THE SIDESHOW

"The first bank robbery that can be attributed to the Sideshow probably happened a little over a year ago," Monica began.

She was just about to continue, but Donovan spoke up. "Sideshow," he commented, his voice sounding almost confused. It was the first time he had heard a name attached to the series of bank robberies. He knew the FBI was fond of attaching nicknames to bank robbers, but 'sideshow' seemed somewhat ridiculous. Normally, he wouldn't have interrupted her, but today, thoughts best left at home distracted him. Not only that, but how were they to work this case if they didn't know who to contact to dig into the gang? He had thought that before, and would likely do so time and time again. He could nearly hear even more gray hairs growing into his hair.

(See author's note at the bottom of the page) Monica shrugged apologetically, as if she could excuse the nickname. "I'm under the assumption that our FBI brethren saw fit to nickname the perps the Sideshow because of the freak show carnival masks. They tend to wear them at every job. One was even found at the earliest heist that I was about to touch upon." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing. "The first job happened at a small bank in an even smaller town outside the city limits of Chicago. I'm guessing that it was probably a practice run. It was fairly clever. Bank personnel remember seeing a young man entering the bank on Friday afternoon and making a request to access his safe deposit box. He was allowed inside, unsupervised, to take care of business and that was the end of the story, or so they thought. Not one employee bothered to check on him or escort him out. The bank closed at five o'clock sharp that evening and everyone went home and had a nice weekend. After the bank had been opened for a few hours that following Monday, another customer was escorted into the room to retrieve an item from one of the boxes. When the customer inserted her key into the lock, it fell apart all around her. The fellow had apparently somehow drilled the locks out and carefully reconstructed each so that they appeared in tact, but once a key was inserted, they would merely crumble. As it turned out, the boxes were very rudimentary in design. He cleaned out several of them over the weekend. They were stunned as to how he achieved this feat until they did a little searching. He had wedged himself in behind the space between the wall and the lock boxes. He had brought a small bag with enough food and water to do him. He used the empty water bottles to take care of certain bodily functions and left behind some of his trash. When the coast was clear, he simply climbed out and walked away scot-free with about ten thousand dollars worth of cashable bonds. After that, the bank changed their floor plans, reinforced the security of their lock boxes, and geared up security.

"The rest of their jobs are everyday run-of-the-mill standard bank robbery set-ups. Two people on the inside, at least two on the outside serving as lookouts. So far, they haven't taken the ultimate step with a hostage situation, but they don't hang around long enough to be that desperate. They're in and out, taking no longer than five minutes at each job. They don't take very much money at any one haul. The most they have scored is about a hundred thousand. They favor small banks over large ones, but they hit a lot of them, and they hit in the morning right after the trucks make their early money runs. Outside the first heist, they haven't left one shred of forensic evidence behind, and I believe the only reason the mask was even used the first time was that if plan 'A' failed, the fellow would have something to fall back on. When the FBI first began with this case, they believed it was a small group of people perpetrating each heist. However, they're now convinced that it's a fairly sizeable group, but we don't know for sure."

She waited to see if anyone else was going to interrupt, waited to hear another of Donovan's interjections, but he was uncharacteristically silent. The rest of the team was listening raptly. This case had been a difficult nut for them all to crack. It seemed as if everyone…and no one…knew who the ringleader was. They had dozens of witnesses, but no real leads. "As far as their mindset," she said, continuing, "The leaders-whoever they may be-probably feel fairly cocky and powerful right now. They have perpetrated one successful heist after another with little effort and no suspicion. And before anyone says a word, we have no suspects. But bank robbers are the worst criminals, they eventually break under the strain, someone in the gang gets greedy, or scared, or if we're lucky, loose-lipped. Mistakes are inevitable. Historically, they are notorious for that very thing."

