Heist
Summary: It was a normal trip to the bank for Steve, Danny and Kamekona until it wasn't...Danny whumpage, Steve whumpage, and at some point someone gets really angry.
AN: Ah, whump fics. I haven't written one of these in a long time. Alright, everybody in the pool!
Chapter One: Red Sox
-0-
"Can one of you please remind me why we're here again?"
Asked Danny the second time since they'd arrived.
Steve had a basketful of colorful choices when it came to witty comebacks, but Danno was exhausting them one by one with the accuracy and lethality of a sniper. 'Shut up, Danny' was starting to rise to the top of the list and at some point, he'd have to resort to it. It was only something he'd opt to say in a guaranteed losing situation, because his partner could stand in front of a hurricane and slow it down just by talking nonstop. Lose or win, Steve just wanted some peace and quiet.
This time, Kamekona saved him the trouble of cooking up a smart retort.
"Yo, DT, you need to chill, alright?" said the incredibly large, incredibly pertinent-as-to-why-they-were-here shrimp vendor. Today, he wore a bright red variation of his business' t-shirt, which made him stand out three times as much as usual amidst a crowd of mainland tourists. "I dunno how you do this in Cop Land, but this's how we tax-payin' citizens hafta cash our checks down here in at the bottom of the food chain. I need this money real bad."
"Okay. First of all?" Danny turned on him, holding up his hands to punctuate his words. Steve really hoped he wasn't going to turn the 'food chain' comment against him. "Cops pay taxes. It's a little-known fact, I know, but turns out law enforcement is made up of law-abiding citizens. And second, the bank machines are out of order, ergo this situation is an abnormal scenario in which we find ourselves, ergo why we're standing in a line that might as well be for a mid-season Red Sox game."
"Danny," Steve started.
"What? I'm a Red Sox fan. Just because I'm from Jersey doesn't mean I like the Jackals—but then, your idea of a professional sport is water boarding, so just this once, don't judge me."
For a long moment, Steve just stared at him with slightly raised eyebrows.
Kamekona shook his head ruefully. "Man, I knew I shoulda taken the bus."
"No, no," Steve interjected sternly, lightly tapping the big man on the arm. "I told you, we owe you one, Kamekona. Danny's just jealous that I'm usurping the role of 'good cop'. He's really sensitive about being the sensitive one."
"You know, let's just...get the front of the line so I can go pick up Grace," Danny sighed, turning his back on them both to survey the inside of the bank.
Steve sent a mental shoulder pat in his direction, because he was fully aware of the source of his partner's bad mood. It was supposed to be his weekend with Grace. Except just this morning, Rachel had made last-minute changes to the plans due to a trip she was taking with Stan next weekend. Now instead of getting his daughter for two days, he would get her for less than twenty minutes. Or however much time it took to drive her from school, to Stan's house.
Honolulu West Estate Bank was a busy location on any given Friday. It was also a popular tourist stop-off, located ten minutes' from the beachfront, meaning half of the people here were not even local. There were kids, elderly couples, and newlyweds in every direction. The oily smell of coconut was everywhere.
But a ten-minute walk on a cloudless, 97 degree day wasn't an option for Kamekona, so this was Steve's method of paying back their favorite informant and sometimes babysitter. It beat the alternatives, which would normally require him to stand beside Danny in a t-shirt with Kamekona's face on it, sipping a flavor a shave ice he didn't even like. Advertising, Kamekona called it.
Steve glanced over at his partner, who was pacing in a small circle, slapping the top of a fist with an open palm. Even though Danny didn't need to get Grace for over an hour, it didn't take SEAL training to guess what was on his mind.
It did take SEAL training to notice a sudden flash of dark clothing in the corner of his eye, an instant before hell broke loose.
Steve didn't get a chance to warn anyone. One moment, the bank was buzzing with impatient complaints and whining kids. The next, five men dressed from head to toe in black began rushing the mile-long queues from the general direction of the west entrance.
The tourists were slow to react to this abrupt threat. Then a woman screamed, and the first sight of a twelve-gauge shotgun flashing in the sunlight sparked mayhem. Dozens of bodies scrambled to escape, shoving, pushing, lunging—whatever it took to get to the doors.
