Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
Author's Note: Does anyone visit here anymore? If you do and you like my story, just give me a quick punch of the purple button down below. Nevertheless, I'm writing this because I love George Clooney as Seth Gecko, and had to have some fun with him, plus add in a few other obsessions to make it more interesting. Let me know what you think.
One-Mistake
In the world of killers and thieves, there was no better team than Seth and Ritchie Gecko. There was also no more fucked-up team.
Ritchie was a psychopath--his brother would never admit it out loud, but privately he knew. Ritchie was a rapist and prone to seeing things that weren't there and hearing things that were never spoken. Seth sometimes believed that he was keeping Ritchie out of worse trouble by staying with him. A psychiatrist had once told him he had a Of Mice And Men complex--taking care of a "retard" who was his only real family, while secretly longing for a life of his own. Maybe it was just a matter of time before he did have to get rid of Ritchie. But these thoughts he kept down deep in the darkest parts of his heart. He never voiced them. And the psychiatrist who had suggested them to him had received a broken nose and lost two teeth for his effort.
But all these dark issues were not currently on his mind. At this moment, he was doing what he loved the most. He was robbing a bank. Although his face itched terribly, and the thing foremost in his thoughts was fighting off the urge to rip off the ski mask hiding his discernable features.
It was odd, the fact that Ritchie was the crazier of the two, and yet Seth was the mouth. He gave the orders. He screamed instructions to the clerk, while Ritchie prowled around, glaring at everyone like a very hungry tiger. It didn't hurt that Ritchie shot off his gun every now and again, in just the right spot. And it especially didn't hurt that he had immediately killed both the security guards, and was not above aiming his gun at the innocent children who were unlucky enough to be present in the bank.
They were obeying him. He was the Sultan and they were his slaves. The money was being loaded up into briefcases, just as he instructed. And then, he did a quick survey of the room.
Someone was still sitting in her seat. One of the plush chairs that sat in front of the big desks were the important men who worked at the bank sat, was occupied. She looked at him, unphased by everything. And while she was most likely harmless, it was one thing that Seth despised, defiance.
"Hey," he said, their signal word, and Ritchie cast him a quick swipe of his eyes. Seth jerked his head. Ritchie would handle the situation, but probably with more blood than necessary. "I need you over here."
Ritchie grabbed a hostage--a girl who was just blossoming into adolescence, Ritchie's favorite--and put the gun to the back of her head as he walked to where Seth indicated. Taking over the watching of the money, he did not pay much attention to where Seth was going. He never needed to watch his big brother much. He knew his actions as well as Seth did.
Seth approached the woman. And then he got a good look at her face.
Framed by blond hair instead of the fire-red she used to favor, her face was impassive. She just looked at him coolly, even leaned back in her chair a bit as he got closer.
He stared down at her, in utter shock. She gazed back up into his eyes as if she didn't know him, and didn't really care. She smelled of rich, blonde snobbery. Her hair was expertly done and beautifully kempt, and she was wearing a rich, cream-colored cashmere coat. Underneath, a simple button-down white shirt that looked rather expensive and professionally pressed, along with a pair of designer jeans and polished leather boots.
No, it had to be a coincidence. There was no way...if it was her, she would have recognized him. His tattoo was clearly showing under the mask now, having been moved by his scratching at his neck. No one else in the world had a tattoo like that. And she had always known him by his eyes, no matter what the circumstances.
Then again, if it was her, it was very likely to be a big act. Such things were far from beneath her.
"You have a problem?" she said softly, a mere flicker in her eyes belaying her fear.
"Well, Xanny, starting with you, I'd say yeah."
She raised one delicately kempt eyebrow. "I'm sorry? What did you call me?"
"Xanny," he said evenly. "Alexandra Wallace, to be exact. What, you don't recognize me?" The last words were spoken with distinct scorn.
"Should I?" she asked, barely keeping the venom out of her voice.
"Well, aren't you just all fucking holier than thou nowadays," he mocked, lifting up just enough of the ski-mask to expose his face to her. "Ring a fuckin' bell now, darlin'?"
There was real confusion in her face. Either that, or she'd just gotten much better at her little act. Even good enough to fool him. "I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're-"
She didn't get the rest of the words out. Seth had yanked down his mask and reached out with the same hand to get his grip into the silky blonde hair. Tightening his fingers so hard he was sure he was going to rip at least some of it out, he yanked her to her feet. She let out a yelp and the a screech as she was forced to stand.
"Let me go!" she shrieked, pure indignation. "I haven't done anything to you! You've got your money, just go!"
