Well, this story was basically born from fucking fear. I may be being a bit dramatic, but when your Papaw (who may or may not be pushing 80) decides on a whim that he wants to buy a big, shiny, new truck for himself and take you on a ride, the only thing you really feel is fear. So, we're barreling past Philly doing at least 95, swerving into each and every lane on the damn highway, and my whole life flashes before my eyes (not really, but I was having some heart palpitations). Somewhere between Philly and seeing the light, Public Enemies and rizzles got pushed together in my head, and here we are.

Disclaimer:I don't own Rizzoli & Isles, this should be obvious.

Author Notes (like you need anymore):This first chapter is probably the shortest thing I've ever written in my life (besides "sorry I don't have my essay, here's a haiku" haikus that I wrote back in high school), but I promise the next one will be long and awesome sauce. Or maybe not, there might not even be a next chapter. That's really up to you guys. This is rated M because I say "fuck" a lot, also there will probably be some sex later on. Boom.

Chapter One: 1934

A city just beginning to claw its way out of an immense economic depression was a place for two kinds of delinquents: entrepreneurs, and thieves. More often than not, these two breeds overlapped one another, but which side you were really on completely depended upon whether you wanted your whiskey served to you in a glass or if you wanted to sip it straight from the bottle. If money, power, and fear were measured in booze, Jane Rizzoli drank every bottle in all of Boston, and nearly half the damn country, dry.

"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing…"

Ivie Anderson's voice pumped, as much as the 1930's would allow, through the thick air of a musty motel room somewhere just across Ohio's border into Indiana. A pair of two-tone leather brogue clad feet, precariously settled atop the arm of an Art Deco styled couch, tapped the air in time with the musical crackle and buzz forcing its way out of the heart of an old radio at the far end of the room.

"It don't mean a thing, all you've got to do is sing! It makes no difference if it's sweet or hot! Just keep that rhythm, give it everything you've got!" Another voice entered the cadence, albeit deeper and scratchier, alongside Ivie's.

"What, you fancy yourself a jazz singer now?" The deep and scratchy voice stopped instantly at the sudden intrusion.

Startled, the lanky body that had previously been sprawled out down the length of the couch shot up into a sitting position, tuning out the music to zero in on the voice that had just disrupted a rare moment of peace. Long, tan fingers pulled back the black fedora to reveal a pair of brown eyes, focusing instantly on the other body that was now in the room.

"Only when no one's around…" A small smirk began to form on the lips that just moments before were treating the empty motel room to its own personal concert. "Jesus, Frankie, you scared the hell out of me."

"Yeah, yeah, of course I did, Janie. The person at the top of the nation's Most Wanted list, scared by her own brother!" Frankie pulled a tattered and folded piece of white paper from his coat pocket while taking a few steps towards the couch, extending his arm towards Jane. "Here are the numbers you asked for from Korsak. There are some pretty high ones on there, Jane. You sure we're prepared this time around?"

"When have we ever not been prepared?" Jane snatched the paper away from Frankie and unfolded it, dark eyes scanning the page, trying to make some sense of Korsak's chicken scratch.

"Well, last time was…we almost…" Frankie's voice trailed off the beaten path of coherent speech and then stopped completely, cut off by Jane's quick response.

"We didn't "almost" anything, Frankie. We just had to…improvise a little." Jane continued to scan the paper, her eyes widening with each passing number.

"I would hardly call kidnapping a few innocent women anything but a little psychotic and a little bold." Frankie crossed his arms across his chest and peered down at Jane, trying to gauge her reaction. He could almost see dollar signs floating in the chocolate irises of her eyes.

"Psychotic, maybe, bold, also maybe…fun, definitely yes." Jane folded the paper back up and let it fall into her lap. "Besides, they were fine, a little smitten with us even. We dropped them off only a few miles outside of town."

"Yeah, after using them as human body shields…" Frankie rolled his eyes. "So, how much are we looking at here?"

"Well, little brother, it seems like we'll be heading home with more money than we originally thought," Jane cracked her knuckles and looked up at Frankie with a cheeky grin plastered on her face, "a lot more, if you're up for a few extra stops in Ohio."

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, now do I?" Frankie arched an eyebrow and let his arms fall to his sides.

"Not really. No fear in "The Rizzoli Brothers" if there's only one of us." Jane began humming along with the last few bars of the song that was still playing on the radio. Tipping her hat forward again, she clapped her hands on her knees to the beat.

"You sure you're not thinking about hopping off to become a jazz singer?" Frankie grinned and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

Jane finally stood, brushing invisible dust from her trousers. She pulled the black fedora from her head and ran a hand through her short, greased back, brunette hair. Her left hand absentmindedly twirled the hat on her fingertips. Fixing the tie beneath the grey vest perfectly fitted to her torso, she turned to Frankie.

"No, I don't think so. Robbing banks is a full time job." Jane smiled and clapped her hand against Frankie's shoulder. "Besides, I have to keep you morons out of jail."

"Morons?" Frankie's shoulders slumped and he arched an eyebrow yet again.

"You heard me." Jane placed her hat back on her head and leaned down to pick up the piece of paper that fell to the floor when she stood. She slid it into her vest pocket after folding it into a neat little rectangle. "Let's go make some money."