Part 3
"I don’t know if this is such a good idea, man. I mean, you hear about people getting caught all the time. And it’s not like we’re professionals. This is only the second time and the first time we almost got caught. Maybe we should just say fuck it and go somewhere else," Patrick said as he sat in the passenger seat of the brown sedan parked across the street from a bank.
His partner Johnny scoffed and took a long drag from his cigarette.
"Yo, don't be a bitch. It ain't like you didn't know the job was before we took it. They ain’t gonna do shit. They’re insured. All we have to do is walk in and scream and shit, wave the guns around and walk out with a big fucking sack of scratch."
"Scratch? Who calls money scratch anymore?" Patrick asked mockingly. "Why don’t you just call it bread and we can get some lime green suits with big-ass hats and feathers sticking out? Walk around like Huggy Bear and shit. Pimps make money and almost never get busted."
Johnny rolled his eyes, "Whatever. I’ll call it whatever I wanna call it. If I wanna call it fucking . . . Little Bunny Foo-foo, I will. I’m the brains here, remember? So's all we do is walk in and whip out the guns. There’s a security guard and he’s packing so you’ll have to get that shit away from him. I’ll handle the rest of the crowd while you’re doing that.
"Once you get it, move 'em into a corner and I’ll handle the tellers," Johnny continued. "If anyone gives you a shit, pistol-whip them. Don’t kill nobody if you have a choice. You just keep an eye on everybody and I’ll take care of the money, alright?"
Patrick glanced down at his watch and peered across the street at the bank, watching the people come and go.
"And we split the payment for this, right?" He asked.
Johnny cocked his beretta.
"Yeah, fitty-fitty," Johnny replied nonchalantly.
Patrick raised his eyebrow, "What the fuck was that about?"
"What was what about?" Johnny inquired.
"That fucking pause, motherfucker!"
Johnny ran his fingers through his hair, "What, I ain't allowed to pause?"
"Not about this shit!" Patrick said loudly. "This is some serious shit, John. This isn’t just some walk through goddamned lollipop lane with the motherfucking Oompa-loompas. This is real shit that we could go to real prison for and get real fucked up the ass and you pausing makes me feel uncomfortable."
Johnny sneered, "There you go on about feelings and shit. What, you a bitch? You feeling bloated? You raggin' again? Stop being such a bitch, this ain't no big thing. We’ll be in and out in like five minutes. We ain't going to the pen and I sure as fuck ain’t getting fucked up the ass. You can partake in that all you want, but I ain't."
Patrick stared at him for a moment before finally uttering, "Dude, fuck you."
Johnny leaned forward, peering past Patrick and across the street.
He glanced down at his watch, "It's time."
Johnny shoved his gun down the front of his pants, covering it with his shirt as he opened the driver's door and climbed out of the stolen sedan. He casually looked around, smoothing his hair. He walked around the car and popped the trunk open as Patrick climbed out of the passenger's side to join him.
The inside of the trunk was empty aside from the spare tire, tire iron, two wigs and two pairs of sunglasses. Johnny snatched up the blue wig and aviator sunglasses. He carefully pulled the wig over his hair, tucking his hair in place and slipping the sunglasses on his face.
Patrick sighed and grabbed the remaining pink wig, lazily pulling it over the top of his head. He pushed the boxy black sunglasses onto his face and peered at his reflection in the back window of the car as Johnny slammed the trunk shut.
"I look like a fucking asshole," Patrick muttered. "Why do I have to wear the old woman glasses and the pink wig? I look like a fag. An old fag."
Johnny shrugged, "Ain't my fault that the only other wig was blue. They had blue and they had pink. Like it would be less gay to go in wearing matching glasses and wigs. Might as well wear fanny packs and biker shorts with those fake mustaches and shit."
Patrick pulled the pink wig from his head and held it out to Johnny, "Then you wear the pink wig."
Johnny took one last puff from his cigarette and flicked it into the street, "Nah man, that's gay."
The two covered their guns with their shirts and casually strolled across the street.
Inside the bank Claudia stood at the counter near the tellers, dumping the money from her pockets onto the counter and adding it up.
Johnny and Patrick stepped into the bank and Patrick immediately stuck his gun into the gut of the old security guard who sat beside the door half-asleep. She heard them muttering to each other as she filled out her deposit slip and began stuffing her money back into her pockets.
