"You're gonna like this one, boss," said a stumpy coal-haired one.
He hadn't really noticed her entrance, but Robert liked the way she moved and let her in. Turns out she worked hard time, big bucks - Moscow mafia reject. Reject again being the key word, she hid out with this rag-tag band of thieves for a cover. He congratulated her, and frowned, too. The only annoying things about her were the lack of height and the cheesy lines cut and pasted from gangster films. It got old, fast.
"What did you find, Ivana?"
Voice of Bones. Grave digging aficionado, which landed him in a sticky place at med school. He stole the autopsy corpse straight out of the grounds at St. Muriel's next door. Luckily, no one found out except Robert, who happened to be on his way to steal something out of the very school. Robert trusted Bones, Bones trusted Robert; a mutual relationship built on fear of revealing the other. Come to think of it, Bones was probably a necrophiliac, too. He liked to imagine the people they'd lay waste to in a heist, not realizing that such was the complete opposite of their goals.
He also had a penchant for bugging Robert; mostly, this involved his obvious infatuation with the otherwise cold Ivana.
"Good one. Granny's house."
"Granny's house? Thought we'd agreed, no more old biddies," Robert chuckled!
"Only, this granny happens to be an ambassador. And the house, of course, is public relations."
"So?"
"Inside, big old crown. Hunks of ice worth more than most of these guys' necks."
A communal gulp.
"Sounds big, but I'm not so sure," Robert sighed.
"It'd get you that nice house and white picket fence you've always dreamed of, boss," Ivana sarcastically imitated.
True, Robert waxed on sometimes about how he missed his nice four-bedroom suite, but teasing him about it? That crossed the line.
"Get out."
"Hey, boss, she was only trying to--"
"Bones, you too. OUTTA MY SIGHT!!"
He hollered, and the two skittered like cockroaches. Most everyone else left, too. Except that redhead. What was her name again?
"You're real scary, Mr. Smith."
Couldn't have been more than twenty, sweet young thing. He wasn't much older (twenty-eight now). Cute red curls, just bobbing in mid-air. He resisted the urge most days to jostle them, toy with them. And those baby blues? He had to be dreaming, just to look at her.
"Mr. Smith, can I come along?"
Her girlish charms almost swayed him, but he refused.
"A robbery isn't a place for a girl like you. Now, on the other hand..."
Slowly he sank to her again, resting on the couch. She giggled as he kissed her neck.
"My couch is a mighty fine place this time of day. What do you say?"
Her sparkling eyes lit that fire in his spirit.
"I don't know, Mr. Smith. I'm just a girl."
That adorable laughter! He had to...
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