The Heist || 𝘩.𝘴.

『15』| 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝚄𝙻𝙿 𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙴

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THE HEIST
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CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
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THE
PULP
FICTION
TALE

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[[ VERA. ]]

[[ 1 DAY BEFORE THE HEIST. ]]

I stood in front of the stained mirror in a dimmed bathroom across the living room. Now couch surfing was my specialty, knowing I never really found comfort in a single place for long, but this second-floor apartment I ended up in with a guy called Marty wasn't exactly the most luxurious place. He owned a machine gun, and the crew and I would be renting it on our descent to the National Bank. It had to be the most low-key, considering the squad and I solely swore we'd strictly use cash for any purchase made from here on out, and get rid of any credit card history we had in the past. Of course, Harry told me to do anything it took to get that artillery secured, and without a doubt, of course I did. Marty's interest was in the best blow-job in town for an exchange, and so yesterday evening was the mission to get his dick as hard as it could get. It actually quivered a little. I immensely found that to be a turn off in a man. 

It's been a collective five minutes now, wondering if my outfit and my hair suited the slim shades over my eyes. Contemplating with myself in the mirror for quite some time, it was considerable and definitely welcomed that I asked for extra cash, considering the guy came twice. I had just gotten out of the shower, my pink hair slicked back and slightly dampening my pink leather coat now that I had noticed water dripping from my sleeve.

Slinging my Gucci purse over my shoulder, I walked into the living room where Marty sat with a folded table breakfast set before him and an episode of The Price Is Right playing. "Listen up, you're overdue."

"You listen to me, toots. You were rightfully supposed to be out that door about an hour ago." The grown man spoke, his voice sounding a lot like long-term cigarettes. "And here you are, standing in front of my tv, waving those breasts around like they're supposed to be the star of the show."

"I charge if the exchange doesn't cut equivalently, you fuck." I lied. "These don't wave around for free, either. Now if you don't want trouble, I'd suggest you hand over what I need, old man."

"What are you, a con artist or somethin'? Last time I agreed, the deal was the motherload and no word would be said." He pointed at the machine gun's case sitting on the floor by the door. 

"Not at all. I just assumed you'd know what it is you're walking into." I shrugged, putting my hands into my pockets slowly as I had gripped the black hand gun in my left pocket.

Like I had anticipated, Marty had shot up, gripping the roots of my hair, slamming my face down into the edge of the foldable table.

"Ah fuck!" I sneered, feeling the sting from my cut lip as I looked down at my bloodstained fingers. Before he could think of slamming my head down again, I pulled my gun out, gripping it and pressing it to his head as he froze, coldly locking eyes with me.

"What the fuck do you want, lady?" He had screwed his eyes closed as I had put more pressure on the gun against his head.

"I want you to get down on your fucking knees. Two hundred dollars, and we call the shit show last night even." I keep the weapon fixated on his head, his eyes wandering to my upper thighs peeking underneath my blue plaid skirt. I punched him with a gripped fist, a high pitched-falsetto squeal leaving my parted lips as I felt the bone in his cheek collide harshly with my knuckles. "Goddamn." I breathed out as he winced, dropping fifty dollar bills and some twenties to the green carpet.