Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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"They already know my face," Francis pointed out, "and I won't be able to get within five hundred feet of the bank without violating a restraining order."
"We're robbing a bank," Gilbert reminded him. "I think your restraining orders are the least of our worries."
Francis chuckled at that. "What I meant, mon chéri, is that I'm known there. And Antonio is also known."
"Well-known," Antonio agreed cheerfully. "The tellers always greet me by name, you know, and Tex remembered what I'd said about café con leche the other day. Virginia even suggested I come over for dinner some time. Oh, and Mary took my advice about fixing things with her husband; things aren't exactly better yet, but I really think they're going to be okay."
"…So if either of us show our faces nearby, we'll be recognized," Francis concluded. "And obviously, we can't have that."
Gilbert grinned. "That's what these are for," he declared, depositing something on the table.
Said "something" was actually three somethings, all of which were black, knitted, and had holes.
"I am not wearing a ski mask. Je refuse."
Antonio picked one of the masks up to study it.
"You said yourself that you two will be recognized," Gilbert countered. "The masks take care of that."
"But they're ugly," Francis retorted.
"They are classic, though," Antonio pointed out.
"That's part of the problem, mon cher. Even if I can look past the inherent laideur, the masks make our intentions obvious. I doubt we would even get past the door."
"Fine," Gilbert agreed, though there was a note of challenge in his voice. "If you don't think that will work, do you have a better idea?"
Francis's eyes flashed, and his lips curled into a smile. "Mais oui, chéri."
The suggestion of going nude was summarily rejected ("Do you want us to get arrested before the robbery?"), as was the suggestion of makeovers and flamboyant costumes (though it was difficult to dissuade Antonio from wearing the traje de luces Francis had presented him with, as he'd quickly become attached to it).
In the end, they decided to wear military uniforms rather than anything in their own wardrobes, digging out clothes that had belonged to their grandfathers during one World War or the other. And no matter how much attention they might draw, none of them could quite veto the use of the ornate Venetian masks that Lovino had once given Antonio (or that Feliciano had, if one were to ask Lovino about it; he'd stammer and say that it was all his stupid brother's idea).
But as beautiful as the masks were, with their white faces and intricate gold designs, that was strike one.
--
The morning of the crime, a beat-up Mini pulled up to the curb outside the bank.
"Okay, this is it," Gilbert said, a glint in his eyes and mask in his hands. "Are you ready, Spain?"
Antonio nodded. "Ready."
"France?"
Francis said nothing, looking out the window of the car sullenly.
"France?"
"I don't think he likes his codename," Antonio suggested.
"Why wouldn't he?" Lovino interjected. "It makes sense. His uniform is French. He's French. He can barely string two sentences together without using French." He looked pointedly over his shoulder at Gilbert. "What I don't get is yours. Prussia isn't even a country any more."
Gilbert grinned. "But it was awesome."
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Lovino scowled. "I don't need one. I'm not going in with you idiots."
Francis continued without paying any heed to their driver's words, "And since he finds ours so delightful, he should naturally be Italie, non?"
"I don't need a goddamn pseudonym, France," Lovino growled. He glanced at the Spaniard in the passenger's seat, looking for backup. "Tell him, Antonio."
"It's cute; I like it," Antonio said, and Lovino groaned.
"All of you, out of the car. Now."
Strike two.
--
It began with a flashy entrance.
"This here's a stickup!"
In retrospect, they all agreed that announcing their intentions right off the bat like that had been a poor choice. But even if they hadn't, they'd been quite the sight to see, bursting into the bank dressed in ornate masks and old military dress; Gilbert in Prussian blue and black, Antonio in khaki, and Francis in blue and red. Even if they hadn't announced what was going on, the chances were pretty good that everyone would have at least suspected that they hadn't come to open an account.
Still, perhaps they could have made a better choice in wording. The chaos that erupted following the announcement hadn't been entirely anticipated, with half the patrons running away from the trio, the other half risking a run for the doors, and the workers torn between being brave or joining their customers.
