A/N: Hello and welcome to the first official chapter of this story!
I want to thank: XoxoBeautiful NightmareXoxo, LabyFan23, xoangelwingxo, music is life 99 xxx, nuckythompson, aheartofdarkness, dionne dance, Leyshla Gisel, Why Fireflies Flash, catnaps, Nelle07, samba sockz, ZantheXV, CharlieCats, mariangisborne, ForeverACharmedOne, TinkerbellxO, applebombz and PGAEmma.
Thank you all for the support! I hope you like this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.
Chapter 1
A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction.
~Oscar Wilde
1933, First National Bank, East Chicago
"Welcome to our bank. How may I help you?" her voice is light and polite but it's obvious that she has said that line too many times for it to be original. Her hand is already outstretched in order to receive the client's documentation but when nothing is pressed into her palm she looks up. Her eyes widen slightly because the face gazing at her is young and curious and bright; a complete antithesis to the weather and the usual faces of the people coming in. Suddenly she feels foolish and straightens in her chair. She pulls her hand back and smiles a bit because the brown eyed man in front of her has a smirk upon his face as he regards her.
As she takes him in she is startled. Good and highly expensive clothes, especially his long black coat, short dark hair that is pushed back and hands deep in his pockets. His eyes are sparkling and she wonders why. Most people coming in were glum and long faced; reluctant to make another withdrawal from their much declining accounts for this Depression was weighing them down. But the man with the beautifully shaped mouth and moustache seems relaxed and unburdened.
Odd.
"May I help you?" she asks again because he has not moved and there is a line of people behind him, waiting to be serviced.
"Good morning." He seems to snap out of his daze and he takes a step forward, "I would like to cash this check, please. Then I'd like to make an account." He says as he pushes the check towards her.
She takes it and looks at it for a moment before she raises her eyes to his, "I am going to need identification for that, sir." She replies but he's already pulling out his card.
He passes it over to her and she smiles.
"Thank you, Mr…Lawrence." She says as she looks at his identity document, "Wait a moment, please."
He inclines his head and waits as she stands up and makes her way to the back, to the offices behind her desk.
When she's back she's smiling.
"Here you are, sir. You're all set." She says as she hands him back his ID and the passbook for his account.
He takes them and smiles, "Thank you." He places them in his coat pocket and stares at her intently for a moment before he speaks.
"You should smile more often, Ms. Crowley." He smirks before he turns and walks away. She watches as he makes his way out of the bank with a confident swagger and she's speechless. How on earth does he know her name? And that smirk…that smirk looks awfully familiar the more she thinks about it. She has seen it before. But where? She frowns and shakes her head, squinting hard as she tries to place him. When two minutes pass with no luck of recalling that face she sighs.
She knows she must look stupid and so it is not a surprise when the next client is brusque with her. She shakes her head and accepts the old woman's passbook with an odd feeling in her stomach.
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Two weeks later…
"Miranda, why so glum?" The voice is light and caring and she knows that it's supposed to make her feel better but it doesn't.
Miranda Crowley turns and looks at the woman standing behind her.
"I am not glum, Helen. I am annoyed." Miranda replies as she looks back at her fellow worker.
"Moved out yet?" Helen's green eyes are worried and Miranda shrugs.
"Yesterday." She whispers and Helen clicks her tongue. She hates that sound. Her father always makes that sound. It's his way of letting her know how displeased he is with her; all the bloody time.
"You know that's the best. You always fight with him. It has to be done. Your father is not the best company right now." She murmurs as the bank door opens.
"I know. And it took me too long to act anyway." Miranda eyes the man who approaches and straightens, "He's never good company…" she murmurs bitterly and then adds quietly, "Talk to you later." She says and Helen nods.
As she looks up she is startled, "Hello. What can I do for you today?" she asks with a little bit of exasperation.
The man smiles and chuckles, "I have the impression that you do not like me, doll."