Donovan was getting a headache. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to sigh heavily. He didn't want the team to hear the weariness or strain. He didn't have to ask Monica to know that the only true piece of evidence they did have on the team of bank robbers was the uttered name "Falcon." Again, as he had thought previously, he was positive it wasn't a true name. It was probably another nickname like the hideous moniker "Sideshow." They had the grainy surveillance video from one of the security cameras and Central promised to send them a dozen more from other bank jobs. It was supposed to prove their theory that there were more than two people carrying away the money. And that was another thing. The money. What was happening to it? There was no evidence that a large amount of money was seen in circulation anywhere in the Chicago area or the state of Illinois for that matter. Hell, the money wasn't even marked at all. What the hell was the Sideshow [inwardly, he groaned…now he was calling them "Sideshow"] doing with the damn money? It had to be going somewhere. He wasn't naïve, and hadn't been born yesterday, he knew that bank robbers weren't idiotic enough to wind up with marked money, but cash and or goods usually turned up somewhere. Someone would notice a person spending a wad of money he or she didn't have just the day before. There were more than a few people willing to squeal on another person if it meant a favor would be bestowed upon them. It was a harsh fact of life, but a fact all the same. Besides, as Monica had said, mistakes were inevitable. Something was bound to give. However, he didn't want to become a frothing old man waiting for it to happen. Central Office and his superiors were breathing down his neck. He was good at what he did, he produced results, but they had to realize that he wasn't a miracle worker. He didn't have the answer to every question asked of him. To dig into this difficult, nerve-wracking case, they would have to begin with the lowest common denominator.

Although not easy, Donovan could think past the headache. He stroked his goatee almost distractedly. "The carnival masks," he said. "They're key to the gang," he commented off-handedly, probably telling them something they already knew. "We know from the video and from what we've heard that they favor wearing freakish clown faces. I'm not sure how hard those are to find, but Cody, I want you to do a search of every store in the state that sells them. Isolate every customer. If you can't find any in the state, expand your search."

He wasn't certain how successful that search would be. Again, they ran the risk of the buyer giving a false name. There was also the chance that not every store kept pristine records. It's the lowest common denominator. It was a bad place to start, the only place to start. What was next in line? Choosing banks to stalk? If it came down to that, they would have to do it. However, he didn't think it would come to that. Every gang had at least one weak member, one member greedier than all the rest. If that one member felt the least bit cheated or slighted, their case would unfold for them. They would be in and it would be over. Donovan didn't give Cody a chance to give him a smart-ass remark about his latest assignment. Instead, he went upstairs to brood for a while. He expected a phone call from his superiors at any second. The heat was on, and he could feel the flames licking at his feet. He didn't care about the pressure. He fed off pressure. It motivated him more than anything ever did. But he didn't like being made to feel like a fool, and somewhere, a gang of bank robbers was laughing. They didn't know whom they were laughing at, but he did, and it was enough to make his blood boil.

Later, Donovan looked up when Cody entered the room. He figured the young agent had already completed the task set before him. Finally! A lead. However, the almost elated thought drifted away as soon as it entered his head the moment he got a good look at his face. Something wasn't right. "You have something for me?"

"Sure, Boss," Cody said. "Not sure you're going to like it. This just came over the wire." He handed Donovan a printed sheet of information.

Donovan took the sheet and stared down at it for several minutes. It seemed as if he were trying to burn the words into his brain. Was he trying to memorize them? Absorb them? He couldn't believe it. He utterly couldn't believe. While he had been sitting on his ass in his office, while Cody had been banging away at his computer, another bank robbery had happened right under their damn noses. This bank was about twenty miles outside town. It was the Sideshow. The information on the sheet of paper said so. Two subjects had entered the bank in carnival masks and had taken approximately fifty thousand dollars in small, unmarked bills. They fled on foot after no more than five minutes. No one had seen the getaway vehicle or could identify the suspects. One was a man, the other a woman. Goddamn it. He was already crinkling the paper beneath his hand.

As if sensing that Donovan had rather have his tantrum alone, Cody slipped quietly out of his office to continue the Herculean task of tracking down the mask purchases. When he knew he was alone, Donovan did ball up the sheet of paper within his fist. For no reason at all, he wanted to inflict pain on it. Right under their goddamn noses, another robbery had occurred, and no one had been the wiser. I'll find you, he thought. So help me God, I'll find you. After a moment, he had calmed down enough where he could face the other members of the team. Although it might not yield any further useful information, he thought it might not be a bad idea for he, Alex, and Jake to visit the bank. He had to assess the scene. Had to walk where they walked. If he could get a feel for them, maybe they could find the clues that they so desperately needed.

777

Kayla had just hung up with Carson. He had spent a better part of thirty minutes giving her the "I told you so" speech. Nigel and Louisa had pulled off the job without a hitch. Well, good for them. She hated feeling that way. She knew they needed to keep it up for a little while longer, but she grew more uncomfortable by the day. Of course it didn't help that she and her brother had had a few words when she told him she was seeing Frank again tonight. Tonight, Kay, you find out what he does. I don't care how you do it. Just do it. In all honesty, she didn't want to know what he did, because if he told her, she would probably never see him again. They had had all of one date [tonight will make two], and she already couldn't see herself giving him the boot. Jesus. What the hell was she going to do? Sighing heavily, she put away her phone and checked her watch. She had just enough time to change before Frank picked her up.

