A few days after the bank heist, Dallas sat back at the ugly plastic table at the hotdog stand near Jacket's apartment. Beside him was Wolf, smoking a cigarette. Across from him: Chains and Houston, who were glancing around curiously at this side of town they were not used to seeing.

The stand was having a grand re-opening, though Dallas failed to see what was so grand about it. The only thing he could tell had changed was the gravel lot had been paved. Still, he imagined it would be nice not to go home with dusty shoes from the dusty gravel.

The place was very crowded, as many local lower-income families had come to support their favorite hotdog joint. Kids rushed and played tag on the new cement as their parents waited in the huge line to order lunch. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the new umbrellas which shaded the old tables.

Wolf turned to Dallas. "Want a drag?" he said, offering the cig and clapping a hand on Dallas's shoulder. Dallas let out a cry and Wolf flinched away. "Sorry, sorry! I forgot, man!" Dallas's arm was in a sling, his shoulder bound with gauze under a fresh tweed suit. He glared at Wolf, then took the cigarette and finished it off.

"Look, man, they're giving out free pickles!" Chains said excitedly to Houston as he nudged him with an elbow, pointing at a customer who was given a few dills to pass out to his family.

"I want one! Jacket, get me a pickle!" Wolf called over his shoulder to Jacket, who was at the pick-up window. Dallas glanced back and saw the silent man at the counter. He was handed a pickle, placed it on the tray, then turned to walk to his gang. Dallas's eyes darted away from the man's face. Jacket's cheek was torn in many places from the scatter shot the week before at the bank. Dallas's own cheeks turned a bit red as he thought of how painful it must have been for Jacket and how embarrassed he was to have needed to lean on his partner to make it back to the van that day.

Jacket stood beside the table and set down the tray with everyone's order. As Chains, Wolf, and Houston grabbed their hot dogs and dug in, Jacket took his own and turned to the kiosk to visit the condiment counter. "I'll go with you," Dallas said, grabbing his dog with his good arm. The crew looked up at him curiously. "Uh, needs relish," he said.

"I hear that! Hook me up with some while you're at it," said Chains, pointing to Dallas, mouth full of hotdog. Dallas smirked and followed Jacket to the counter.

Jacket pumped mustard onto his hotdog, then took a small plastic condiment container and pumped relish into it for Chains.

"Hey, Jacket," said Dallas as he approached the counter. Jacket's eyes met Dallas's, then the silent man glanced around at the huge crowd of looming customers.

Dallas caught on and understood that it would be dangerous to talk here. "Just," Dallas said low. "I just wanted to say thank you. Nice job back there," he said, setting down his food and extending his good hand to Jacket. The blond looked down at Dallas's outstretched hand for a moment, face seemingly indifferent as always, but he met the grip with his own callused palm and shook firmly. Dallas smiled at him with closed lips, half hoping to get a reaction from Jacket. The quiet heister stared plainly into Dallas's eyes. After an awkward silence, Jacket clapped a hand onto Dallas's shoulder, then took his hotdog and Chains's relish back to the table.

Dallas cringed hard and suppressed a shout as he wriggled a bit in pain. He knew expecting a smile from his partner was too much. He regained his composer as a few patrons around him started to stare. Clearing his throat, he pulled out his cellphone and wedged it between his ear and good shoulder. He grabbed his hotdog and moved behind the stand.

"What's up?" Bain asked over the phone.

"Hey, Bain. So you didn't hear anything?"

"Sorry, man. Both of your masks were off and the security feed in the bank was visual only. The others didn't hear?"

"Nah, too busy fighting off the cops. There were so many bullets flooding down the alley, they might not have heard it from directly beneath us either."

"Da**," Bain laughed. "I guess the mystery remains."

"He was so vehement, Bain," Dallas said seriously. "I wish you could have seen it. I've never seen him like that- so much emotion," he pondered.

"Take care, Dallas," said Bain.

"Yeah," Dallas replied cooly. "We'll keep in touch about next month's heist," he said sliding the phone into the hand on his bad arm and carefully hanging up.

Dallas fought the crowd to make it back to the table. He sat with his hotdog as the others were finishing up theirs.

"Number 76!" shouted a worker at the kiosk. Wolf felt uneasy surrounded by so many people and such noise. He lit another cigarette as a woman backed into him. The flame on his lighter touched to his nose and he howled loudly. "Hey, lady!" he shouted, standing to bark at her. She apologized, then darted away after seeing his harsh glare. Wolf scoffed.

"Er, maybe it's time we get going," said Chains, glancing at his watch. "We'll be back at the safehouse now that all the buggy-wuggies are gone," he said, clasping Houston's shoulder.

"Shut up, man! We had flying cockroaches! Have you seen those things?!"

"Oh, shi*, we had THOSE? Okay, I'll ease up, man- those muthafu**ers are scary."

"Thank you!" said Houston, standing with Chains as they cleared their garbage into the trash bin near the table. "Ready, Wolf?" Houston asked, spinning his keys around his index finger. Wolf nodded and moved to join the two. "We'll catch up with you later," Chains said to Dallas.

"Nice seeing your neck of the woods," Houston smiled at Jacket. Jacket nodded, hardly looking up from his meal. The three left the lot and Jacket and Dallas remained at the table alone. As Houston drove away, another car immediately took his parking spot. The hotdog stand was getting more crowded than before as people got off work for lunch.

Despite the bustling lot, there was an awkward silence between Jacket and Dallas. Suddenly, a father sat his two daughters down at the table across from the two heisters. The man rushed off to wait in line, leaving his girls alone under the umbrella.

"I hope it's okay if we sit with you," one of the small girls said to Dallas.

The man smirked. "Not a problem," he said, taking a bite of his hotdog.

"What's wrong with his face?" the sister whispered loudly, pointing right at Jacket. Dallas cringed and looked to his partner, who insouciantly sucked some mustard from his thumb.

Uncomfortable with the silence from Jacket and the giggling gossip of the two young girls, Dallas quickly finished his hotdog and wiped his mouth, then stood to clear his place. As he was throwing away his garbage, the girls' father slid into Dallas's seat with a tray and began handing out food to his daughters. Dallas rolled his eyes, but was finished eating anyway. As people shoved past him, some brushing his injured shoulder, he decided it was time to go.

"Hey, Jacket, it was nice seeing you again," Dallas said, approaching Jacket's side. He motioned towards his Lincoln Continental behind him, parked among much cheaper vehicles which had seen better days. "I'll be sure to call you next time you're needed on the job." Jacket looked up at Dallas, but only with his eyes. "Thanks again," said the older heister. Dallas turned away from Jacket and made his way to his car.

"Put some ice on that arm," a casual male voice called from behind Dallas. His eyes widened. He turned swiftly to see who had spoken. He looked to the father of the girls, who was glancing down, but saw Dallas turn and met the heister's eyes. The father smiled slightly and waved goodbye, perhaps as a thank you for watching the girls as he waited in line, then focused back on his daughters. Dallas looked across the table for Jacket, but he was gone. His eyes darted all over the crowded lot and caught a glimpse of Jacket's blond hair disappear into the multitude.