Title: Stuck In The Middle With You (4/4)
Author: Meredian
Email: mere_dythe@hotmail.com
For Summary and DISCLAIMERS, see index page.
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Feedback: Always appreciated! 
Note: * indicates thought. 

-----------------

*What did you do, Scarlett? How did you get out?*

Ever since Nice Guy had assigned her to be his riding buddy out to the stash, Justin had expected her to share her escape situation. To share how she had managed to get out of the store. How she had survived the setup.

But she had remained quiet. Impassive.

He could no more judge what was going on behind her dark lenses then he could see what was behind a stone wall. And that scared him.

*She scares me.*

"Scarlett?"

*My voice sounds so nervous.*

"Scarlett, how did you escape? I mean, that was a fucking bloodbath. How'd you get out?"

*She's not going to say.*

And, as if on cue, there was a few seconds of silence. An uncomfortable, seemingly forever silence.

*??*

"I went home." Scarlett's voice sounded calm, assured. But underneath Justin heard a dash of guilt.

"You went home?"

"Well, all I could do was squirm my way out of there. Luckily, I was able to make it out when the cops were firing towards Blonde. Taking off my jacket, mussing my hair, I looked like a frazzeled customer. Pretty ironic if you think about it."

"Um, I don't understand..."

"Considering that I frequent jewelry stores on a regular occasion."

"As a thief?"

"As a customer."

*Huh?*

"Huh?" Justin's shock came out in full force.

"I'm a customer. I frequent the shops that specialize in fine jewelry. And quite often, I purchase. I have a wonderful collection of square cut sapphires. They are quite beautiful, and highly valuable."

Silence on Justin's end. He couldn't talk. He could only gape at this revelation.

Examining her polished nails, Scarlett continued, "So when I went home I had a fresh suit all laid out. You didn't expect me to come back here with bloodstains and dirt streaks?"

Justin's mouth hung open, but nothing came out.

*What the? Not... not a common crook?* Scarlett finally looked over at Justin. But he didn't see embarassment, or even a bit of shame. He only saw the deep, dark eyes that haunted his mind, looking at him levelly.

"I don't understand... who are you?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Don't fuckin' tell me I wouldn't understand! You're supposed to be a fuckin' professional!"

Scarlett's brow furrowed in irritation. "Listen to the big man talk. You use this 'professional' excuse to push your wishes on people. And so far it's been fine. But now you try and bully what I do with my life out of me! You blow the rules! Why?"

*She's right. Why?*

But Justin knew why.

*She's not just a co-worker anymore. I don't know what she is, but she is more.*

"Scarlett, I..."

"Fine. You want to know what I do? Who I am? Well, you get your wish."

Silence in the car. For those two seconds the world seemed to stop. The light glinting off of the insignia on the hood flashed in his eyes.

"I'm the wife of a New York stock broker. LA is our summer home."

-------------------------------

*The shooting. The cops. Man oh man.*

The cold gray walls of the jail cell pressed down on Justin. He had never been in such a stinkhole of a cell before...

*Way to treat a fuckin' professional.*

But even this outrage was only a skeleton of what was on Justin's mind. In the real part of him, the part that was real, was thinking about the events of earlier that day. The shootout that left everyone dead. Everyone, that is, except for him and Scarlett.

*Her eyes.*

She had looked at him as she fled. Running to the long black car that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Not offering to bring her with him, even though the sounds of cops grew louder by the millisecond.

*That would have screwed up her perfect life.*

And then the cops arrived. Too late to see her car speeding away, early enough to finish off whoever was left inside the warehouse.

And just in time to take him out with a shot to the shoulder.

*She left me.*

Now here he was, sitting inside this sterile cell, wearing paper booties, drinking water from a scuffed metal cup. While she was sitting pretty in her mansion, or townhouse, or whatever she lived in...

*With her husband. Her husband!*

He couldn't believe she was married. And that she didn't even tell him.

But before he had time to wallow in his pain, he heard something... the sound of heels clicking on stone.

"Hey, Farrell!" The obnoxious voice of the sallow guard came booming through the halls. "Got yourself a visitor. Ten minutes!"

*Could it be?*

"Hey Pink."

"Um, hey Scarlett."

And then the uncomfortable silence. Justin stared at her, the sweep of her hair down her brow, the set of her jaw, the burning embers of her eyes.

*She is beautiful.*

*But not a professional.*

"Get the fuck out of here. I don't need you."

Scarlett looked up. He saw nothing in her eyes but a weary resignation. She measured him with her mind, and turned to leave. But before she left, she turned on her heel.

"A copy of this was given to the county judge."

She slipped a paper into his cell.

"Bye, Pink."

And with that, she was gone, the tapping of her heels brisk on the hard floor.

He stared after her, wanted to call out, get her back, but pride and professionalism didn't allow it. He lay back on the bed for a second, staring at the top bunk.

Then he bolted out of bed to pick up the paper.

		     Certification Of Release
	This certifies, through all laws and jurisdictions of the county of 
        Los Angeles, the state of California, and the United States of 
        America, that Justin Farrell is relieved of all charges against him.

And at the bottom of the photocopy, there was a round script... written in red ink. A note from Scarlett...

	
        Pink,

	   Money has it's uses.

                     S.