Donovan parked his truck into a slot at Miss Ruth's. He glanced down at his watch and noted that he was a few minutes early. Earlier today, he thought he might have to break the date. The bank robbery had messed up his internal gears, and when they visited the place, it hadn't gone well. As he had expected, they hadn't found anything new, and he wasn't happy about it. However, he didn't want to break the date because he hadn't gotten his way. A night out was exactly what he needed to get his mind off it. He had been obsessing about this case since they had received the assignment and brooding about it wasn't healthy. For God's sake, why must I beat this proverbial dead horse too death? Shrugging it away, he exited his vehicle and made his way toward the day care center.

Kayla heard a hollow pecking at the front door. She had chased away the last parent about an hour ago. The hall clock just over her head told her it was 7:28. It had to be Frank. She had lost all track of time. She smiled a little. He was certainly a timely fellow. She definitely liked that about a man. She moved toward the front door, her heels echoing along with her. As she drew nearer, she realized it was, indeed, Frank. She had half expected it to be a parent looking for a missing kid or something. Thank God it's not a parent. I don't think I could handle another one tonight. She noticed that he was smiling at her and waiting patiently. She unlocked the door and watched as he stepped back to allow her to come outside. He waited as she locked up the building and slipped the keys into her handbag. When she turned to face him, she noticed that he was watching her with the same patient expression he wore as she was unlocking the door. Again, she felt almost unnerved by his watchful gaze, but couldn't help but think it beautiful. She didn't want to spoil tonight by delving into his background. He didn't seem like a man who would give away much about himself without a crowbar and some stiff prying. Go away, Carson, I won't let you ruin this for me. I won't. She noticed he was dressed in dark slacks and a brown pullover sweater. He's absolutely gorgeous.

They walked to his truck without saying a word to each other. As was the case the night before, it was a very comfortable silence. He took advantage of the quiet to gaze at her. She was well put together in cream-colored slacks and a black silk blouse. Her hair was brushed back away from her face and hung down her back. It smelled soft and sweet, like vanilla. She intrigued him more than any woman he had met, and the amazing thing about it was that he couldn't explain why. He didn't know that much about her, hadn't spent that much time with her, but since meeting her, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, and couldn't drive her out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. Even when he was trying to work, thoughts of her kept creeping in. It wasn't like him to become so consumed by another person, but he wasn't altogether disturbed by that fact. He walked to the passenger side door and opened it for her. As she climbed inside the vehicle, he caught a whiff of her perfume. It, like her hair, was scented the faintest of vanilla. Once he climbed into the drivers' side, their eyes met. Just like that. He couldn't help it. He leaned toward her and kissed her.

Over dinner, they once again talked about everything and nothing. Donovan asked Kayla about her day care job, and she bored him with stories about the kids and their crazy parents. Politely, he listened and laughed in what she assumed were all the right places, but she was certain she was driving him nuts. She couldn't help it. When she was around him, she felt like a teenager out on her first real date. When he reached out and took her hand, she thought she would die. When he didn't let go, she was convinced she had died and gone to heaven. Oh yes. This was it for her. She didn't care if he ever kissed her again as long as he never released her hand. Of course, her giddiness was enhanced by a couple of glasses of wine. Her mood was only slightly dented when he asked if she had a large family. This she didn't dwell on. She answered shortly and simply. "One brother. One sister." She dropped it right there and he didn't pursue the subject further. Perhaps he sensed it was a potential sore spot. Not once did she approach the subject of his career. She didn't want to. She was afraid. So afraid. Yet, she noticed he wasn't immediately forthcoming with his own information, but that was okay. A little mystery was a good thing.

When she recognized a song playing in the background, her motor mouth finally shut, and she tugged on his hand. "Dance with me," she said.

Donovan looked around at the couples swaying to the music a few feet away. He had all but forgotten that this particular restaurant also had a dance floor. It had been quite some time since he had been here. He smiled a little. "Uh uh. I don't dance."

"Oh, come on," she implored and tugged on his hand again. "What is it? Do I embarrass you? Dance with me. I love this song."

