Scribe's POV

It was my niece Eva's first day at the bank, her first real job. I'd dropped by to take her out to lunch to celebrate. I figured there wouldn't be any trouble with her getting off. After all, it was a small bank, tiny really. There was very little business during the lunch hour. I guess that made the robbery even more shocking.

I found out later, much later, that its very obscurity was why it was targeted. It seemed that a diamond merchant had decided that it would be safer to store a large shipment in a tiny suburban bank where 'no one knew about it', rather than going to one of the bigger branches in Houston. This might have been true except for the fact that someone on the inside had been looking for just such an opportunity for several years. They contacted certain interested parties, who contacted certain others who had shown skills that would prove useful.

I was waiting for Eva to tally her cash drawer when the power went out. The little building went dim and silent. You never realize how much noise air conditioners and computer terminals make until they suddenly shut off. The only sound was the buzzing murmur of the dozen or so customers and staff. The manager came out of his office to investigate. "The phone's out, too. Is it just us, or the area?" Before anyone could answer, they came through the front door.

God, they moved fast. They were four men--all in dark, nondescript clothes, all wearing ski masks, all armed. They moved as one. Two of them had aerosol cans and they ran and sprayed the security cameras. Any tape would show nothing more than a group of dark figures bursting in. One of them looped a heavy chain through the door handles and snapped a padlock on it, effectively sealing the doors. The last did the most to keep everyone in check. As screams started to rise he fired a shot into the ceiling and said, "Anyone who runs gets shot, and you can try you're fucking alarm buttons if you want, but they're useless, and it might piss me off enough to kill you."

Everyone froze. All right, I thought. These men are professionals. They probably just want to get the money and get out. If we keep our heads down and do what they want it'll be over in a couple of minutes.

"First thing, let's get all you good people over against that side wall there. Nice and easy. I'd really rather not have to kill anyone, but I will if you get stupid."

We moved over to the side wall. This way we were out of sight from the street unless someone came to the door and peered in directly. Eva clutched me, trembling. I tried to soothe her silently. It wasn't the first time I'd been robbed. Granted, it hadn't been this flamboyant, but I'd worked years as a convenience store clerk, graveyard shift. If you do that long enough, you get robbed. I knew what to do. Co-operate, don't argue, don't speak unless spoken to, don't try to hide or defend any money or goods they wanted. The security experts hadn't needed to tell me that.

The first man pointed at one of the others. "Get the cash drawers, then come help me in the vault. You," he indicated another. "Keep them still." He grabbed the bank manager by the arm. "You're gonna help me out." He started to march the pale faced man away.

The final man called, "Hey!" The leader paused questioningly. "You promised."

He waved a gun toward us. "Get on with it. There isn't much time." He disappeared into the vault with the manager.

The second man went behind the counter and started to dump cash into a sack he'd pulled out of his jacket. The third watched us grimly, pistol leveled. The fourth, who seemed younger than the others, tucked his weapon in the back of his belt and approached.

The first two people in line were men and he ignored them. The next was a woman in her early sixties and he went past her with scarcely a glance, then three more men, which he passed immediately. That left four other women, Eva, and myself.

We were at the end of the line. There was a slender woman about my age, early forties. He looked her up and down, then moved to the next woman. She was a loan officer, I think--early thirties, very sleek and well groomed, perfectly coiffed. She flinched when he touched her hair. It had been heavily moussed, the strands stiffened into the style she'd chosen. He made a disgusted sound, and moved on. The next was a twenty something girl in slightly grubby goth attire. He sniffed the air around her, and I saw his nose wrinkle through the hole in the mask.

The woman next to Eva came in for a closer inspection. He put his fingertips against her lips and rubbed harshly. He left her lipstick smeared greasily on her cheeks and chin and wiped his hand off on her blouse.

I was starting to get really scared, now. What on earth kind of agenda did he have? Was he choosing a hostage? That made sense. Maybe they were intending to add kidnaping to their crime spree, and ask a ransom for someone.

Then he came to Eva. She was white faced and shaking by now, poor kid. She looked like she was going into shock. He rubbed his hand on her cheek and inspected his fingers. They were relatively clean: she'd subdued her makeup in deference to her workplace. He sniffed around her. She'd worn a very subdued perfume, also. He touched her hair, lifting some of the heavy strawberry blonde tresses, rubbing them experimentally between his fingers.

He took hold of her shoulder and turned her roughly, front and back. He was studying her closely. He grabbed her chin, and looked at her face. I couldn't stand it any more. She was almost catatonic with fear. If she was used as a hostage she might survive it physically, but God knew what it would do to her emotionally.

I did something that was probably very stupid. I grabbed his arm.

Jerry’s POV

"Don't."

I look down at the hand that has materialized on my arm and wonder who the fuck wants to die that much. I look angrily away from the girl I've been considering, turning my eyes to the last woman in line.

