by Rose, Rhea
A big body-builder type swore up and down like he was practicing his singing scales, but he never made a move. He stood there swearing, then he muttered, really low, almost into his shirt and soon enough it rose into a crescendo of expletives. I heard him say, “Not again, effing banks.” I guess he’d been robbed before.
Beside me another guy had one of those walking sticks that he unraveled like ninja nunchuks, and the stick became a stool. He sat on it and looked patient.
The rest of the crowd stood where they were, arms in the air, limp tree branches waiting to be picked clean of valuables, like an orchard at harvest time.
I was pretty sure only I knew that Devon’s gun was a toy. With his gun out, he walked to the front of the line. He grinned at me and winked, and I felt weak in the knees. My only terror came from my fear of being associated with him and this stupid robbery, at the same time I felt my heart rush, in a crazy, unexplainable moment of attraction.
Then he shoved me out of his way and pointed the gun at the teller.
“Just the big bills,” he said to her.
The teller looked at me!
I nodded at her. Yes, go ahead give him the big bills!
“Hey, sexy,” he said to me.
Nooo. Don’t talk to me.
The teller then looked at Devon. Her voice barely got above a whisper. “I don’t have any big bills. She’s got them all.”
Crap, she looked at me again. Thanks, lady, for throwing me under the bus. I thought Devon was going to turn to me and ask for more money, but he made a little gesture with his gun at my Gucci. Then he turned back to the wicket and reached through the wicket’s tiny little opening for shoving things through and managed to grab a handful of what little cash remained on her counter.
He turned back to me -- grabbed my purse from my fingers and swiftly shoved it into his backpack.
The snap of a gun holster brought me to my senses.
From the corner of my eye I saw the female cop stride to the front of my line with her weapon drawn!
“Stop! Police!” She barked out at Devon.
Everything seemed to happen in slow-mo.
Once upon a time that cop was way back at the end of the teller lineup but in two giant steps she was nearly on top of us, so close I read her name tag. Justine Daliday.
Good name for a cop, I thought.
While all eyes remained focused on Devon and the cop, no one took any notice of Emilia until it was too late.
Emilia, with her sword whizzing at full tilt, got to Devon before the cop, how she did that I wasn’t sure, but she came at him swinging – and worst of all – she hip-checked the cop out of the way.
I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but I’m certain the bank’s people will play it back on their security cameras for a long time coming. Emilia, about to bring her sword down on Devon, bumped Justine backwards. Justine went for a little spin-or-rama until she recovered her balance, her eyes wide and bugged out.
While Justine recovered and spun around with weapon in hand, Devon, about to be sliced, diced and skewered, waved a quick hand at Emilia, like a windshield wiper.
That’s when things went into slower motion.
Emilia’s sword strike at Devon changed direction, and she appeared unable to reverse the new trajectory. Those in the path of the new sword arc weren’t able to get out of the way!
The man sitting on the nunchuk-cane-stool, instantly became two –parts.
OMG!
Then things got back to hyper –speed.
That’s when the screaming and fainting and chaos started.
What a mess.
Devon delighted by the mayhem playing out all around him, grinned wildly, even insanely when he saw his handy work.
All of that was short lived because Justine now had her weapon pointed at Emilia, and I got a really sick, sinking sensation in my gut.
“Drop your weapon!” Her voice was more level than her gun.
“Oh, my god, Emilia. Stop!” I yelled. I didn’t want to watch Emi get shot.
The cop looked over her shoulder at me. I looked at Emilia who appeared to have frozen in mid-swing. Then the craziest thing happened. Devon came over to me and said, “Come on honey. We don't have time for cleanup.”
“I'm not going with you!” I said, horrified, as all eyes were on me! He leaned in really close to my ear. I heard him lick his lips.
“I got Maisie's money,” he said and hefted the well worn and frayed camo-backpack a little.
“Screw it,” I said to all watching the drama.
“Yeah, let's.” Suddenly he seemed like the creep I knew him to be.