Except Danny and Steve. They looked at each other, sharing silent communication. Don't, Steve thought fiercely, when he detected the question in his partner's eyes. Don't do it. We're outnumbered, outgunned. We won't make it.
"Everybody, on the ground, now!" roared a deep voice from the center of the swirling chaos.
No one paid any attention until the shotgun went off. Plaster cascaded from the ceiling, some of it landing on the shoulder of the man who fired the round, as everyone within thirty feet of the shooter instinctively ducked and cringed. Slowly, as their primal urge to flee turned into one of frozen terror, mothers began to tug on their children's arms to pull them to the ground. Fathers, grandparents, and everyone else slowly inched to their knees.
Steve did the same, but his eyes were everywhere else. He took count of the number of enemies. Five, plus two more at least—they were securing the doors, herding people back towards the center of the floor. The deep-voiced man continued to shout orders.
"You, over there. You, sit here. Everyone with their hands behind their necks—I want the purses in the middle by my feet. Slide them across the floor. Same with cell phones—if anyone gets caught with a phone, I shoot them. If I catch anyone reaching for anything else but a purse or a phone, I shoot them. Do it!"
Half of his mind continued to formulate a strategy to take these guys down. The other half couldn't believe that a high-security bank like West Estate was being robbed in broad daylight, six blocks away from the HPD.
Every fiber of his being didn't want to part with his phone. It was bad enough he didn't have his service weapon—it, along with his badge, was still in Danny's car. Neither he nor Danny had their vests on—none of these things were needed on a trip to a bank. A bank that shouldn't be robbed. Ever.
His phone was his link to Kono and Chin Ho. If he didn't tell them they were part of this, they'd be getting into this hostage situation blind.
"You! Put the phone on the ground, and slide it here! I won't ask again!"
Shit. Shit, the masked ringleader had noticed his hesitation. Catching a glimpse of Kamekona's wide-eyed stare, Steve pressed his lips together and did as instructed, then locked his fingers behind his neck. The large man in the center kicked his cellphone over to the growing pile of personal belongings.
He chose this moment to check on Danny again. His partner was pretty far away, but not far enough for Steve to not notice him try to conceal something in his pants' waistband. At first, he thought for a sickening moment that Danny had made a huge mistake and was trying to hide his phone on the captors.
With a chill, he then realized that Danny's phone wasn't gold. His partner was rightly trying to hide the Five-0 badge he'd forgotten to unclip from his belt.
"Hey!" Another one of the robbers had noticed his movements, and grabbed Danny's arm, jerking it upwards. Steve released a quiet sigh of relief when he saw that the badge was completely hidden. The robber grabbed the cellphone off his belt, chucked it into the pile, while Danny obediently placed his hands behind his head and gave the masked criminal a penetrating glare.
Steve went back to surveying the robbers, trying to tune out the terrified whimpers and sniffling of the thirty-six hostages that surrounded him. By now, the men had organized the kneeling captives into a rough circle, with Kamekona on Steve's right, close enough to bump elbows. Danny was on his left, but they were separated by a ten foot gap. Three of the captors were nowhere to be seen—no doubt halfway through breaking into the safe already.
"Please—please, let us go!" sobbed one of the tourist captives: teenage, with her friends, who looked horrified at her outburst.
"Shut up!" The closest bank robber pointed his automatic weapon directly down at her. "One more word out of you, and one of your BFFs get a bullet. So shut up!"
She buried her face in her hands and went back to quietly crying. Her 'BFFs' joined in, each too scared to make so much as a peep as their bodies shook with fear.
Now Steve's steel-blue eyes traveled to yet another man in black, who was approaching the Ringleader in the center of the group. Something about this one made him feel uneasy.
Very uneasy.
"We secure?" The Ringleader of the group asked, and paused as his subordinate whispered something to him. For a long moment, muscle-bound leader did and said nothing. Then, like a hawk, he twisted his head to look directly at Danny.
Steve's blood froze.
There was nothing he could do. If he moved, he would get shot. If he said anything, he'd get shot—or worse, one of the other hostages would get shot. There was no doubt in his mind that these bank robbers were ruthless and efficient. You would have to be either that, or incredibly stupid, in order to try to take down West Estate in broad daylight. So far, they weren't showing any signs of anything but crisp, clean organization.
