thief
1973, the days of living carefree were upon America.
A young woman entered a major bank in Washington DC. Long blonde curly hair cascaded down her shoulders, which was actually a cheap wig bought in a back alley fancy dress shop. A small smug smile radiated from her with not a care in the world, her flared jeans and garish orange shirt were a small ploy to detract attention from what she really looked like. She carried her two canvas tote bags close to her before she finally got to the queue.
She was an image of the 70s, to many people she just looked like a happy go lucky free spirit.
The queue moved quickly, her eyes scanning and scouting the bank which she already knew inside out. It was a check to see if anything had changed and by the looks of it, it hadn't. She knew exactly what to do like it was programmed in her very blood. It was a slow day, only one woman working behind the counter. She went into one of her totes and put on a pair of leather driving gloves and before long it was her in the front of the queue. The woman went into her tote again and this time she pulled out a handgun.
She raised it to the ceiling and shot twice. Everyone around her ducked to the floor and she smirked at them all. The bank clerk was about to move to the phone and so the woman pointed the gun at her.
"Anyone decides to move and you'll be shot on sight, got it?"
Her accent was Russian and very strong. It was fake as well but it wasn't as if anyone knew that in there of course. No one questioned for a few seconds. The silence was palpable and almost sickening to those who were trapped there. She counted ten people. The silence became hushed whimpers of those terrified for their lives but not all were in that kind of state. Then a teenage boy said something under his breath which would be the biggest mistake of his short life.
"You wouldn't shoot us, you're a woman."
The words provoked a few laughs from the males in the room bar one who looked to be dressed for winter. She turned her head to the little boy and her smirk turned into a scowl. Her hazel eyes narrowed in on him, her light freckles almost disappeared.
He was almost directly behind her. Behind him was a cold hard wall and no other person. She was planning something. "Sorry, I forgot shooting was such a human thing to do."
And with that, she pulled bad her free left arm and pushed it towards him with force. And then it was clearly noticeable she didn't punch the air. She released some kind of energy and it rippled toward him and then sent him flying across the marble floor and into a wall. He didn't say anything then. Louder whimpers were then heard. It figured that people were more afraid of mutants rather than guns. Especially with what happened in the city recently.
One man towards the back of the queue did not look frightened, he was the one who didn't whimper either. He was crouched along with everyone but looked calm. His eyes were covered with sunglasses, he wore a hat and a trench coat with an upturned collar. She knew a disguise when she saw it.
"I want all your money. Whatever you have on you. And your jewellery." She called out to everyone.
The people emptied their notes and coins from their pockets or bags. Even the limp teenager did it as well and she was particularly grateful he could. She counted it took them all twelve seconds to give up the goods, a new personal best. The icing on the cake was when the bank clerk gave her about $1000.
She left the bank a few minutes later, turning down a nearby alley and quickly changed her attire. She changed her shirt, quickly taking it off and turning it inside out so the fabric was now a pale grey shade. She pulled from her waistband the hidden dungaree top and pulled that up. The wig fell off on its own before she also put it in the tote, releasing collarbone length brown hair. She pulled a blue cap from her bag and hid most of her hair underneath that.
She then pulled out a black bin bag and shoved her totes into there, then tied the top making it look full. Sirens were heard everywhere by now and she knew she had to be quick to get out of there. She made her way out of the alley and walked for about ten minutes, ducking and diving around corner to make the walk back longer and to throw off anyone potentially on her scent. Eventually she arrived to her flat above the bar she worked at. Communal apartment of course, and it sort of doubled as a brothel.
The whole time however, she could feel that maybe she was being followed. It scared her, but it could've been the intense paranoia from her crime.
Little did she know she was being followed, not by police, but by a fellow mutant.
Her work attire made her want to gag. Short denim shorts, a long sleeved blouse of her picking but it had to show her belly button. Top three buttons had to be left undone. She may as well have been a stripper, although some of the other girls who worked there did take on extra favours to make more money. The communal apartment where she lived with the other girls was very much in use for clients a lot of the time but luckily those rooms were separate to where they lived and slept.
She knew she was better than that although her life wasn't anything but normal. She was still very much a criminal.
