2:30 pm in the shade of the over hanging leaves of the trees and it still feels a billon degrees. This isn't a heat wave its god damn torture! The young women sighed and wiped her sticky forehead with the back of her hand. Cook better do this right or I'll have his eye balls on ebay before he can let another one of his crude comments skip passed his lips. Although she already knew that the chances of this going wrong were zero. The women scowled as she heard the ragged edges of cheap cotten scratching against the outer caseing of the state of the art microphone that she had not only fitted onto her accomplice/ friend thirty minutes ago, three blocks away from the target.
'Fuck sake Cook!' The woman hissed bringing her hand to her ear, 'I not gonna have a fucking ear drum left,' but she still remained in full concentration.
'Put the money in the bag and don't go being a hero alright?' The women rolled her eyes as she listened to Cook's auzzie drawl through the ear peice. The faint sounds of light sobbings could be heard most likely the bank teller who only five minutes ago was swealtering through intoxicating heat and probably bored out of their mind. 'And the other one...I ain't got all day...MOVE IT!' The listening woman smiled as she let the lovinly polished and primped routine that they had spent years developing, flawless and without a trace, a routine that every other bank robbery lacks and therefore fails. No evidence, no crime was her motto and it had never failed her, the one thing that's kept constant all these years, the one thing she wasn't afraid to keep close. She gently played with a defiant peice of soft hair that had escaped from her messy pony tail as she contined to listen in on the scene that was physically happening in a building only sixty feet in front of her. With her feline senses that only came from years experience she could detect the rustleing of cash notes and the secure zip of the bags and she smiled.
'Move,' she murmmed into the miniscule microphone that was ingeniously encased in the ipod ear phones that lay loosely around her neck. Not only a second after the given order that the metallic golden doors that were almost blinding in the sun rays burst open, two figures doused in non identifiable black. The taller of the two handed both sports bags to the other and sprinted, full throttle down the sidewalk toward the distance flashing red and blue. The witnessesing female now gone from the spot she once graced in the silece of the shade, disappered without a trace.
The remaining figure sprinted in the oppistie direction toward the alleyway a few meters away. Once inside the figure was quick to remove the swealtering black ski mask to reveal a pair of olive green orbs and cascadeing strawberry blonde hair and a face of natural, female beauty. Without a sound she move toward the lone dumpster, on opening it she found a brown paper bag, she placed the two dead weight sport bags into the dumpster and looked back to the alley entrace before extracting the clothing and new footwear from the paper bag and preceeding to rid herself of the suffocating dark cotton. Once in climate suitable clothing she swiped her eye and smirked at the olive green contact on the tip of one delicate finger and threw it into the paper bag along with the encriminating attire plus the other contact and finally peeled the blonde locks from her scalp, letting her natural brunett waves fall loosely over her shoulders. A pair of entantilizing blue eyes checked the empty alley opening one more time before picking up the brown bag and heading toward the grubby fire escape that was siuated oppisite the dumpster. She quickly made her way up the rusty ladder and at the top was faced the equally as rusty fire door that looked closed to the non wiser but she was not of that speices and used the tips of her scrawny fingers to tease open the metal door. She grinned as she picked up the offending tiny bolt that had been placed conveintly inbetween the door and slipped it into the pocket of her skirt before shutting herself from the outside world. Inside she silently made her way along the fadeing orange carpet, the soft hum of machines preventing her steps from being detected by human ears. Reaching the top of the stairs she slid her small form down the old but sturdy hand rail with the a head knowledge that even the sqeak of the rickty staircase was too noticeable even with the constant drone of spinning machines in the background. When on solid ground she waited for the familar voice.