One of the bank workers, a young-looking blond who had obviously decided to be brave, took charge of the situation immediately. A sharp whistle, one that would have made any New Yorker proud, was all it took to get the panicked patrons and tellers to freeze in their tracks. A few words by that same man telling everyone to "just calm down, and it'll be alright" afterward did the trick, steering the robbery smoothly back to its projected track.
"That's Tex," Antonio whispered to Gilbert and Francis before sprinting away from them to intercept the guard that would, as long as he hadn't swung by the break room to grab a donut, be rounding a corner shortly.
If Antonio's reports were accurate, Tex was their best shot at the vault.
"Nobody move!" Gilbert commanded, though it was a bit late now that Tex had already gotten everyone back under control for them. He didn't like the way that one teller was inching towards the counter and, likely, a trigger for the silent alarm. "You there; against the wall!" he added sharply, pointing at the lady. She jumped, startled, and complied. "The rest of you, on the ground! Anyone who works here, stay up and keep your hands were we can see 'em!"
"No need to get mad," Tex said, a slight Southern drawl tingeing his words. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm sure we can work something out."
"France, would you do the honors?" Gilbert asked, turning to his friend. Francis nodded, and headed for the nearest person still standing, pulling several lengths of rope from the pack slung over his shoulder. He worked quickly, tying up one worker before moving to the next, and it wasn't long before everyone save Tex had been bound (and groped, if the yelps of surprise were any indication).
Meanwhile, Antonio had dispatched the guard, bound and gagged him. He returned to Gilbert carrying the guard's radio, which Gilbert accepted it with a nod of approval.
So far, so good.
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"Now, Tex," Gilbert said smoothly, touching the nametag on the worker's chest. "What say you to letting us in the vault, hmm?"
Tex smiled. "Sorry, but I can't do that. Only the manager can get in, see."
Gilbert smiled under his mask. "That's not what I heard. This is a small town, Tex, and you know what they say about small towns-"
"News travels fast?" Tex interjected.
"That too," Gilbert conceded. "But what I meant is that everyone knows everything about everyone. What I heard is that the manager and the assistant manager each have a code for the vault, and you need both to get in. So theoretically, the assistant manager could get in if he had the manager's code… And do you know who I heard is the assistant manager?"
Tex looked sheepish. "Uh… me?"
"That's right; you. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way, Tex, and I think you'll really prefer the easy way," Gilbert said.
"But I don't have the manager's code."
Gilbert laughed and turned away. "The hard way, then? He's all yours, France."
Tex squeaked.
Slowly, deliberately, Gilbert faced the man again. "What was that?"
"I, uh," Tex stammered, looking suddenly uncomfortable and nervously glancing at Francis. "I might be able to figure out the manager's code. Or I could call him! Yeah, just let me dial him up and I can get the code right away!"
"I bet you'd love for us to let you use the phone, Tex, but we're not stupid," Gilbert replied in way of refusal. "And I'm sure you're not, either. In fact, a smart young man like you should have no trouble at all cracking the code, but I'm sure France would be happy to encourage you if necessary."
This time, Tex paled.
"Spain, you're in charge out here," Gilbert said sharply, taking hold of Tex's shoulder. "Make sure we don't get any unwelcome guests."
Gilbert marched Tex towards the vault, with Francis trailing behind them.
--
Tex was either incredibly lucky or incredibly unlucky, or maybe he was actually some combination of the two. Or maybe he just knew the manager's combination all along and was trying to buy what time he could until Gilbert again threatened to let Francis have his way with the poor blond.
Whatever the case, just over half an hour after arriving outside of the vault, they were inside the vault, tying up Tex and loading stacks of bills into Francis's pack.
And maybe they themselves were incredibly lucky or incredibly unlucky, because just as they'd finished topping off the bag, the sharp crack of gunfire sounded in the air.
They weren't armed. Tex wasn't armed. And the gunshots sounded like they were coming from the lobby, anyway, which was where Antonio was.
…But Antonio wasn't armed, either.