"My name is not doll, sir. It's Ms. Crowley or Miranda. Either one." She snaps and his eyebrows almost disappear under his hairline. He looks surprised but his eyes are laughing; at her or not she is not certain.
"I like Mira. Can I call you Mira?" he asks casually as he leans against the counter and hands her his passbook, his fingers brushing against her own on purpose. She stiffens because the male touch had scarcely intended to bring her comfort or joy. She gulps and pushes that thought to the back recesses of her mind because he's looking at her, waiting for her to speak.
"Pet name? I don't know you, sir." She says as she takes his passbook and eyes him with suspicion. Something about him seems…off. She straightens and takes a deep breath.
"How did you know my name?" she whispers and he grins, showing off a perfect row of white teeth and making her feel flushed all of a sudden.
"Well, for that you need to have dinner with me. Say…eight o' clock tonight? And I need five hundred dollars, please." He points to the account book in her hand.
Miranda is shocked at the man's cheek and straightforwardness. Was he…flirting with her?
Trying to look neutral she opens his passbook and eyes his account information. Her eyes widen.
"Another withdrawal?" she mutters as she looks at him from beneath her eyelashes, her blue eyes unsettled by the man's boldness towards her.
He simply grins and nods, "So how about that dinner?" he cocks his head to the side and Miranda is lost.
"I don't know about you but I usually have dinner at the restaurant at the corner." She replies as she hands him back his passbook with the money in it. She bites her tongue hard at her words. Why on earth did she say that? What if he is a murderer or something? Weren't all psychotic killers good looking? Like demons so they could enchant their victims.
Slow it down. Not everyone is like that. She shakes her head and focuses on him. He's looking at her peculiarly, almost mildly surprised; almost is the key word.
He regards her for a few moments with surprise evident in his gaze but then he laughs and nods his head.
"I'm in. See you then." And then he's gone with a wink.
Miranda wonders if she's done the right thing. As she sits there, mulling over it she comes to the conclusion that she can just not go.
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She walks into the restaurant drenched in water. She lowers her umbrella and then her eyes do a quick perusal of the establishment. When she spots him across the restaurant with his back to her, she falters. Why on earth did she come? She has work in her new apartment. Things to do, boxes to unpack but as she thinks over it though the idea of leaving sounds bleak. Taking a deep breath she runs a hand through her dark hair and then starts walking over to him.
She comes to stand next to his chair and it is then that he looks up and notices her. He grins and immediately stands up, his hands already on her coat, pulling it off her shoulders.
He frowns, "You're soaked." He remarks and then he is throwing her coat on the spare chair and reaches for his own. He shakes it to unfold it and then he is wrapping it around her form, his hands pushing her hair away from her neck so he could tuck it across her shoulders. His hands tug on the material on the front and then he smiles crookedly.
"There you go." He gestures to the seat across from him but she stares at him with wide eyes before she blinks and sits down quickly, a fierce blush on her cheeks.
He chuckles lightly and then his fingers beckon the waiter over.
"What will you have? They make the best steaks ever." He tells her as he leans back in his chair and regards her studiously, taking her in.
She knows she must look a mess. Soaked hair and a bit pale but she straightens and elegantly reaches out to take a sip of the water that there is already in front of her.
As she does so she can feel his eyes on her. She lowers the glass and looks at him. His fingers are drumming softly on the table and his mouth is slightly pursed as he regards her.
"So," His eyebrows are raised when she speaks, "Do you come here often to eat or to stalk me?" she asks and he gazes at her for a few, torturously long seconds before he laughs and leans forward.
"Both." He replies, "But first, what will you eat?" he cocks his head to the side as the waiter comes over and stands next to their table.
"The usual, Martin." She murmurs and the waiter smiles at her.
"Ms. Crowley." He inclines his head and then turns to eye the man, "Mr. Dillinger?" his voice is low and quiet and Miranda freezes while her eyes snap up to the waiter and then to the man before her.