'Hi, I was here last week and I lost my necklace, the clasp had been broken and I'd been meaning to get it fixed. But stupid old me kept putting it off, so I was wondering if you've found it. It's got my name engraved on it, Naomi. It's really close to me my grandmother gave it to me before she sadly passed away,' The brunett almost laughed at the terribly corny sob story and the fake tone of worry. She heard a different woman respond and watched an elderly lady move through the bead covered doorway and into the back of the room. The brunett smiled and slipped through the beads, the clueless old dear with her back to her busing herself in the lost property. When she was through the door way she winked to the platinum blonde, noticeing the ipod headphones, near invisable ear peice to the untrained eye and the two sports bags draped over her shoulder and continued through the busy drycleaners. She was out the entrace with not even a turn of the head from the self involved washers. The last thing she heard as she left the building was a 'I'm so sorry. I've looked everywhere and it doesn't seem to be anywhere but leave your number and I'll be sure to give you call as soon as I find it,'. The brunett smirked. That routine never fails she thought as she slipped into the busy streets, the evdience sealed and never to be found in her paper bag.
This is what he loved, adrenaline pumping through your veins, the fear of getting caught the only thing keeping you going. Yeah, that is what it would've been like for any other ammetur but not for Cook because he wasn't like the rest, he didn't run off fear because in his mind fear ran off him. He'd never been caught and it wasn't just down to his athletic frame that could run out any donut filled cop this country threw at him, it wasn't down to his never ending strength that allowed him to hawl his body up and down buildings as far as the eye could see and it also wasn't down to the fact that he could naivigate his way over any urban roof tops as if it were his own home. No, the thing that made him untouchable was that he had a crack pot team of fucking geniuses behind him, that and the fact that he'd get depressed if he couldn't watch over weight detectives wobble after him.
Cook finally stopped once the whine of sirens and flashing lights was nothing but a distant distraction. He che looked up to the sky and when all he could se was clear blue he couldn't stop laughing and raised his arms to his sides as he looked over another city they had beaten. With a quick glace back to where the bank was located (another thirty buildings over he guessed) and another quick glance to the streets below to check for any unlikely boys in blue he made his way to the gap between the next building and skillfully maouvered his way down to the alley floor. Once there he ripped off his mask and fumbled into his pocket and extracted a lighter and a packet of fags. 'Thank fuck for fresh air,' he drew in a large lung full and smiled. 'and thank fuck I don't have to use that accent for a while,' he muttered to himself as he thought back to his Sydney proto type. He was pretty happy to have his own Derbyshire accent back. Give me Irish or Scottish anyday he thought but the routine was the routine and a different identity everytime as Naomi always reminded him, and he couldn't really argue with her because if it weren't for her they'd all be wearing orange jumpsuits by now and hacking away at rocks. He shoved the lighter and the wrinkled packet into his pocket and withdrew a small pen knife from his back pocket of his jeans and began to fashion himself a pair of shorts from his tatty black pants figureing the girls wouldn't mind as it'll all be burnt in the end anyway, along with the rest of the evidence. He put the pen knife back after doing his Coco channel bit for himself and brought out a scrumpled brown paper bag from the same packet. He put the scrap material into the bag and managed to seperate himself from his long sleeved black tee shirt that was saturated with sweat, leaveing him with his loose fitting grey vest. 'Fucking heatwaves,' He murmmed to himself as he put the wet garment into the bag. He then went on to peel the realistic black wig from his head and ruffled his natural dirty blonde spikes once he was free from it. 'Itchy bastard,' He complained as he put that into the bag aswell and finally openned his eye lid to get at his synthetic brown lense out. 'AH you little dick head,' He moaned as he prod his eye to get both lenses out. At last he managed to get both contacts out and put them in the bag too, 'I hate those bastards,' he rubbed his blue, bloodshot eyes and collected his brown bag and casually swaggered out of the alley away with the other innocent pedestrians.
(A/N) I wasn't really sure if I should just keep this as a one short or continue so it would be great to hear what you think. I'm kind of unsure about this whole thing considering this is my first story so please, if its not too much trouble could you let me know. Thankyou so much