Helen Fenwick

An interesting Interlude

Silvia throws back her long, black hair and strides into the bank.   Her ipod blasts a head-banging beat into her multi-studded ears.  She joins the queue and fiddles with the beaded chains around her neck.   Her eyes, ringed with dark make-up, dart around the hall.   She notices a cute blond boy and an older, burly bearded man filling out forms at the attached-to-wall desks.   There is an old woman in front of her.  It’s a slow day at the bank and her teller is the only one on duty.  

A fish eagle calls, softly at first then louder; its African shriek shattering the serious stillness of the bank.   Greg fumbles in his backpack and retrieves his cell phone.  He is aware of puzzled eyes boring into him and then hears sniggers as he answers his call.
“Should’ve shut off my phone,” he says, “everyone’s looking for the eagle! Call you later. I’m in the bank.”  He shoves his cell back into his bag, pulls on his beard and says, “Sorry, folks – birder’s phone!” 

Silvia turns on her high-heeled boots and fixes Greg with a haughty glare.   Asshole, she thinks, what kind of ring-tone is that!  But he’s got everybody giggling and off-guard now. I must concentrate.

She shoves her hand into her black sling bag.  The little old lady takes her cash and shuffles toward the exit.  Silvia lets her go.  “Move on, you old bag.  I’m in a hurry,” she mutters under her breath.
“What’s that?” the old woman fiddles with her hearing-aid and receives a cold scowl in response.

Greg slinks in behind Silvia.  He takes in her dark appearance, Why does a gorgeous young girl like this spoil her beauty with piercing and  appendages.  Who’d want to kiss those black lips with all that protruding metal.   You’re liable to do yourself some serious injury!   His eyes move down her body.  Nice ass, though.  Hey – what’s she doing?  Why is the teller looking so nervous?   My God – she’s pointing a gun.  Shit this is a hold-up!

He glances around.  Nobody else has noticed.   The pretty boy is still scratching on his form.   The teller is silently putting notes into a bank bag.  Greg backs away quietly, calmly, barely daring to breathe.   He looks toward the exit and notices a figure equally as dark as the female felon shrugging his shoulder and shaking his head.   People stomp off, frustrated but accepting the word of the accomplice that the bank is closed.  

Greg sidles up to the blond boy and touches his knee.  He puts his fingers to his lips – sh.  Jamie winks and rubs his shoulder against Greg’s.  He whispers, “I was attracted to you from the moment I set eyes on you.”

Oh God! thinks Greg. My only hope is a cowardly pooftah!
“Sorry sweetheart,” he says. “But we’ve got a situation here.  This is a stick up!”

Jamie leaps up daintily and shrieks, “Don’t hurt me! Take whatever you want.  Here thith gold chain ith very ecthpenthive.”

Greg puts his head in his hands and groans.

Silvia spins around and aims the gun at the commotion.   Jamie sinks, whimpering, to the floor.

“Don’t move!” yells Silvia   She grabs the bag of cash and edges toward the exit. 

Jamie catches sight of a wire and bead giraffe spilling from Greg’s back pack. He grabs it and throws.  It catches Silvia on her brow ring.  The gun clatters to the floor as she reels in pain.   Greg leaps up and dives to retrieve it.  The dark youth at the door beats a rapid retreat.  The teller sounds the alarm. Security races in and arrests the female felon.

Greg and Jamie leave hand-in-hand to have coffee at the Brinjal.


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