They meet by chance, but let the record show that she was there first. He showed up and interrupted her perfect little bank robbery with his own shoddy attempt. Of all of the banks in the greater city of Los Angeles, he just had to storm into the one that she was holding up.
She rolls alone, and that makes for good fiscal policy. All she needs is a decent getaway driver, and those are a dime a dozen. Partners just aren't her style. She has to give him credit, though, he did play nicely with her hostages just like she would.
"This is a robbery," he had shouted, rifle raised, as he busted through the glass doors of the bank he had scoped out for weeks before deciding it was the perfect place to rob. He nearly tripped over his feet at the sight of the room. Everyone was already on their stomachs, hands on their heads, scattered across the floor of the bank.
Some asshat in the back of the room wisecracked, "No shit, man!"
"This is a robbery, and this is my robbery!" She spat out at him, eyes and gun never leaving the young bank teller shoving wads of cash into a nondescript black duffle bag.
He lowered his gun, completely and thoroughly dumbfounded, and that was his mistake, because all of a sudden she had a second pistol trained on him, arms held at a 90 degree angle. He had no doubt that she could shoot him dead without even looking.
"Well, this is awkward," he chuckled as if he was in on the biggest joke that the universe had to offer. "I'll just see myself out now."
"Move and I put a bullet through your brain," she answered firmly. She sounded like she has been doing this for a long time. Hell, she probably had, given her professional attire: the black ski mask over black pantyhose that hid her face and eyes, the baggy jumpsuit that couldn't point to any particular body type, platformed boots that would offset any estimations of her true height, black latex gloves, and two guns that were no doubt illegally obtained and untraceable.
He decided that he liked her.
"Should I call off my getaway driver or keep him waiting in the parking lot?"
She shrugged her shoulders and motioned with her gun for the teller to move more quickly. "Who says I won't just shoot you for the fun of it?"
He laughed again, more in the few minutes of this failed bank robbery than he had in the past month. Something about her calm demeanor and almost bored tone made him want to stick around to find out more about her. Images of a Bonnie-and-Clyde-esque partnership galloped through his mind.
"Who would watch your hostages for you if I left, Bonnie?"
"Well, Clyde," she emphasized, clearly catching on to the joke, "I can do that myself, thank you."
"I have no doubt that you can handle yourself during an armed robbery, but my gun is bigger," he countered smoothly. His own black ski mask covered his smirk, but she could hear it in his voice.
"Ah, so you're one of those who thinks size matters?"
She turned to face him, and true to his word, he was holding his assault rifle against the hostages and not at her. She lowered the gun that was pointed at him and grabbed the duffle bag from the teller, who instantly threw her hands in the air in the hope that she won't get shot.
"Size matters," he affirmed.
"Size doesn't matter so much as how well you can use it," she countered and shouldered the bag. She sauntered over to him and paused slightly angled to the side so that he could still see all of the hostages, sizing him up. "How much of a cut is your driver expecting?"
"Ten percent. Yours?"
"Shit. Mine wants fifteen," she laughed and tucked her second gun onto the wide artillery belt of her jumpsuit. On an impulse, she brushed her hand along his bicep and was thrilled to find the bunched muscles steady under her fingers.
"My guy wouldn't drive off without me," he remarked in a teasing voice.
She cocked her head and seemed to ponder his words. It was as if she had all of the time in the world, the way that she leisurely rolled her thoughts around.
"And how much would it set me back if you rode along?"
He nodded as if he was deep in consideration. "Let's see how much you made off with, and we can figure it out on the way."
"Deal."
She let off a single shot into the wall ahead of them just to scare the hostages and they both walked out of the bank and into the back seat of the unmarked SUV next to the front door.
"Who the fuck is this?" The masked driver motioned incredulously at her and she just wiggled her fingers in a wave.
"Just drive, Johnny," he ordered, and they sped off onto the back roads of the city. He pulled off his mask and gestured for her to do the same.
She lifted her ski mask and the black pantyhose from her face in one swoop and brushed back the sweaty, messy tendrils of her blonde hair from her face. He inconspicuously swallowed a gulp of air and gave her a thousand watt smile. There was no denying that she's gorgeous, clearly dangerous, and armed to the teeth. Just his type.
"Mike," he said by way of introduction and held out his hand to her. "That guy's my buddy Johnny."
"Paige," she returned smoothly and took it.
They locked eyes as they shook hands, and it suddenly felt a lot like a solid new partnership.
Author's Note: The title is from No Light No Light by Florence + the Machine.