Baby Money

Evan and Michael unlatched the cage with a slight clinging noise. Dr. Peterson was nowhere to be seen, his swipe card inches away from what he been their home since crawling out of the vat of chemicals simmering in the corner. A noxious odor filled the laboratory, most likely from the dingy pipe the doctor had been smoking. Bad protocol. Certainly not safe.

Not that genetic engineering was safe, but it was necessary, seeing as how the human population had been unable to conceive since the world's water supply was tainted in the second Martian war. President Carter (no clue why he was the one they decided to clone and re-elect) warned the Martians that interfering with the nation's peanut supply would have disastrous consequences. You know how Martians are, they love their boiled peanuts.

"This isn't tobacco!" Evan was puffing on the pipe, bunsen burner torching the leafy green matter in the bowl.

Michael scratched at his diaper rash. "Getting high isn't going to help us out of here." He waddled over to the door. His infant legs were still adapting to this walking thing.

Evan coughed, shrugged, then followed.

The door was slightly ajar, another of Dr. Peterson's oversights. They found him passed out in the hallway, broken bottle of Jim Beam and a pack of Marlboros on the floor beside him. "Don't." Michael said.

"Fuck you." Evan grabbed a cigarette, and stuck it behind his ear. Dr. Peterson was snoring pitifully, his horn-rimmed glasses bobbing up and down with each breath. "Exit's this way." He said, pointing a stubby finger toward the glowing sign above the door.

Michael and Evan stepped out into the crisp autumn weather, a stray dog eyeing them excitedly. He wagged his tail, licked his balls, then trotted off down the street, realizing they had no food.

"What now?" Michael asked.

Evan placed the unlit cigarette in his mouth, miming as if he were smoking. "We gotta get some cash. Theres a bank down the street."

"No, we're not criminals."

"Ha! Ok, Ghandi...speak for yourself." Evan, in fact, was a criminal. At least the body he'd been cloned from was. A meth

addict, purse snatcher, and now, in a few moments, a bank robber. A 1 foot tall bank robber with no hair and a diaper. "I need cash." He reiterated.

Michael shook his head, and walked away. How was he supposed to argue with him? The little dumbass wasn't thinking clearly. Evan was going to have to do this on his own.

As Evan watched Michael saunter down the street, he turned his attention to the bank. This was going to be tricky. Two armed police officers stood outside, joking about something. Both were fat, bearded, and short. Twins? Evan wondered. He dropped the cigarette, hit his hands and knees, and began crawling over to them, a wry smile on his face.

"So then I told her, 'Bitch, you better put your hands behind your back!'" The fatter one said. "Patted her down, tried to cop a feel y'know."

The other man had an excited grin. "Yea?"

"Yea...a real leggy broad. At least that's what I though, til I went fishing around in her skirt. It was a - hey!" Evan was tugging on the cop's pants leg, they hadn't even noticed him crawling right up to him. "The hell?" He looked around, in search of the child's mother.

"I think he's alone, Danny." The other cop said, picking the little one up. "Aww, look at you, chubby little bastard." He pinched his cheeks.

Evan's brow furrowed. "Who you calling chubby, fatass."

The man stumbled back, shocked by the talking infant. Evan, took this opportunity to locate the cops' pepper spray, and unleash it directly into his cornea. He hit the ground with a slight bounce, one of the perks of weighing only a few pounds.

Danny, the fatter cop, leaned over, grasping for Evan, but was met with his own stream of pepper spray, invading his senses with poison.

With both officers incapacitated, he was free to take things to the next level. With a wicked grin, he managed to wriggle both pistols out of their holsters. Danny's teeth went flying out of his mouth in a slick mixture of saliva and blood as the butt of his own gun crushed his jaw. Three teeth landed in a gutter, and the rest sprinkled over his partner's corpse.

Apparently the shock of the pepper spray had sent him into cardiac arrest. Heart problems. Danny had been telling him to go to the doctor.

With his hand covering his mouth, he came to his knees, only to be met with a barrage of blows, knocking him unconscious.

Evan skipped into the bank, all smiles.

It was just before closing time, when all the patrons were cashing their Friday checks, ready to spend it on the weekend's beer and debauchery. Evan looked around, noticing that no one was noticing him.

"Everyone, on the ground, now!!" He exclaimed, raising both guns in the air with his stubby arms. A mixture of confusion and shrill screams filled the room. No one hit the ground. "Now!" He fired one shot in the air. Every last one of them lay down, faces covered and trembling.

The bank teller was a kind looking young lady, in her twenties, possibly married. She looked like one of those nerdy types that hid her real intentions well. Evan placed the gun on the counter, motioning toward the vault. "You know what to do."

Her trembling hand slid under the counter, trying to find the alarm button, Evan noticed, pointing the pistol in her direction. "Hey! Stop that!"

Too late.

In one swift jump, he leapt onto the counter and placed his finger on the trigger... beginning to squeeze.

"EVAN!" A familiar voice called. He turned to see a small figure clouding the doorway, next to a larger one, swaying back and forth.

Michael and Dr. Peterson. Bastards. He leapt down behind the counter, taking the girl hostage.

Dr. Peterson stumbled over to the counter, his long black hair in his eyes. An unmistakable stench of alchohol and body odor permeating from him. "Lishhen here Evan...Ima neejoo to comeon back to th' lab."

Michael was more reserved. "Evan, the cops are right outside the doors.. You need to get out of here while you can."

"No! I'm getting my money first."

Michael sighed. "Ok...I tried." He reached into his diaper, producing a handful of firecrackers.

"What are you gonna do with those?" Evan snickered.

"Nothing." He said plainly, lighting them and tossing them over his shoulder. They went off in a display of lights and pops.

Outside, Officer Danny was awakened by the sounds of what he thought were gunshots. He opened his swollen eyes, barely able to see his backup approaching. They had heard the gunfire as well, and were preparing to enter the bank. He struggled to his feet.

"You okay?" Officer Wilson asked, noticing his fallen brethren at his feet.

"Little bastard killed Franklin!" Danny exclaimed, snatching Wilson's pistol away from him, bursting through the door. His eyes locked with Michael, and in the haze of firecracker smoke and blurry vision, mistook him for Evan. He raised his gun.

"No!" Officer Wilson tackled him. "What is WRONG with you? A child?" He stood up, focusing on the drunk man motioning recklessly at the counter. With his gun firmly back in his own hands, he sent three rounds screaming through the air into the inebriated man's spine.

He looked down at his fellow officer, satisfied with preventing the robbery and saving lives. He beamed with confused pride.

* * *

Evan and Michael sat down on the park bench. The sun was setting now. "What am I gonna with you?" He looked at Evan with a disapproving frown.

Evan held up a tiny fist full of cash, and a flier for a nearby stripclub. He winked.

"Dammit, Evan."