He grabbed me by the hand with a grip worthy of a pit bull. I resisted and before Devon dragged me anywhere Justine took aim at him. “Drop your weapon,” she said to him. Her tone made me want to drop a weapon but I didn’t have one. By now someone had either called for reinforcement or pushed a panic button because I heard sirens getting louder somewhere outside. Devon pointed his gun at my head and a gasp went up throughout the bank. Then he pulled the trigger and three people screamed and one lady began crying. The flag from Devon’s gun popped out. It still read: BANG.
Devon began running and pulled me right after him.
Justine fired her weapon, but her shot missed and hit a painting on the far wall.
There was a lot more screaming and shrieking.
“Stop!” Justine yelled. But there was no stopping.
Devon attempted to run past Justine, but she tripped him and jumped him. He had to let me go. They tumbled and tumbled. Justine got hold of Devon’s hoodie, but he wiggled free of it. He grabbed me again and pulled me after him -- me in one hand, his backpack in the other, we sprinted for the exit. I heard Justine cursing --
“Wiry little bastard.”
When Devon and I reached the bank’s front door, it was locked.
He cursed.
I looked back to Justine to see if she had her weapon leveled on us, but she was searching Devon’s hoodie pockets, looking for his ID, I guess, and she found it. “I’ve got your bus pass, asshole,” she yelled down to the other end of the bank. “Devon Raker!” she shouted his name. That got Devon’s attention for a minute.
He hissed at her!
Meanwhile, Emilia, I noticed, had made her way to the bank’s front exit ahead of us. She’d concealed herself behind a patch of potted trees planted for decoration in the waiting area. I kept quiet, inwardly cheering for Emilia to bust us free. While Justine checked out the rest of Devon’s hoodie, Emilia saw her opportunity to get away. She simply turned the lock on the front door, but Justine stopped her.
“Hey!” Justine shouted in such a way that we all froze in our spots. “Nobody leaves the bank, especially you, Zoro. Lock that door!”
While I chuckled at Emi’s new nick name, Zoro chose to ignore Justine’s command and hurried out the front door, with Devon on her heels. Justine, however, was quite the athlete. She moved from the back of the bank to the front door at Olympic speed. She was right behind Emilia, who was right behind Devon, and I was right behind all three of them.
*
Outside the bank Justine was still in hot pursuit of Emilia! She had her gun out again!
Devon hid behind a street lamp and when I ran by he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down between the cars parked in the street.
“I'll shoot if I have to,” Justine yelled after Emi.
Emi stopped. She turned to face Justine.
While Emilia and Justine were getting to know each other, Devon took that moment to have me and him creep over into a nearby bush, a boxwood bush sheared into the shape of a penguin. I hate boxwood it always smells like cat pee (sorry, Sia).
From behind the boxwood, we watched Justine’s take down of Emilia.
“Don't shoot. We've got to find Jane. Devon's got her hostage,” Emilia said, calmly.
“Hostage?” Justine kept her gun steady and leveled on Emi.
Emilia nodded. “Yeah.”
“Give up the sword. You're a hazard.”
Emilia looked offended by the comment. Then instead of handing over her sword like she should have, Emilia said something really crazy, “Sword beats gun any day.”
Justine laughed and held her gun on Emi. “Sure. Whatever you say. I'll keep my gun.”
But Emilia wouldn’t shut-up. “See that guy on the corner smoking a cigarette? Watch this.”
Suddenly the situation had turned into a pissing contest.
In a crazy martial arts blur, Emilia pulled out the sheathed sword, did a couple of martial arts Kung Fu steps and threw the sword like a spinning missile, all before Officer Day (for short) fired a shot. The sword spun forever and ever, making a metal singing sound. I wanted it to hit the lamp post or the side of the building, anything to make it stop, but even from my crouched position behind the boxwood penguin; it was obvious that unstoppable weapon was on a mission.