Seth smiled underneath the mask. "Those were the last words you said to me last time, Xanny," he said. "I told you then, it's not enough."
They finished their business with the bank tellers, and with Ritchie's arms loaded with money, Seth was free to take the hostage.
"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled as he dragged her backwards toward the bank doors. He yanked her closer, and she lost her footing and wound up bumping against his chest, her head flipping upward so that she could see the world spin around her. His arm went around her throat and he cocked the gun against her temple.
"Shut up," he growled as they backed the rest of the way out. The people were too terrified to even watch, they just lay there on the floor, their faces pressed down, whimpering, begging for it to just be over, the bad guys to just go away and life to return to some kind of normal.
Ritchie was throwing the bags of loot into the back seat. He had already popped the trunk. For a moment, Seth hesitated to throw her in. For all her faults, Xanny did deserve a little better.
Well, maybe a little, but not enough. He grabbed the collar of her coat and spun her around. She banged her head against the top of the trunk and he seized the opportunity to push her down, into the back of the trunk. He hefted her feet in after her and then slammed down the lid.
"Let's go!" Ritchie called. Seth jumped in shotgun, and the car roared off.
%%%%%%%%%%
The day had started out simple. Hair appointment, pedicure, manicure. Go to the cleaners, pick up her coat, which had suffered from an accident with a glass of red wine a few days ago. Head down to Victoria's Secret and pick up a little something for later, maybe a few fresh pairs of underwear, if they had any nice colors in. Pass through Parisians, grab a cuppacino. She'd just finished it when she realized she had forgotten to pick up the wedding rings from her safety deposit box. Her mother and father had put them there, stipulating that they were to be used when she married. They were antiques, expensive beyond belief, and would not be kept in some dusty jewelry box awaiting the ceremony. But after all, the wedding was this Saturday, and she had better do it while she had some time.
The simpletons at the bank seemed to have a problem. The manager had been called away for a moment to do a double check on her key, as it resembled one that had been a forgery, presented only a few days before. Of course he knew who she was, he apologized profusely for the convenience, and would hurry as quickly as he could, and it would only take a minute to confirm something. So she waited, admiring her new French manicure--she hadn't had one in a while, and forgot how flattering they could be.
And now that French manicure was being wasted as she scratched against the room of the trunk those horrible villains had thrown her into. The car looked like little more than rust on wheels, and after her head had cleared from the nasty crack she'd taken on her way into this dark hellhole, she wondered if she might be able to punch a hole through it, attract some help.
No luck. And then she'd been given a sharp reproof from someone in the front seat, following by a very sharp braking of the car, which had caused her considerably discomfort. She was sure that the next time they heard her pounding, the car would be stopped, and God-knew what new horror would await her.
Xanny. The man had called her Xanny, again and again. Who in the hell was Xanny, and what kind of name was it? Oh, right, short for Alexandra. What a weird nickname. Someone named Alexandra would certainly go by Alex, wouldn't she? But then again, anyone who might know the beast who had kidnapped her in such a familiar way could not be expected to be normal. Or even human, by the looks of him. She shuddered with revulsion. God knew what kind of relationship this Xanny had with that man, and God knew what he would expect of her, as he assumed she was who he thought she was.
She lay on her back in the trunk as it rocked down the highway. They had to be going on a highway, no city roads could be traveled this quickly without attracting a police vehicle. And she'd just had her coat cleaned, too.
%%%%%%%%%%
"According to her ID," Seth murmured as he rooted through her purse, "her name now is Augusta Charlene Baxton. Augusta? What kind of fucking name is that?"
"After Caesar Augustus, I'm sure," Ritchie muttered. He glanced at Seth. "Wild guess."
"Oh, so now you're a fuckin' history buff," Seth grumbled.
"So what are we going to do with her?" Ritchie asked casually.
"What we always do with hostages," Seth said, but he was looking out the window, uneasy. "You don't touch her though, got that?"
"I never fuckin' touched Xanny," Ritchie said with a small chuckle. "She'd rip my fingers off."
"Good boy. Whatever scheme she's pulling, though, she's deep in it. Acting like she doesn't even know me-pretty damn good acting, too. What the hell was she thinking?"
"She smells like money," Ritchie said.
"Yeah, that's probably it. Doesn't want to blow her cover."
Ritchie gave him a rather cool glance. "Then she's going to be very pissed off at you for blowing it for her with this kidnapping thing."
Seth just grinned back. "Well, I do owe her one. But I'm sure I'll make it all work out in the end."
Ritchie didn't say anything...very loudly, anyway. Seth ignored him as they drove on.