It was a quiet Wednesday night and only a handful of people were in the place. She was in charge to close and open the place whilst she oversaw two girls under her. They were there for dual reasons to find clients but she wasn't and therefore had the responsibility to look after the place. She had only been there two months, and on the three month mark she would be gone from that city and would be living somewhere else. She fancied moving to the deep south.
"Daisy? This gentleman here wants to talk to you." One of the other girls said from the other side of the bar. Near the back exit sat at the bar with a whisky on the rocks in his hand a man sat. The girl was blonde and petite. She was a favourite among the regulars, so it was even more surprising to see the man wasn't interested in talking to her.
She approached him with a smile on her face which was incredibly forced. Yet again her morals would be too high so she would lose out on more money but then again did that matter when she just gained a lot of money? She spoke with a strong southern accent this time "Hey how can I help ya?"
He looked up at her and smiled. The man had a fair complexion, hiding underneath dark glasses and a hat. He had a lot of freckles and had red hair. He pulled his dark glasses off and folded them up, placing them neatly beside his glass of whisky on the rocks. "Ah, Daisy is it? A pleasure to meet you. I believe we have a lot in common."
She squinted her eyes at his words then realisation hit her:
This was one of the men in the bank she robbed.
Daisy gulped before she attempted to regain her composure. The man looked to be enjoying what was going on and enjoyed the power he had over her. If she had to run she would. She would leave all of her belongings behind like she'd done before just so she could live another day.
"So whadda we have in common?" She stated.
"Well," he took a large gulp of his whisky and set the empty glass down, "I have a feeling that you are running from something, am I correct? Your lovely co-worker said that you came here two months ago with nothing but the clothes on your back and a wad of dollar bills. A double whisky this time please."
His accent was familiar to her. Vaguely English (and not the more slangish accents either) and vaguely European. It sounded more German or Flemmish to be honest but she still couldn't place where. She took his glass and put it near the small sink behind the bar for one of the other girls to wash up since they weren't doing a lot. Daisy grabbed a fresh glass, scooped some ice into it and then measured out her two measures before pouring it in.
She set the glass in front of him, "I'm sorry but I do not feel comfortable talking about my personal life to a stranger. What name is your tab under?"
"Understandable," he shifted a little then took a sip of his drink. "It's under Doe."
Her eyes widened before she tried to hide her worry. She walked to the till and wrote on the piece of paper with his name on it before returning back to him. "Can I help you with anything else?"
"I just want to share one anecdote with you, then you never have to see me again," he paused and rolled up his left sleeve of his coat and shirt and revealed a tattooed number on his inner forearm: 214782.
She knew what this was from but Daisy didn't flinch. This man wanted a reaction and she wasn't going to give it to him.
"The Holocaust did this to me. I was merely a number to them. You may have not had something as painful as that happen but since you are living in possibly one of the seediest bars on this continent and are living almost rent free upstairs with money handed to you under the table perhaps you should talk before something bad happens."
She didn't say anything, she looked at the tattoo briefly then to him. She stared him down and he returned with his own. Daisy felt intimidated and uncomfortable, he must've been the police right? If so she wasn't going down without a fight.
He unrolled his sleeve and then took a gulp of his whisky, the man then spoke again with one of the most condescending toned she had ever heard. "So I hear you have some 'special tricks', do you take men to the bathroom and they pay for extras?"
Who was this man? He was asking all of these questions and yet she guessed he knew she robbed the bank and him. He knew about her powers. Her face was stony and cold.
"You don't know a damn thing about me." She spoke sternly and then she realised that she had pronounced 'damn' as 'daham', revealing her true accent. She winced.
"Ah, a fellow European. I guess I do know something about you. I wonder; do your colleagues know where you're truly from?" He grinned at her full of his own ego and she was becoming more and more het up. She couldn't get angry in fear of her powers becoming unruly.
She dropped the accent completely and revealed her true colours. A light northern English accent escaped her lips, "Don't you dare."
"Daisy," he calmly said just before he had another sip of his drink, "we are so alike it is uncanny."
"No we're not!" She hissed as quietly as she could, "Why the hell have you come here? What's your reason for getting under my skin and for toying with me so much?"
It sounded like a bad joke, a man enters a bar, explains his past in a concentration camp and then asks to see a waitresses' 'special tricks'. He looked at her expectantly whilst he planned an answer. He spoke quietly with a smirk upon his lips; the words she dreaded to hear: "I know you robbed those banks."