"France, come on!" Gilbert shouted, grabbing the bag from where it lay. Francis made a small noise that was sure to soon expand into a full protest about still needing to lock Tex in the vault, but he was cut off before he had the chance. "Leave him; there's no time!"
Gilbert sprinted down the hall towards the lobby, and Francis followed after a moment's hesitation.
The gunshots had stopped, but as soon as Gilbert skidded into the lobby, it was obvious why. A police officer was near the doors, gun gripped tightly in his hand, while Antonio had taken shelter behind a desk. The people who had been cooperative up until the officer's arrival had been rattled, and they had broken into the same pattern of panicked flight that Gilbert's earlier announcement of their robbery had incited. The officer couldn't fire for risk of hitting a bystander.
Gilbert did the sensible thing and tackled him.
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Antonio fled from his makeshift shelter, and both he and Francis were out the door within seconds. Gilbert was a bit further behind them, yet he still nearly crashed into his friends when he reached the curb.
It took him a moment to realize why.
They were standing where the car had been. Had been. Now, the Mini was nowhere to be seen.
In retrospect, they agreed that a lot of things about the heist had been a bad idea. Leaving a skittish Italian in charge of the car, even if his family did have mafia ties, was one of them.
And that was strike three.
--
Whilst Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis were standing perplexed on the curb (only to decide a moment later that just standing around was a terrible idea), Lovino was five miles away, chanting a steady rhythm of "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" under his breath.
There had been gunfire. Gunfire! He'd known this was a terrible idea from the start, and he should have never agreed to it, and Antonio was a moron for thinking that it was okay, and Gilbert was a moron for coming up with it in the first place.
And Francis was just a pervert.
He didn't want to have anything more to do with their plan, their stupid operation, but the sudden alarm that triggered his natural preference to flight over fight was fading now, and something (that was most definitely not worry, or anything like worry) was gnawing away at him now. Punctuating his muttered mantra with a final exclamation of "God damn it!" he made a sharp U-turn in the narrow town streets.
The idiots owed him big time for this.
--
Everyone loved Tex.
He could be a little simple-minded at times, true, but he was the kind of person who had a positively infectious personality. Even if a careless comment from the young man inadvertently set someone off, it was impossible to stay mad at him for long because he didn't really mean it. It was miscommunication, or misinterpretation, or plain ol' honest-to-God naïveté.
Tex was sunshine and a positive attitude and smiles-especially smiles. The girls liked to whisper to each other about how handsome he was and how his million-watt grin could make anyone go weak at the knees. They took turns attempting to catch his eye and woo him, but he was always the gentleman, always oblivious, and always single. But that was alright, they reasoned: it was part of his boyish charm.
He was open and honest, and he was dependable. He was the one people turned to when they were in a tough spot. Tex would smile, offer a cup of coffee, and listen to anyone's troubles-and then he'd do his best to help fix things.
Some might even say he was the town's hero. Everyone loved Tex.
But the man who was charging out of the bank that morning, with a grim look on his face and a pistol in either hand was not Tex. No, "Tex" had been left behind in the vault, and the people he'd worked with for the past year weren't sure what had caused the change in him. He walked like Tex and talked like Tex (almost; his usual subtle drawl had been left in the vault, as well), but for the first time, they realized that maybe-just maybe-there was something they didn't know about him.
And they were right, because "Tex" wasn't even his name.
His name was Alfred F. Jones, codename "America," and he was a federal agent.
Notes and translations:
café con leche: (Sp.) lit. "coffee with milk," a common Spanish drink of strong coffee mixed with scalded milk
Je refuse: (Fr.) I refuse
laideur: (Fr.) ugliness
Mais oui, chéri: (Fr.) Of course, darling
traje de luces: (Sp.) lit. "suit of lights," a Matador's outfit
nom de guerre: (Fr.) lit. "name of war"
Thanks so much to everyone who left a comment… I hope you enjoyed this part!d
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Wonderful part. I was cracking up throughout :D I look forward to more ♥
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Glad you liked it! :D
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