It flew at the unsuspecting smoker like a heat seeking missile and severed his head which fell from his shoulders like a ball of cheese that rolled off a table, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
I stood up and stepped out of the bushes, Devon right beside me, both of us craned our necks to see what happened next.
People on the street responded slowly, in disbelief.
A pair of young lovers, teens really, pulled out their cells and began videoing the scene. It would probably be up on Facebook in under a second. In what seemed to be a delayed reaction, a man and a woman began to scream, the woman yelled, “Oh my god, oh my god,” over and over.
Then the severed head did something hideous. It rolled.
I guess the sidewalk was slanted because the head did a slow wobble over the curb and into the street, coming to a stop face down on a sewer grate. A man that screamed kept yelling, “Do something! First aid, does anyone have first aid?”
A woman walking her dog dropped the dog’s leash and froze in horror as the dog hurried over to sniff the head in its ear! By now the flow of blood from the torso had created a Salvador Dali painting, surreal and riveting. Horrified by it all, I couldn’t stop myself from watching as the deep ruby red river headed straight for the sewer grate the head was looking down into.
Ugh! The dog began to lap up blood.
Then Justine’s voice brought me back to reality. “Hazard!” she screamed at Emilia, who was now weaponless. Justine grabbed and arrested Emi all in one action. “You're under arrest for the murder in the bank, and that man on the corner.” She pulled handcuffs from her hip.
Before Emi protested --and in one of those moments when all time seems to stop -- Emilia and I noticed a second pair of cuffs appear at Justine's hip.
The appearance of the second set of handcuffs was preceded by the merest twinkle of light, as if a shiny snap on Justine’s belt caught the sunlight. In that same slowed moment of time, Emilia looked over at me, and I looked back at her. I knew that she knew what I knew. Officer Justine was from that cursed tarot deck!
Our first major!
“You're from the tarot,” Emilia blurted out.
Nooo, don’t let her know that we know! I ducked back down into the boxwood and Devon was down there waiting for me. He gave me a grin, exposing the not so subtle points on his teeth.
“Takes one to know one, I guess,” I heard Justine say to Emi.
“Then why are you arresting me? You know who I am. If I kill someone, it's their time. I'm a death dealer. It's what I do.”
“And I'm justice. That’s what I do.” She led Emilia out to her police car and put her in the back seat.
Then she walked the long walk down the street and retrieved Emilia's sword; Officer Day looked good with a sword in her hand.
She tossed it in the trunk of her car.
The cavalry arrived, just a little too late if you ask me. Behind Justine, paramedics, firemen and other cops arrived. They emerged quickly and randomly, like a nest of disturbed ants and moved into the bank, yet somehow they missed the dead man on the street. I know because Devon, with a tight grip on me and a tighter grip on his backpack which held my Gucci full of Maisie’s money, dragged me from the boxwood bush, down the street, passed the body and to my car.
Chapter 3
Five of Swords: No Place Like Home
He made me drive him to his house. The place he lived in, an old gothic house right on the border of the east end of Meadowvale in a little area called old Chinatown. It was so out of the way I doubted satellite GPS had the ability to find us. His house was actually in better shape then I’d imagined. A little dark and dingy, but with fresh paint, a few throw pillows and refinish on the hardwood floor, the place had potential. “You own this place?” I asked. I’d taken him for a street person, but maybe I had Devon all wrong.
“I own the person that owns it,” he said, the growl in his voice more menacing than usual, as if his vocal chords were thicker than the average person, but this time the sound of his voice unnerved me more than ever. I’d played out a little head-fantasy that had us meet Maisie here, and we hand over the cash to her, then we’d have a little nosh and describe the gory details of the heist. Maisie would calculate the cost of getting Emilia out on bail, and we’d all go home and sleep it off.
But that wasn’t what Devon had in mind.
