"Ready." The two women looked at each other and laughed, stepping easily into the building.
The one on the right could only be called breathtaking on a bad day. Long white hair fluttered around her head and shoulders all the way down her back, making you want to bow down and beg to touch it. Her legs were long and shapely, and looked soft to the touch, her skin a perfect simmered chocolate, causing her to look as if she appeared from a dream. Dressed in a light blue pinstripe suit, the skirt Ally McBeal length, riding up slightly as she moved.
The one on the left was spectacular, her fire red hair so bright it almost hurt to look at it, sitting in layers around her face. Her nails were as red as her hair, which she raked through her mane with a grace that left some men quickly taking off their wedding rings and women swearing they would work out more. Her complexion was that of the natural redhead, fair skinned and delicate. Clad in a similar suit, although it was a hunter green, made her perfection.
They smiled as they stopped at his window, and he suddenly thanked God he didn't take his lunch break early. "Hello, how may I help you?" His voice came out squeaky, and he felt the burn of embarrassment on his face. The white haired one just smiled and looked at his name tag.
"Ronald. Hello. We're going to need a private room to talk. I knew you were the one to speak to. You resonate power." Her cultured voice threaded through him, and he was suddenly glad they couldn't see him from the waist down.
"Um…right this way…" Ronald hastily came around the partition and motioned towards one of the rooms the bank used to woo its most valuable customers. Once everyone was in and the door was closed, the bank resumed its important work of holding the population's money.
"What can I do for you?" Ronald asked as he turned around to the two women. The redhead smiled and stepped closer to him, her long fingered hands suddenly adjusting his tie and smoothing his collar. His legs almost buckled.
"You see, we have some business to take care of here." She leaned closer and fixed the cuff of his collar behind his neck, making sure to caress the sensitive skin there.
"What do you need done?" He could barely use his voice, and he didn't know whether to stare at the fire goddess that was in front of him or the cool one that had sat down and crossed her legs. What was a man to do?
"My name is Marilyn." She breathed.
"Marilyn? Like Marilyn Munroe?" Ronald asked, stuttering. The smile he received was enough to give him a heart attack and give his heart to her forever.
"I told you he was smart Patricia." Marilyn said as she turned to her friend. Patricia inclined her head, bringing down the blue tinted glasses she wore perched on her delicate nose.
"So you did."
"Patricia? Patricia Ashton, wife of Malcolm Ashton of Ashton Industries?" Ronald managed to get out and Marilyn stepped back.
"Correct. We need to look at her safety deposit box."
"Do you have ID?" Patricia looked slightly hurt and confused.
"You see Ronald, my husband was angry with me when he left this morning, and I wanted to make it up by dressing up very nice and taking him out to dinner. I didn't get to get my purse. I was moved by passion." She breathed the last word, an innocent look deep in her eyes. Patricia wrung her perfect hands and looked contrite.
"Ronald, do you really think she's trying to pull one over on you?" Marilyn asked, slightly admonishing as she took off the green tinted glasses she wore and pushed them beautifully on top of her head, revealing the emerald eyes beneath.
"No…of course not! I'm sorry Mrs. Ashton."
"Please, call me Patricia." She smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Do you think you could open it for me? I would be eternally grateful."
"I…I would have to call Mr. Ashton." He said regretfully.
"No, don't do that. She wants it to be a surprise. Please…" Marilyn asked, planting a small kiss on his cheek. The small, nerdy man let lose a strangled cry and started to nod furiously.
"I'll get it for you. Just wait here." Both women smiled and Ronald wondered if he was going to have his first orgasm without a porno tape.
The two women stepped out of the cab and smiled at the doorman who let them in to their building. Riding the elevator all the way to the penthouse, they didn't say anything until they were in the apartment, door closed.
"Oh, that was so easy it was sad." Jean laughed as she slipped out of her pumps, putting her glasses on the ornate table in the foyer.
"I know, I hope Ronald doesn't get into too much trouble." Ororo sighed as she stretched, taking off her jacket, revealing the cream colored silk blouse and pinstripe vest underneath.
"Oh please. If he didn't drool all over us I could most likely muster up enough sympathy to probably feel sorry for him. Come on, what did we get. We were out of there so fast I couldn't inspect it." She rubbed her hands together as Ororo pulled out her purse and sat down on the cream couch, pouring their newly acquired jewelry on the coffee table.
It clanked interestedly, and Jean picked up a necklace that caught her eye. She looked at it with the critical eye of a jeweler, which was a hobby of hers. "Hmm… Marquis cut, the gems have excellent light and clarity. With this alone we could get 200 grand."
"Not bad. I think we should pick something we like and sell the rest. I love this ring." Ororo held up a platinum banded, diamond studded and sapphire ring. "Now how much do you think this set old Malcolm back?" She slipped it on and admired it.
"Definitely tens of thousands. The woman has good taste."
"Too bad she has to be a bitch." Jean nodded amicably. The sudden sound of clapping startled the two women, and eyes wide they turned to the source of the sound. A man was standing there, clapping softly with his gloved hands.