Johnny fired off a shot into the ceiling and shouted, "Everybody get the fuck down, this is a stick-up!"
People cried out in fear. Claudia ignored them and stepped over the red faux-velvet ropes leading to the tellers as the other customers cowered in fear on the floor. She stepped up to the counter and placed her deposit slip before the teller.
"I'd like to make a deposit," she said nonchalantly.
Johnny glanced towards the tellers and saw her standing there. Immediately he stormed over to her and pressed the gun against her back.
"I said, get on the fucking floor," he growled at her.
Claudia slowly turned around to look him in the eyes.
She waved her hand dismissively and said, "Fuck off. I have a deposit to make."
Johnny pressed the gun against her head, "Bitch, I will make a deposit in your fuckin' brain! Get on the floor!" He shouted at her.
Claudia sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Don't you fucking call ME bitch, bitch," she said, staring up into his eyes. "Look, Lex Luthor or Kingpin or whichever fucking super villain you apparently think you are, I've got a deposit to make. I've got rent I gotta pay and groceries I gotta buy 'cause I've got no food in my apartment. So, you do your little robbing thing, I do my little deposit thing and we go our separate ways."
Johnny grabbed her hair and slammed Claudia's face into the counter, knocking her out. She dropped lifelessly down to the floor.
"Stupid bitch," he muttered under his breath as he stepped over her and pointed his gun at the teller.
"Gimme all the cash you got, and I want the fucking bank president down here too," he said as he threw a black duffe; bag in the teller's face. "And if you put any of them fucking dye packets in there I'll kill your family."
Gradually Claudia's eyes opened as Johnny went from window to window with the duffel bag. She groaned and gradually rose to her feet with her hand pressed to her forehead.
She shook her head and growled, her eyebrows furrowed, "That hurt, you motherfucker!"
As Johnny turned to face her to further abuse her, his wig instantly caught ablaze, filling the air with black smoke. He tore it from his head and began stamping it with his foot. Quickly the fire spread up his pant leg. He frantically slapped at his leg, trying to snuff out the flame.
Claudia turned her attention to Patrick who stood mute, staring in Johnny's direction, frozen with his gun down the front of his pants. Johnny screamed out and fell to the floor, rolling back and forth rapidly.
Suddenly Patrick let out a scream and tore the gun from his pants and dropping it to the floor. It quickly burnt its shape into the red carpet beneath it.
Claudia walked over to Johnny and the flames extinguished. He laid on his back, black from smoke, nearly naked from the flames. She stood beside him and kicked him hard in the ribs, a whimpering groan escaped his lips. She pressed her boot to his throat and stared into his eyes.
"You stupid motherfucker," she growled. "You should've been nice and just let me go about my business, but no, you had to fuck with me. See what happens when you fuck with me?! I'm like the motherfucking Holocaust!"
Again she drove the toe of her shoe into his side, he groaned out loudly and he rolled onto his stomach.
Claudia took a few steps back and held out her hand. Instantly a ball of fire appeared, floating just above her palm. She looked to him and grinned, "I'd start running if I were you."
Johnny's eyes went wide while Patrick bolted out of the door. Claudia hurled the fireball and Johnny scrambled to his feet towards the door. It struck him in the back and he screamed out as the ball exploded into a burst of flame. He crashed through the glass door of bank and tumbled down into the street.
Claudia turned back to the teller's window and her deposit slip still sitting on the counter burst into flames and was quickly consumed. She fumbled for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket and drew one out as the customers began to look up and rise back to their feet.
As the other customers murmured amongst themselves she quickly exited the front door of the bank and walked briskly down the block. The tip of her cigarette lit as the police cars and emergency vehicles came speeding down the road and she took a quick puff.
"That was so fucking stupid, if people recognize me I'm so fucked," she muttered to herself as she walked along the sidewalk. "They'll probably arrest me or some shit 'cause I'm a freak and obviously a danger to society. It doesn't matter that I stopped a bank robbery and probably saved a couple lives, I'm a menace. I should've taken the bag, at least then it'd probably secure my livelihood for a while. Better than this fire-eating shtick at least."
As Claudia began walking home she dwelt on the events. Johnny shouting, the heat of the flames, his screams, the people cowering and weeping in fear. It felt like a blur, not unlike the first time her powers manifested themselves.