She doesn't flinch back, she doesn't remove her hand, she doesn't even drop her eyes. She stares right at me and repeats quietly. "Don't"

The tone stops me from busting her head with my gun butt. It isn't commanding, or desperate, or even pleading or frightened. It's... deferential. Apologetic. The tone says, 'I know you may kill me for this but it's something you need to hear.' I repeat the word myself, twisting it acidly, "Don't?"

She nods. "Please?"

"Please what?"

"Don't hurt her. Don't take her. She's just a baby."

Now I'm interested. I let go of the girl, who is immediately embraced by the other woman. I look at the one who has dared to speak up when none of the others have. She's a big woman, but still a good head shorter than I. They don't really look alike, but her stance is protective. "She your kid?"

"Niece. Her mother's dead. Please, it would kill my mother if anything..."

"Shut up unless I talk to you." She quiets, and I make a closer inspection.

Dark hair, short, curly. Looks clean and soft. Pretty enough face. Look at how big her eyes are. Big and blue. She's scared, but she's trying not to show it. Little nose. Turns up at the end, makes her look younger. How old is she anyway? Thirty five? More? Doesn't matter. Mouth...

I reach out and scrub my fingers over her lips, then examine them. Clean. The rose tint is natural. I rub her cheeks. No rouge. Clean. Her eyes are even bigger now. She's wondering what I'm doing.

I touch her mouth again. It's beautiful: wide, delicate, pink. Her lips are trembling. She catches the bottom one with small white teeth to still it. I push her shoulder, silently urging her to turn. She does so awkwardly, refusing to release her hold on her niece, keeping herself between me and the girl. She doesn't realize that I'm rapidly losing interest in the little blonde.

I give her body a quick perusal. Oh, that's nice, that's very nice. I've never made a secret of my preference for queen-sized women. I don't want to have to worry about breaking my partner when I have sex. This one is nice and plump, with generous breasts and hips, a nicely padded ass. She'd be good to snuggle with. How did that old mountain saw go about fat women? Shade in summer, heat in winter.

I've just about made up my mind by now. I turn her back to face me. "What's your name?"

She blinks. "You don't need to know that. I'm nobody important."

I pull my gun and place the muzzle against her forehead. The women gasp and several of the men curse. I hear a shuffling to the side, but ignore it. It stops when Benji fires a round into the floor. Her face is white. "If I ask you something, you answer, and you tell me the truth. What's your name?"

Her voice is choked. "Scribe. Scribe Mozelle."

"Scribe, who is there that would pay to keep you whole?"

"I... we don't have any money. I swear. We're just regular people."

I chamber a round. The girl slumps in a faint, sliding from Scribe’s arms to be caught by the woman beside them. Scribe doesn't dare move now. "Who..." I shift the gun, lightly stroking her cheek with the cold metal. "will pay for you? Husband? Boyfriend?" I'd rather she didn't have anyone left behind to hold her heart. But if she does, I'll deal with it.

"N-no. My mother... my brother... but they don't have..."

I nudge the girl now on the floor, head in the other woman's lap. "What about her?"

"I just have my wallet and my car outside."

"I'm gonna have all the money I need and I don't need your car. What else can you give me?"

"I don't know. What do you want?"

I step toward her. She's close to the wall, but she tries to step back. "Stay still or I'll let her have a couple of kicks. She won't be so pretty after that, will she?" The woman Scribe goes still, except for the shaking she can't stop.

I stand close to her, my gun angled, the muzzle still kissing her cheek. I feel the soft resistance of her breasts as I press against her lightly. I put up my left hand, and touch her hair. Then I slide my fingers deep into the silky mass, feeling it wind around my hand like it's alive. It's as soft as I'd imagined. "What do I want, Scribe? Hm? What do you think I want?" I press my groin into hers.

Oh, those eyes. Big, and bigger still. A man could fall into those eyes and get lost for a long time--if there was time. "So? What do you say? You, or her?" It's going to be you, sweet thing, no matter what you say. But I'm curious. How far are you willing to go for someone you love?

She swallows, hard. "You can't. The police will be here soon."

"They don't figure into this. Answer me." I hump against her again, harder. "You or her? Quick now."

Her eyes skitter down to the girl on the floor, then up to me. She still can't believe it, and thinks I'm just torturing her. She licks her lips, and I feel heat kindle below my belt. "All right."

"What's that?" I fondle her hair some more. "Tell me."

"Me instead of her. Don't hurt her."

"You gonna do what I say, give me what I want?"

"Yes. Just don't hurt her."

"You remember this. Remember you agreed. It's not rape if you agree."

I think that's when she realizes I mean it. She stops breathing for a second. When she starts again, it's ragged.

Ron comes out of the vault with Montana, both of them carrying bulging canvas bags. The diamonds wouldn't take up much room, but they've looted cash and other things as a cover. The bank manager is nowhere to be seen, but there was no gunfire aside from Benji's warning shot. "Boy! You ready?"

I grab my new woman's shoulder and push her toward the door. "Yeah, I got mine. Let's go."