"Magnifique ladies. I must admit, I now realize why Interpol has you on the top ten most dangerous thieves list. Very impressive." He walked down the three carpeted stairs and stood between them and the view of the New York skyline. The man was tall and athletically built, slender but with a muscled physique. Shoulder length auburn hair sat like a mane around his roughly handsome face, his brown eyes piercing. Ororo felt the heat of his gaze and looked away, heart pounding.
"Who are you?" Jean asked, voice hard as she crossed her arms. Ororo sat beside her silently, mind reeling as she wondered how the man could have snuck into their apartment and they, let alone she, not have known or noticed something was amiss. She looked up at him and inclined her head respectfully.
"I'm Remy LeBeau, and I have a proposition." He said easily.
"And why should we take it?" Ororo finally asked, standing up. LeBeau threw a manila folder onto the jewelry, and Jean picked it up. Opening it, a picture of herself stared back at her. Confusion blew across her face before being swallowed up by indifference. Tugging Ororo back down beside her, she showed her the pictures and watched the frown form.
Someone seemed to have tracked them for most of their career, pictures of the women entering the buildings of their heists and a list of evidence they left. Ororo's eyebrow rose at that list. "See, your information is flawed. We don't leave evidence." She smiled confidently.
"Oh, be assured you do. The FBI is too dense to find it, and it was hard for even us, but you left enough to put you behind bars for the rest of your lives. Think about that. You'll be too old to charm your way through life."
"What do you want." Jean stood up and nervously slid her fingers through her hair.
"My employer wants to meet you. You'll find out the terms of the deal there."
"And who is your employer?"
"Does it matter? He wants to meet you, and if you don't, then-"
"Then you'll kill us?" Ororo cut him off, another big headache forming.
"No. Nothing that crass, I assure you."
"Gee thanks."
"You'll just be put out of
commission. And if you try to schedule another heist, the lockbox that contains
the entire list of all of your hits and the evidence to convict you on at least
200 counts of theft around the world will anonymously be sent to the FBI
headquarters. I'm sure they'll know what to do." He smiled at the two dejected
women.
Jean watched him leave as silently as he left and gave a soft scream. "Why is this happening? Why is it happening now?" She half yelled at Ororo, who had went to the bar to pour herself a drink.
"I don't know, but it's happening now. We must deal with it." She swallowed some and willed herself to relax.
"So what do we do? You're the brains of the operation."
"Thank you for reminding me."
"Seriously. What are we going to do?" Ororo finished her drink and shrugged, turning back to Jean.
"What can we do? If we don't meet him we can kiss our careers goodbye." Jean winced.
"I'm too beautiful to retire. Besides, this heist goes to that group of orphanages and soup kitchens we looked at. They really need the money."
"I know. But what if we did quit?"
"And what, get jobs? Go back to being nine to five people? Having to budget?" She said the last word as if it were a curse. Ororo laughed and shook her head.
"So you want to meet him?"
"Yes. Just to see if we need to kill him."
"You know I don't do that unless it's necessary."
"I think we should check this possibility out. Are we both going?"
"I don't see why not."
"Fine, I'll be ready."
Remy was somewhat excited, one of the first assignments that he looked forward to. Two beautiful women with a better record than he was hard to find. He looked down at the folder in his lap. A large picture of Ororo Munroe lay on top of the pile of photographs.
When he looked into her eyes, they were entirely too naked for someone of her profession, and it bothered him slightly, and intrigued him like hell. Remy knew it was dangerous to become attracted to someone you were coercing, but he was lost as soon as she walked past.
He looked up as the limo came to a stop. He was there. The window rolled down smoothly and to his surprise Jean and Ororo were waiting for him. "Hello ladies. I'm guessing you've made up your mind."
"We have." Was all Ororo said as she crossed her arms. The driver quickly got out and opened the door, allowing Remy to stand and move out of the way. Jean smirked and got in first, followed by Ororo, and then Remy reentered, and they were on their way.
"You look nice Ororo." He laughed
as she glared at him slightly, crossing her arms and looking out the window. A
tope wrap around shirt revealed modest cleavage, an ivory choker at her neck.
Her African print skirt came to her ankles, and she wore high heeled strap
sandals, hair in cornrows. Still she hid behind a pair of dark glasses, and he
couldn't see her eyes.
"And you as well Jean." She smiled frostily and looked at Ororo, a curious stare on her face. Her hair was straight today, hanging to her shoulders in a waterfall of fire. She was dressed in a tight blue silk blouse and matching mini skirt, blue pumps, a string of pearls at her neck.
"So where are we meeting your employer?" Ororo asked finally, watching the scenery go by.
"Spango's. Ever been?"
"A few times." The limo stopped, they arrived at their destination. Stepping out, they were immediately the center of attention, as always, and while they made their way to the front of the line, many people racked their brains trying to remember what ad they saw all three of them model.
"LeBeau, party of three." The host nodded respectfully, showing them to their tables. Once the menus were distributed and the host tipped generously, Remy stood up again and bowed. "I'll be leaving now."
"You're not staying for the meeting?" Ororo asked, confused.
