This is my very first attempt at this, I have a lot of ideas for this
story and I hope I can present them in an interesting and coherent
matter. Enjoy!

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"Everyone puts your hands up!"

Tiffany instinctively clutched her daughter, who was standing just
ahead of her on the bank line. A couple of minutes ago, Maren had been
teasing her mother about her latest shopping spree. But now the
14-year-old, who looked more like 24 with long flowing hair like her
mother's (although brown like her father's), was trembling in her
designer high-topped sneakers.

There were four of them. Each of them were carrying some serious
artillery, loaded down in camouflage gear that made them look like
they were in the middle of a jungle, not a Boston bank.

"I said up!" one of them said as he approached the Donely women.
Tiffany reluctantly drew away from her daughter and put her hands in
the air.

One of the men crossed over from the doorway. "OK, people. We don't
have much time." He shot an intimidating glass over to the teller.
"The police have been alerted, so we need to be ready when they get
here. Everybody over there." He gestured to an alcove tucked away from
the windows and the tellers. The hostages – customers and bank
employees alike -- moved swiftly to where he pointed.

"Very good. If you all follow instructions the way you just did, no
one will be hurt. Who is in charge here?"

The best dressed man in the bank stepped forward. "I am."

"You, over here," the man in charge bellowed.

"We don't have access to the money, it comes out of the machine when
we process transactions and now that, as you said, the police have
been alerted, we can't do that."

"I know that. I'm not here for your nickels and dimes. Take me down to
the vaults."

"I can't get in there now either."

"I know that. Just show me the way."

"Yes, sir," the bank manager said, trying to remain calm in the way he
had been trained to by the company.

Sean Donely was poring over papers in his office. The chief of police
would never admit he was bored by the way he had settled into the job
with all its bureaucracy, but he never got tired of making sure the
bad guys got put away.

A knock came at the door.

"Yes?" he said with slight exasperation.

Ellie Jamison walked in. The plain 40-something woman had been Sean's
assistant since he took over the department and could tell in a second
what mood he was in and how she would have to deal with it.

"Robbery in progress, sir."

"Where?"

"First National."

"We'd better get there quick. I have a lot of money tucked away there."

"I know, sir. Captain Reynolds is heading to the scene. He said he'll
give us a full report as soon as possible."

"That's fine. Did you order lunch yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Ellie, you've been working for me for over a decade. Can't we cut the
'sir' stuff?"

"I try, s… but it's just the way I was brought up, Mr. Donely."

Sean scowled amusingly. "I'll have the usual."

"Yes, sir." She rolled her eyes at the failed attempt to stop saying
it and exited. "I'll call up the police department video from the
scene on the computer and pipe into yours right away."

"I can always count on you to do it before I asks, Ellie."

Ellie exited. Sean sat back in his chair, thought for a moment about
the bank where the robbery was going down and picked up the phone. He
hit the automatic dial for 'Wife."

Terry O'Connor's "I'll Always Love You" ring tone on Tiffany's phone
began to play. Although she was across the room from the phone, she
recognized it as her own and realized it must be Sean.

"That's Dad," Maren said, a little too loudly.

Tiffany hushed her. "I know. Sweetheart, I don't want you telling
anyone who your father is," she said in a very low voice.

"But why?"

"I think it could only hurt. You're my daughter. Maren Hill. That's
all these hoodlums need to know."

"OK." Maren paused for a second. "Do you think he'll come out here?"

"It depends on how this plays out, I think. If they get what they want
and are out of here, we probably won't see him until we have to go
give our statements."

Maren knew there was more. "But?"

"But, somehow I don't think it's going to be that simple."

As if on cue, the ring leader appeared before the hostages, pulling
the bank manager by the arm. He looked roughed up.

"All right, what do we have here, 4?" he said, addressing the thug who
was sifting through the belongings. "Not much so far. Some of the
phones have been ringing, guess we're not a secret any longer."

"Papa Was a Rolling Stone" started to reverberate out of Maren's
phone. The Donely women looked over in that direction, then at each
other.

"Dad," Maren said softly.

"That is the world's worst ringtone. Your father is nothing like
that," Tiffany said, partly out of her usual exasperation at how
father and daughter had become a two-man team against her and partly
to keep Maren's spirits up.

"It's a good song."

"Hmmmm," Tiffany replied.

The ring leader picked up Maren's phone and smashed it. "I hate the oldies."

Henchman 4 walked over with a list of names culled from the belongings
of the hostages. Ring leader perused it, counting up that number and
then taking a head count of those in the bank. "We seem to be one
short."

"My daughter is only 14, she doesn't carry ID, beyond the phone you
just smashed," Tiffany said.

"A comedienne … great," the ring leader said. "Actually you look
familiar to me."

"She should, she's a world-famous broadcast journalist," Maren said.

Not used to hearing her daughter say something borderline
complimentary, Tiffany's face briefly registered her surprise.
Henchman 4 gave the ring leader her wallet.

"Ah, Tiffany Hill. Yes, I'm familiar with your work. And this is your
daughter…" he said, leaving an opening for her response.

"Maren," Tiffany replied.

"Maren Hill?" the ring leader inquired.

"Of course," she responded. Neither mother nor daughter flinched.