoiled daughter. It was childish to make the private public, even for a tourist, and the cart—the roadblock—that crossed a line. Had it gone on much longer, someone would have phoned the police about a disturbance to the peace.

But then the shouting caught in the woman’s throat. She froze with her mouth open. Her face turned pale. She took a step back, recoiling. She stood that way for three, four, five seconds, shrunken in with her shoulders in and her arms out front, as if shielding herself. Tears welled, then ran, and she looked at her phone screen, dialed, held it to her ear, then frantically repeated the process, now shaking, visibly, even from many paces away.

After the second attempt, she put her phone in her pocket and stared at the sidewalk. Traffic carried on. She glanced at the people watching. “Désolée.” She hurried over to her cart, sniffling and wiping at her face as she grabbed it. “Sumimasen.” Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. Sorry was pennies that couldn't buy gum at the candy store, and the sniffling got louder, the floodgates sprung leaks, and finally she let it happen and heaved long, ugly, quiet sobs over her cart while she stood in the alley. The feeling of release afterwards was like ozone after the rain, a petrichor of released endorphins, and she was able to think.

In the end, it was a choice between the Vampire and a taxi. Most days, the taxi would have won out, but Charlotte sensed that she might not be able to hold it together on the drive, that fumbling through Japanese would be one chore too many, that she wanted someone, anyone, who recognized her, even if, perhaps especially if, that someone was an ex.

“Salut Maddie.” Charlotte’s voice was mouse-like. Quiet and strained. The sound on the other side of the phone made her pull the phone away from her ear. Loud, delighted, Hellooooo! ”Ouais. Ouais. Look, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. But um. I need a ride.”

End