"No. He'll be along in a moment. If you'll excuse me." Both women watched Remy leave the restaurant. Jean turned back and picked up the menu.
"This gets more and more on my nerves."
"Mine as well. I guess we should order." Ororo looked at her menu as well.
"I didn't think women as refined as you would order without the guest of honor. Please, don't get up."
"We weren't." Jean said as she watched the man come up the stairs that led to the private platform they were seated on. The man was short of stature, but made up for it in pure muscle. Harsh brown eyes peered back at you with discerning earnest, as if he could read your mind. Cigar perched on lips twisted in a perpetual sneer, he looked like a shark in a thousand dollar suit.
Taking off his hat, he revealed a thatch of untamable hair, and sat down. "Well, he wasn't exaggerating when he told me how beautiful you two are."
"Who are you?" Ororo asked, uncomfortable with the whole situation. At least Spango's was crowded this time of day.
"I am Mr. Logan. That's all you need to know. How about we order?" Logan took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at the menu. "Don't worry ladies, it's on me." Jean smiled and signaled for a waiter.
"I'd like a sirloin steak and a baked potato, no butter, no salt, sour cream and a diet coke. 'Ro?"
"I'd like a five green salad and a Dr. Pepper." Logan looked amused from above his menu. "What?"
"Don't tell me you're one of those women who order salad when men pay."
"I'm a vegetarian. Do you want to order?" She asked testily.
"I'll have the swordfish."
"Very good. Any wine with that order?" The waiter asked, eager to please.
"Yes, a bottle of your best Merlot. We're making a business deal." The man was off with a nod and a smile.
"Business deal. Oddly enough, I don't feel we have a choice in this." Ororo reminded him, smiling briefly as their drinks was delivered.
"And why should we even risk it? We could just stop where we are. No more crimes." Ororo's smile faded slightly as Logan brought out two pictures and gave them to them. One was of Ororo's parents, gardening at their summer house in Westchester, and the other was of Jean's parents, on their boat in the Gulf of Mexico. "Where did you get these?" Her voice wavered.
"Does it matter? I have them. Now you both come from very privileged homes, you've never wanted for anything, and you both have large trust funds that you will receive on your twenty fifth birthdays. Now, what do you think it will do to your parents when they find out what you've been doing?"
Jean's left eye twitched slightly as she slid her fork out of the silverware bundle and slammed it down on the table. Logan looked down in shock and surprise, the cuff of his sleeve pinned to the linen tablecloth by the tines. The slender hand that delivered the blow moved away and smoothed the cloth, and Jean sat back. "You're not playing fair." She said mockingly. "You have us over a barrel, and we were led to expect this was a totally choice oriented venture."
"Well, perhaps I misled my emissary." Logan growled as he grasped the fork and started to tug, but it wouldn't come out. A slight frown covered his face as he yanked more forcefully, but it wouldn't budge. People started to stare at the table curiously, and he left it alone for now.
"Perhaps is right. Look. We'll take the jobs-"
" 'Ro!" Jean hissed as she glared at her best friend. Ororo put her finger to her lips and shook her head.
"If you can guarantee our safety."
"It's done."
"Good. We're done here." Ororo leaned over and lifted the fork from the table as if it were nothing. Mr. Logan watched them walk out, drawing attention as they left. Almost growling, he lifted the table cloth and chuckled. The fork was thrust straight through the thick cloth of his sleeve and the tablecloth to the wood beneath, almost half an inch indents were visible.
"I misjudged them. Of course I knew they were great at what they did, but their tactics surprise me. Very few women do." Logan lit his cigar and laughed. "I bet they'd be great in bed."
"Have they agreed?" Remy asked, trying not to let on that Mr. Logan's comment angered him in any way.
"Yep. I want you to deliver the first job and its requirements in two days. This is a test."
"Yes sir." He stood and left, and he still didn't know why he was so angry.
"Oh don't play coy with me slut. I know you're attracted to him." She flipped her hair and started looking for a bottle of good salad dressing. Ororo shook her head in denial.
"I don't think anyone could be attracted to Mr. Logan." Jean slapped the bottle into her hand and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, please. You know I mean Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious. I'd put him on a bun and eat him." Ororo smiled and took Jean's hand, showing her the ring on her finger.
"Yes, but you're engaged aren't you?" Jean jerked her hand away and shrugged good naturedly.
"A girl can dream can't she? Besides, that means he's yours for the taking. You don't have to worry about me trying to snag him too."
"You have way too much self esteem."
"That's like saying you're wearing too much Channel." Jean followed Ororo into the living room, where she plopped down on the couch and turned on their television. Both women were silent for a while until Jean tapped her on the shoulder.
"What?"
"You know, you could have spread your legs and used those orange airplane cones to wave him in and have been more discreet. This little 'I'm too shy to tell you I want to rock your world' is kind of old, don't you think?"
"Jean…"
"Okay, okay. This isn't a good situation." Ororo looked at her with a big 'duh' expression.
"Of course not Jean. That's why it's not going farther than the appreciation of the way his arms move underneath his shirt."
"You have it bad."
"Oh shut up."