He couldn't breathe, however, as the huge ringleader left his position and stomped right up to Danny. Without even a verbal warning, he swung the butt of the shotgun down hard across his face, sending him sprawling onto his hands. The other hostages let out a collective of gasps and cries of panic.
It took all of Steve's iron will to not move. His heart was pounding in his ears. He forced himself to keep waiting, to ignore all emotion and let the training take over.
While Danny was on his stomach, the black-clad leader knelt down and pulled the gold colored police badge out from where it had become dislodged. As he stood and examined it, Danny started to get back on his knees, but the brute obviously didn't like that. With military reflexes, the huge man reached out and grabbed Danny around the neck, then hoisted him up high enough to look into his eyes.
"What's wrong, cop?" he asked gruffly, giving him a small shake. "Yeah, you better be scared. You're in the wrong place, haole. You're gonna be my special guest from now on."
He dropped him on his knees again—Steve just caught the glance that Danny sent him, a look that said 'I'm fine' and also, 'What's the plan now, genius?'
Steve only had one plan, and it probably wasn't going to work. But if it had any chance at all, he needed both Danny and Kamekona to cooperate with him. As the ringleader started patting Danny down, looking for a concealed gun or knife, Steve gave his larger compatriot a direct side glance, and was satisfied to see that Kamekona was calm enough to both notice and establish eye contact.
"Listen," the leader of Five-0 whispered very quietly. "Kamekona, whatever happens, follow my lead. Nod if you understand."
Kamekona bobbed his head ever so slightly, expressing complete and utter trust to the man in charge.
Then McGarrett did one of the stupidest things any hostage could do in any situation like this.
"Wait," he said, throwing every ounce of his crappy acting skills into his voice. "Wait, dude, wait. Dude, he's not just a cop—he can help you, like he's helping me and my brother right now. He's dirty—just ask him—"
"Who the fuck gave you permission to speak?" demanded one of the other robbers, the same man who had tipped of his leader about Danny's badge. Just as Steve suspected he would, he closed the distance to where he knelt and kicked him. Hard, and in the ribs.
God, it hurt. Still, this was a good sign, because it meant that his shabby thrown-together plan was gaining a foothold. Even better, Kamekona correctly took this as his cue. "Brah, you don't gotta be so violent, man," he said, squinting up at their captor. "We're all in this together, get it? This cop's been helpin' us launder money for months; today's your lucky day!"
Okay, okay. Don't overdo it, Steve thought urgently. Kamekona had a tendency to add unnecessary flair, which might get them into deeper trouble than they'd started with.
He saw the ringleader robber take something from one of his lackeys, and when he turned, Steve recognized it as a plastic zip-tie. Danny's arms were twisted behind his back by one of the men while the leader bound them together. "Kneel here. Don't move. One inch, and I pop your kneecaps, cop."
"Sure thing," muttered Steve's sarcastic partner.
Under the pressing stares of thirty-six pairs of eyes, the masked leader and his right-hand man sauntered over to where Steve and Kamekona knelt. The larger of the two crooks folded his legs to bring his dark brown eyes level with Steve's. "Let me get one thing straight, 'dude'," he said thickly. "I don't give a fuck who you are. I don't need no fucking help from anybody, let alone a dirty fucking cop. So I say with with great sincerity: shut the fuck up."
"You're going to need me," said Danny.
Steve saw something disturbing stir inside the eyes of the man in front of him. Don't do anything stupid, Danny,he thought furiously. Yes, he needed Danny to play along with him, but not if he purposely antagonized this bastard into deciding that keeping a live cop—dirty or clean—was too much trouble.
"You need me," Danny repeated. "You'll see. I guarantee you that phone will ring in less than five minutes, and when it does, it'll be Five-0 on the other end. I'm one of them. I can talk them into doing things your way."
"Want me to shut him up?" asked the leader's lieutenant, who looked like he might have slept with his P90 automatic more than a few times.
The leader shook his head. "He's gonna help us whether he's badge trash or not, 'cause if we don't get our ride outta here..."
Steve's jaw tightened defensively as he watched the muscled ringleader stand up. The dark man prodded Danny's slicked-back hair a couple times with the muzzle of his shotgun
"...then this haole cop's the first body we drop."
TBC