She remembered her mother yelling at her as she normally would do. The bitterness she felt that she had to share a room whereas the maid lived in the guest house. The attention that was lavished upon her four siblings that she always seemed excluded from. How every time Claudia wanted to go out anywhere her mother was typically passed out on quaaludes or too drunk to walk. The threats of her being sent away to a boarding school. Her father always busy with work. Ever since she was a child the rage boiled within her.
Claudia remembered the slap across her face and the tears that filled her eyes. The pain and anger that swelled up in her heart and the massive explosion of flame that erupted between them, singeing the eyebrows and eyelashes from her mother's face. How her mother fell backwards in fear, cowering in fear just as those in the bank had. She breathed heavily as she stared at Claudia seemingly frozen.
At the time Claudia was more afraid and confused than her mother was and ever since tried to contain her powers so that such an event would never happen again. It was her secret and if anyone were to find out something horrible would surely happen to her.
For years she hid it from others, she tried to contain it until she decided to put them to use to alleviate the burden of keeping them bottled up and thus became a fire-eater. Nobody would suspect anything then, it was just part of the show or a magic trick to entertain. Real torches, real fuel, real wicks, nobody would notice anything was amiss. Nobody would know she was a freak and if her powers escaped her control they would think it was merely a part of the act.
As Claudia walked past the front of a grocery store she heard an old pay phone by the door ring. She stopped and stared at the phone beneath the bright fluorescent lighting. She looked around and saw no one nearby. With a shrug she walked over to the phone, lifted the receiver and held it to her ear.
"Hello?" She answered hesitantly, tucking her black hair behind her ear.
"Hello," a man replied on the other line. "I wanted to thank you for stopping those pesky small-timers today."
Claudia looked behind her, "Um . . who are you?"
He chuckled, "Nobody. Just a fan who appreciates your heroism. I left something for you with the clerk at the 7-11 up the street."
"What's that? And how do you know I'm going that way, how did you know I was going to be here and how did you know I'd answer the phone?" She asked curiously.
"I didn't," he said. "Just a hunch."
"You give something with a dude at a 7-11 that happens to be in the direction of my apartment and called a pay phone that was also on my way at the exact time I came near it based on a hunch? You must be the luckiest motherfucker in the world."
The man on the other end of the line laughed, "Well . . . I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, haven't I?"
Claudia smirked, "Touché, Sir Suave of Charminghamshire. Dare I ask what you left me?"
"Just a token of my gratitude, dear. I'm . . . quite invested in that bank and I'd rather not have the average, every-day thugs costing me money," he said.
"Fair enough, Sir Smooth. While we're talking here, do you mind sending me a fucking cab?" She asked. "I'm starting to get blisters on my feet."
"Just you wait a few minutes," he answered. "It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Miss Holocaust. We'll keep in touch."
Claudia heard a faint click and placed the phone back on the hook. She was confused as to who the man was and how he knew such specific details, especially how he knew where she had been headed.
As she drew a cigarette from her pocket and placed it between her lips, a cab pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and slowly rolled up to her.
"You have got to be kidding me," she muttered under her breath.
The tip of the cigarette ignited and she climbed into the back seat of the taxi.
"7-11?" The cabbie asked.
"Um . . yeah," she replied softly.
The cab slowly took off out of the parking lot and down the street. Claudia rolled down her window and exhaled the smoke out of the taxi as she watched the world outside breeze by. She sank into the leather seats and sighed softly.
So many unanswered questions.
A few minutes later the taxi pulled into the parking lot of the 7-11 down the street and parked in front of the pay phones. Claudia climbed out and walked along the passenger side, stepping up on the curb to the two glass doors in front. She glanced back at the taxi, the driver sat in his seat waiting patiently.
Hesitantly she pushed open the right door and stepped inside. At the register was a thin young man with shaggy brown hair and glasses with black plastic frames.
She walked up to the counter nervously and said, "This might sound kinda weird-"
"You're the Holocaust?" The young clerk asked, interrupting her.
"The Holocaust? Yeah, I got a phone call that said to come here . . ." She said.
The clerk reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded white envelope.
He held it out to her and said, "Yeah, here you go."
Claudia hesitantly took the envelope and slipped it into her pocket. She looked around the empty store and quickly returned to the cab.
"You got it?" The cabbie asked as she climbed inside and slammed the rear passenger door shut.
"Yeah, I got it," she said quietly as she pulled the envelope from her pocket.