Author's Note: Does anyone visit here anymore? If you do and you like my story, just give me a quick punch of the purple button down below. Nevertheless, I'm writing this because I love George Clooney as Seth Gecko, and had to have some fun with him, plus add in a few other obsessions to make it more interesting. Let me know what you think.
One-Mistake
In the world of killers and thieves, there was no better team than Seth and Ritchie Gecko. There was also no more fucked-up team.
Ritchie was a psychopath--his brother would never admit it out loud, but privately he knew. Ritchie was a rapist and prone to seeing things that weren't there and hearing things that were never spoken. Seth sometimes believed that he was keeping Ritchie out of worse trouble by staying with him. A psychiatrist had once told him he had a Of Mice And Men complex--taking care of a "retard" who was his only real family, while secretly longing for a life of his own. Maybe it was just a matter of time before he did have to get rid of Ritchie. But these thoughts he kept down deep in the darkest parts of his heart. He never voiced them. And the psychiatrist who had suggested them to him had received a broken nose and lost two teeth for his effort.
But all these dark issues were not currently on his mind. At this moment, he was doing what he loved the most. He was robbing a bank. Although his face itched terribly, and the thing foremost in his thoughts was fighting off the urge to rip off the ski mask hiding his discernable features.
It was odd, the fact that Ritchie was the crazier of the two, and yet Seth was the mouth. He gave the orders. He screamed instructions to the clerk, while Ritchie prowled around, glaring at everyone like a very hungry tiger. It didn't hurt that Ritchie shot off his gun every now and again, in just the right spot. And it especially didn't hurt that he had immediately killed both the security guards, and was not above aiming his gun at the innocent children who were unlucky enough to be present in the bank.
They were obeying him. He was the Sultan and they were his slaves. The money was being loaded up into briefcases, just as he instructed. And then, he did a quick survey of the room.
Someone was still sitting in her seat. One of the plush chairs that sat in front of the big desks were the important men who worked at the bank sat, was occupied. She looked at him, unphased by everything. And while she was most likely harmless, it was one thing that Seth despised, defiance.
"Hey," he said, their signal word, and Ritchie cast him a quick swipe of his eyes. Seth jerked his head. Ritchie would handle the situation, but probably with more blood than necessary. "I need you over here."
Ritchie grabbed a hostage--a girl who was just blossoming into adolescence, Ritchie's favorite--and put the gun to the back of her head as he walked to where Seth indicated. Taking over the watching of the money, he did not pay much attention to where Seth was going. He never needed to watch his big brother much. He knew his actions as well as Seth did.
Seth approached the woman. And then he got a good look at her face.
Framed by blond hair instead of the fire-red she used to favor, her face was impassive. She just looked at him coolly, even leaned back in her chair a bit as he got closer.
He stared down at her, in utter shock. She gazed back up into his eyes as if she didn't know him, and didn't really care. She smelled of rich, blonde snobbery. Her hair was expertly done and beautifully kempt, and she was wearing a rich, cream-colored cashmere coat. Underneath, a simple button-down white shirt that looked rather expensive and professionally pressed, along with a pair of designer jeans and polished leather boots.
No, it had to be a coincidence. There was no way...if it was her, she would have recognized him. His tattoo was clearly showing under the mask now, having been moved by his scratching at his neck. No one else in the world had a tattoo like that. And she had always known him by his eyes, no matter what the circumstances.
Then again, if it was her, it was very likely to be a big act. Such things were far from beneath her.
"You have a problem?" she said softly, a mere flicker in her eyes belaying her fear.
"Well, Xanny, starting with you, I'd say yeah."
She raised one delicately kempt eyebrow. "I'm sorry? What did you call me?"
"Xanny," he said evenly. "Alexandra Wallace, to be exact. What, you don't recognize me?" The last words were spoken with distinct scorn.
"Should I?" she asked, barely keeping the venom out of her voice.
"Well, aren't you just all fucking holier than thou nowadays," he mocked, lifting up just enough of the ski-mask to expose his face to her. "Ring a fuckin' bell now, darlin'?"
There was real confusion in her face. Either that, or she'd just gotten much better at her little act. Even good enough to fool him. "I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're-"
She didn't get the rest of the words out. Seth had yanked down his mask and reached out with the same hand to get his grip into the silky blonde hair. Tightening his fingers so hard he was sure he was going to rip at least some of it out, he yanked her to her feet. She let out a yelp and the a screech as she was forced to stand.
"Let me go!" she shrieked, pure indignation. "I haven't done anything to you! You've got your money, just go!"