Mr. Lawrence or rather Mr. Dillinger, grins and replies without taking his eyes off of Miranda's shocked blue gaze.
"A steak with salad on the side." He replies and Miranda can't take her eyes off of him.
Jesus Christ! Dillinger. John bloody Dillinger was in front of her and he was grinning at her like there was no tomorrow.
The waiter nods his head and then walks away to get their orders.
Miranda scoffs and abruptly sits up, throwing his coat off. He leans forward as she tries to walk away and grabs her hand, pushing it hard against the tablecloth.
"Ms. Crowley, sit down." He says quietly and she tries to take her hand back but his hold is like iron. Where did he find so much strength?
"Are you mocking me? Is this some kind of joke?" she hisses, feeling like a fool but then he stands and grasps her arms, pushing her down into her seat with force.
She gasps as he leans down and places his hands on either side of her chair, trapping her.
"Calm down." He murmurs and she stares at him with wild eyes.
"What do you want?" she asks because she slowly starts making the connection.
He smiles, "What makes you think that I want something, doll?" he asks and she stiffens.
"You must want something. Were you ever going to tell me who you are or would you wait for me to discover it on my own?" she asks with irk and he exhales slowly before he pulls back.
"Don't leave." He warns before he walks back to his seat and sits down.
Miranda eyes him with dread.
"The question is what do you want?" he asks her and she frowns.
"Excuse me?"
He leans forward and narrows his eyes, "I am here to propose a deal." He drawls.
"Deal? I don't like robbing banks, Mr. Dillin-…"
"Call me John. My friends call me John and I think you and I are going to be good friends." He cuts her off and there is such confidence in his eyes that she falters.
"What kind of deal, John?" she spats the name and he grins.
"I will take care of your father as long as you give me information about his moves." He starts, "All his moves." He leans back.
"Moves?" she chokes and he nods, his expression suddenly somber; too somber.
"Henry Crowley, bank shareholder, head of the new Dillinger Squad and infamous rapist. Shall I continue, Mira?" he asks her quietly as he eyes her with intensity.
Miranda's breath hitches and her hand flies to her mouth, ready to cover any noises. She swallows hard and he looks slightly guilty as they lock eyes.
Moments pass and they are both silent until the waiter comes with their food.
"Thanks, Martin." John nods his head but Miranda eyes the food with disgust. Wave after wave of nausea makes her stomach churn and it brings a bitter taste in her mouth, burning her tongue with acid.
"Is that why you approached me? So that I can be your spy?" she says in a whisper after some time and he shifts in his seat.
"You looked so sad that I wanted to kill myself." He drawls as he leans forward, "But I decided against it."
"What are you saying?" she chokes out and he takes a deep breath.
"Give me information and I will take down your father when it's time. Like a sick animal. Ain't no problem really." he shakes his head and Miranda shivers.
"You want to kill him." She states and he shrugs, "But I don't want you to." She shakes her head and leans back, the wild beating of her heart a bit uneven by then.
He frowns and there is confusion in his gaze because his plan did not work.
She reaches out and slips her hand into her coat pocket, "Why so desperate? How do you know I won't reveal your identity?" she asks as she pulls out her wallet and regards him curiously.
John narrows his eyes, "Little choices lead to narrow roads. And I don't think you will." He replies immediately.
She is momentarily stunned but then she nods and slips a card towards him. He takes it and smirks but she does not return it.
"You read my file." She accuses and he tilts his head to the side.
"Sorry."
"You're not." She fires back and he raises his hands in surrender.
"I suppose I am not." He nods and grins.
Miranda suddenly stands up, "I need to think about it." She murmurs, the sudden urge to disappear very prominent in every nerve of her body and she steps back, "Call me."
With that she grabs her wet coat and walks away, no longer caring of the rain that slaps her skin with every step she takes.
End of chapter 1
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