Dismissed

         "Ma'am move aside. We're here to investigate a crime."

         Millicent winced as a hand clenched her elbow and attempted to herd her backwards. With an effort she shrugged it off and planted her feet. She patted herself on the back for deciding to go with the sturdy, dependable sneakers today. It always pays to be prepared. Things just happen.

         Folding her arms and squinting at the uniformed officer's name tag Millicent objected. Only raising her voice due to the cacophony. Horns blared. Shouts echoed. Engines rumbled. A shrill siren silenced.

         "Officer Goodfellow, if that's really your name. I will not stand here and be accosted by you or anyone. I wish___"

         Lifting the fluttering yellow crime scene tape, the frowning policeman gestured with his free arm.

         "You're right lady. You will not stand here. Move it, or someone will do it for you."

         With a huff and spluttering, "but, wait" Millicent took the hint. She repositioned herself to the outside of the cordon. Smoothing the sleeves of her sensible cardigan she never took her eyes off the bustling scene before her.

         Just where did all this specialty tape come from? Did the police force purchase it on gigantic spools? Who first decided to go with yellow? It is a noticeable shade. It demands attention. I need to attract someone' s attention. Wait, is Goodfellow, what a moniker, pointing me out?

         She couldn't believe what she was doing, but Millicent waved and "yoo-hooed."

         She waited and the two men turned their backs on her. Everything about their posture radiated an intensity, ramrod straight, heads swiveling, eyes sweeping the crowd. Shuffling from one foot to the other, she followed suit.

         Since when had cellphones become so prevalent? The lookie-loos sure were attached. If they weren't furiously tapping, they were scrolling, swiping. Some seemed to have their devices glued to their ears while others oddly tilted the phones in the vicinity of their chins. A few focused on recording every little thing. Was everyone a movie mogul now? Did they realize they were all captured for eternity? Would they lament what they wore or what they were caught doing? Had they filmed her?

         Millicent caught herself reaching for her most likely windblown hair to pat it down. Who would care a little old lady, god she hated that phrase, stood nearby. A loud murmur parted the curious and a tall man strode towards the yellow line.

         This must be a detective. He's attired in a suit, mind you a disheveled one, but still not a uniform. Oh, the officers are practically saluting. They recognize him as a somebody. I need to make my move.

         As this new authority figure bent to duck under the flimsy barrier Millicent sidled up to him. She must have startled him. He actually shrieked.

         Two bloodshot eyes glared. "Ma'am?"

         "Excuse me sir. I've been waiting here and___"

         "Ma'am move aside. I'm here to investigate a crime. Kindly step back and give us all breathing room. Oh, and you be sure to have a nice day."

         Millicent froze. Had she just been patronized? She hoisted her cat-themed purse to a shoulder and stomped off.

         I tried, I really did. I suppose the fact that I witnessed the entire bank robbery is of no never-mind. I'm just an old crone, right? I'll just hold onto this bundle for a while. Maybe they'll remember me and come seeking my observations.

         As she sauntered along the humid sidewalk, Millicent reached into the inner pocket of her handbag to stroke a fat rectangle of legal tender bills. Nobody notices a senior stooping to retrieve a dropped surprise, not even the thieves.(608 words)