He also recognized the ballad. It was a fairly popular song in the early '80s, a duet sang by a man and a woman from two different rock groups. He wasn't a fan of either band, but the radio stations played the song almost endlessly. "Do you? How old you were you when this song was out? Five?"

She smirked at his smiling face. "Oh shut up. Come on, Frank. Dance with me before the damn song is over."

Resigned for the time being, he allowed her to bring him to his feet and lead him out to the dance floor. He took her hand in his, put his arm around her waist, and held her body against his. This was the closest he had been to her and it felt amazing. Strangely enough, he found himself actually listening to the lyrics of the song. How many damn times had he heard this song in the '80s and virtually ignored it? However, tonight, he was listening to every single word, feeling every single word. He didn't look away from her eyes once. It was something he couldn't do. He was totally unaware of the movement of their bodies and didn't actually know if they were moving at all. He could actually feel every single beat of her heart, could hear every breath she took. It was indescribable. Beyond words. How cliché was this? How dramatic? Yet, it was happening. Every single thing. He was completely overwhelmed by it all. Without thinking, without taking a breath, his lips covered hers. He heard her moan just a little when his tongue touched hers. When the kiss ended a moment later, he kissed her again, and then again. As he had thought earlier, he couldn't help it. Tonight, he was losing himself, and he absolutely didn't care.

When the song ended, and he allowed her to breathe again, she looked up at him with a smile. "I thought you didn't dance."

"So, I told a half truth," he said and returned her smile.

Hand in hand, they walked out to his truck, parting only long enough to climb inside. Once they were inside the close confines, their lips joined again. When the consuming kiss ended, Kayla's hand remained on Frank's cheek, and her thumb caressed his bottom lip gently. He was gazing steadily at her with his beautiful eyes.

"You don't talk much about you, do you," she teased. She honestly wasn't probing for information. She simply wanted to know more. She just didn't want him to tell her about his job. Inherently, she already knew.

He smiled a little guiltily. She was right. She had told him so much about herself tonight, but he hadn't said hardly anything. "It's past midnight," he began.

"And what do you do after midnight? Turn back into a frog?"

He covered her hand with his and brought hers down off his face. He held it in his own, reveling in the feel of her soft silky skin against his. "That's only when there's a full moon. If you had allowed me to finish, I was going to say that it's late, and next time, I promise to give you more details about my boring life."

"I'm sure there are many facets to your life, Frank Donovan, and I'll bet none of them are boring." She sighed. "But if I must, I suppose I can wait until next time."

He smiled a little. "How is this for starters? I'm an only child and I live alone in a big house out in the country."

"It's okay for a little taste," she said. "Just so you know, I'm greedy and I want more."

"I do adore those qualities in a woman."

Donovan drove her back to the day care center and she directed him toward the employee parking lot where her car was located. He parked in the slot next to hers and got out with her. Once again, he found himself not wanting the night to end. He stood with her against the truck and kissed her once more. He had kissed her so many times tonight and couldn't seem to get enough of her sweet lips. She was intoxicating and hypnotic. A dizzying mix, an amazing one.

When the kiss ended, she gazed up at him. "Call me?"

"Count on it."

When Kayla arrived back at the apartment, she noticed that Carson had company. Tom was over and the two men were playing cards. From the looks of it, they had been at it for several hours. She was intent on ignoring them and heading straight for bed. Somehow, she didn't think it would be so easy, and she was right.

"What did you find out about Frank," Carson asked off-handedly.

"Who's Frank," Tom asked. This was news to him. He hadn't been aware they were adding any new members to the mix.

"A guy Kayla has started seeing," Carson explained. "Well?"

Tell the world, why don't you? She didn't want Tom knowing about Frank. She couldn't explain it, but it was just something that he didn't need to know. "He's a stock broker," she said, lying easily. "See. Harmless. Will you get off my back?"

Carson picked up his beer bottle and finished off the last of his drink. "A stock broker, huh? Interesting." He tossed the empty bottle into a nearby wastebasket. "While you were out, Dora called."

For a moment, Kayla's breathing caught in her throat and her heart seemed to stop beating. "Dora? All this time you've been busting my ass about Frank when Dora called? What did she say?"

It was the first time in two days that Carson's features seemed to lighten, to soften up. "It looks good."

She felt like a parrot. "It looks good?" Oh. Thank God, thank God.

To be continued…

A/N: This scene was heavily influenced by an episode of Masterminds on Court TV. It was slightly changed and a bit bastardized for the purposes of this fanfiction. NO infringement intended.