He dragged me to the bedroom, but I dug in my heels, literally. He’d have a hell of a time getting those grooves out of the old oak floor. Devon had a tight grip and it only got tighter as I struggled. He pulled me down a narrow hall and into the dark room, flipped on the light switch and illuminated a creepy looking man cave bedroom, with, of course, a giant bed in the middle of the room, a four poster bed, all the posts carved and ornate, including a canopy-valence thingy. Quite a dramatic piece of furniture that bed
His grip and his tug became positively inhuman,. I stopped struggling and decided to go along and save some wear and tear on my arms. I’d wait for an opportunity to get away, but I wasn’t going to give him any peace while I figured out what to do next.
“Let me go you bastard!
Devon's bedroom was even creeper when he dimmed the lights. I hadn’t noticed that the décor was black and red with chains hanging from the ceiling! At first I thought they were curtains, but noooo, they were chains. The bed was very well made, in fact the black brocade spread had a tight fit and the pillows looked as if they’d never been touched. But all together, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this wasn’t a room for sleeping in.
“Lie on the bed Jane or I'll burn the money. Maisie won't be pleased.”
“Whatever. You can't get away with this.” I decided to sit on the bed and test its springy quality. I was an award winning gymnast when I was a kid. I was about seven at the time. I figured I might still have a few moves left in me. So, I sat on the bed, believing a well executed front flip and spin was the answer to my escape.
Devon became pleased, so pleased he grinned when I cooperated and sat down. He loosened his grip a little and leaned in real close. “A little afternoon delight, Jane. Then you and your cash can be on your way.”
“I bet Maisie is looking for us right now, more specifically, she’s looking for that cash, Devon, and she probably knows about this house.”
“I doubt that,” he said. Then he let me go. I tried to stand, but I seemed to be stuck to the bed. This unnerved me, but I didn’t want Devon to see that I now worried like a crazy woman about how to make my escape. I tried to look like I was the epitome of casualness. I lay back on the bed and watched as Devon reached into his backpack and slowly took out a brick of Maisie’s cash, held it up, blew on it and set it on fire!
“You're going to have to work time and a half for Maisie to repay that little pile of ash.”
Oh, shit! I can’t have him burning that cash up and Maisie thinking it was me that took it. Omg, I began to lose my cool. I didn’t want to be stuck doing that woman’s dirty work for one second longer than I had to. And I sure didn’t want her to ta
ke her bad temper out on Sia!
“Alright. Alright!” I sat bolt up. No more cash burning. I’d figure out how to break free once I got him under my control. I lay back on the bed and tried to look a little sultry, but I wasn’t feeling it, recovering those crazy feelings of lust I had for him when I saw him come into Maisie’s shop and again when he walked into the bank to rob the place, wasn’t working.
Devon snapped his fingers. Then he hissed.
And I thought, oh, oh we got some kink coming, and I was right, but I had no idea what kind of kinkiness to expect from Devon, or what direction, or form it might come in. Then, in his deep growly voice, he said, “Ssssnakes.”
I’m pretty sure he said snakes!
I waited it for it, but when nothing happened I began to wonder if he was having a delusional fantasy. Something on one of the bed posts flickered and moved at the foot of the bed. It caught my eye.
In another moment I saw the carved decorations on the bed posts become animated and small snakes slid away from their decorative positions on the posts. They slithered downward, encircled my wrists and ankles.
I freaked out inwardly, but didn’t dare let Devon know. Still on my back, and more stuck to the bed than ever, I didn’t have a clue of what to do. I didn’t hate snakes, but I didn’t love them either. How had Devon done that, make them come to life, or had they been there all along writhing and making their way toward me, and I hadn’t noticed?
No more nonchalance from me.
I hiccupped on my fear. I hiccupped again and again.
Devon grinned lustfully.
I struggled against the serpents at my wrists and ankles. They tied themselves into knots and tied themselves to the bedposts. The thin, slithery creatures, four of them, bound my ankles and wrists to the bed.
It wasn’t like I’d never before found myself in this position, but generally my partners and I agreed to certain rules.
Here Devon was in control and my options had just become very limited “Not gonna happen, Devon,” I said. The serpents continued their mission to secure me to the bed.