Seth smiled underneath the mask. "Those were the last words you said to me last time, Xanny," he said. "I told you then, it's not enough."
They finished their business with the bank tellers, and with Ritchie's arms loaded with money, Seth was free to take the hostage.
"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled as he dragged her backwards toward the bank doors. He yanked her closer, and she lost her footing and wound up bumping against his chest, her head flipping upward so that she could see the world spin around her. His arm went around her throat and he cocked the gun against her temple.
"Shut up," he growled as they backed the rest of the way out. The people were too terrified to even watch, they just lay there on the floor, their faces pressed down, whimpering, begging for it to just be over, the bad guys to just go away and life to return to some kind of normal.
Ritchie was throwing the bags of loot into the back seat. He had already popped the trunk. For a moment, Seth hesitated to throw her in. For all her faults, Xanny did deserve a little better.
Well, maybe a little, but not enough. He grabbed the collar of her coat and spun her around. She banged her head against the top of the trunk and he seized the opportunity to push her down, into the back of the trunk. He hefted her feet in after her and then slammed down the lid.
"Let's go!" Ritchie called. Seth jumped in shotgun, and the car roared off.
%%%%%%%%%%
The day had started out simple. Hair appointment, pedicure, manicure. Go to the cleaners, pick up her coat, which had suffered from an accident with a glass of red wine a few days ago. Head down to Victoria's Secret and pick up a little something for later, maybe a few fresh pairs of underwear, if they had any nice colors in. Pass through Parisians, grab a cuppacino. She'd just finished it when she realized she had forgotten to pick up the wedding rings from her safety deposit box. Her mother and father had put them there, stipulating that they were to be used when she married. They were antiques, expensive beyond belief, and would not be kept in some dusty jewelry box awaiting the ceremony. But after all, the wedding was this Saturday, and she had better do it while she had some time.
The simpletons at the bank seemed to have a problem. The manager had been called away for a moment to do a double check on her key, as it resembled one that had been a forgery, presented only a few days before. Of course he knew who she was, he apologized profusely for the convenience, and would hurry as quickly as he could, and it would only take a minute to confirm something. So she waited, admiring her new French manicure--she hadn't had one in a while, and forgot how flattering they could be.
And now that French manicure was being wasted as she scratched against the room of the trunk those horrible villains had thrown her into. The car looked like little more than rust on wheels, and after her head had cleared from the nasty crack she'd taken on her way into this dark hellhole, she wondered if she might be able to punch a hole through it, attract some help.
No luck. And then she'd been given a sharp reproof from someone in the front seat, following by a very sharp braking of the car, which had caused her considerably discomfort. She was sure that the next time they heard her pounding, the car would be stopped, and God-knew what new horror would await her.
Xanny. The man had called her Xanny, again and again. Who in the hell was Xanny, and what kind of name was it? Oh, right, short for Alexandra. What a weird nickname. Someone named Alexandra would certainly go by Alex, wouldn't she? But then again, anyone who might know the beast who had kidnapped her in such a familiar way could not be expected to be normal. Or even human, by the looks of him. She shuddered with revulsion. God knew what kind of relationship this Xanny had with that man, and God knew what he would expect of her, as he assumed she was who he thought she was.
She lay on her back in the trunk as it rocked down the highway. They had to be going on a highway, no city roads could be traveled this quickly without attracting a police vehicle. And she'd just had her coat cleaned, too.
%%%%%%%%%%
"According to her ID," Seth murmured as he rooted through her purse, "her name now is Augusta Charlene Baxton. Augusta? What kind of fucking name is that?"
"After Caesar Augustus, I'm sure," Ritchie muttered. He glanced at Seth. "Wild guess."
"Oh, so now you're a fuckin' history buff," Seth grumbled.
"So what are we going to do with her?" Ritchie asked casually.
"What we always do with hostages," Seth said, but he was looking out the window, uneasy. "You don't touch her though, got that?"
"I never fuckin' touched Xanny," Ritchie said with a small chuckle. "She'd rip my fingers off."
"Good boy. Whatever scheme she's pulling, though, she's deep in it. Acting like she doesn't even know me-pretty damn good acting, too. What the hell was she thinking?"
"She smells like money," Ritchie said.
"Yeah, that's probably it. Doesn't want to blow her cover."
Ritchie gave him a rather cool glance. "Then she's going to be very pissed off at you for blowing it for her with this kidnapping thing."
Seth just grinned back. "Well, I do owe her one. But I'm sure I'll make it all work out in the end."
Ritchie didn't say anything...very loudly, anyway. Seth ignored him as they drove on.