Gunning for the Girl

gunning for the girla weird noir triumphby Glitzy BabylonFirst edition. APRIL, 2023.Copyright © 2023 Glitzy Babylon.http://www.tentaclecore.com/32,500 words THURSDAY The bank robber has not improved his wardrobe at since his last visit, as far as the Bank Manager, Miss Agatha Pope, can tell. For one, he still insists on wearing that poorly knitted purple wool scarf wrapped around his head and face."Bag!" the robber shouts. He shakes his gun at Miss Flemming, who is busy with her sobbing fit.Pope feels her mouth twisting on its own accord. Bullying the clerks, how despicable."Sir, yet again-- might I help you," she says. Her hands are up in surrender like everyone else's, she won't appear as a threat to the man.The robber whirls on her and shoots over her head. The elegant floor lamp two feet behind Pope explodes into flying shards of glass.All of the tellers shriek and duck, the few customers they have are already cowering on the floor, and Pope stands there, feeling the glass pelt against the back of her formerly pristine Bank Manager's Jacket.Internally, she seethes.Externally, she says, "Are you absolutely certain, sir, that you do not need my assistance?" FRIDAY The day after the robbery, Pope is summoned upstairs. She goes via the lift, and physically tenses herself in preparation. Her face looks positively ghostly in the harsh light glinting off the reflective doors. Her lips twitch with the urge to sneer at herself.Stewart the lift operator glances at her sideways, but is otherwise silent.Humphrey Bogota is Pope's boss and he likes remind her of this every chance he gets. He literally puffs up his chest whenever she's in the room to show off his administrator's pin where it's secured on his lapel right next to his two other society pins, makes them catch the light for maximum visibility.Because he was promoted over Pope in the scrabble for power last year, yes. But also because he's an absolute bastard."I see that yesterday you let our Establishment be robbed for the fourth time this fiscal quarter," Bogota says as he sits behind his over-sized desk in his over-sized chair, which when combined make him it looks like a children's dolly wearing a pinstriped suit. "I understand if you claim to be tired from being overworked, but we really cannot permit these sort of occurrences to.. well, to occur."Pope stands at full attention with her hands folded behind her so that she won't lunge across that desk to strangle the man with his own silk tie. "Fatigue was not the reason for the robbery, Sir. Numerous holes in our security were."Bogota steeples his fingers and quirks an eyebrow. Pope suspects that he practices that very expression in the mirror before he goes to bed at night. Right after he tells himself what a good little boy he is, and picks his nose for an after-dinner snack."And what do you propose that we do about these--" Bogota keeps his fingers together even as he twists his hands about to glance at his expensive wristwatch, "--these holes you speak of?"Saints, Pope hates this man. "We could possibly increase the funding to hire more guards," Pope suggests. Her own fingers are cramping from being squeezed into fists so tightly. "And invest in more secure doors, locks, alarm systems.""So you are suggesting that this is not the fault of human error, then? More specifically, your human error?"Pope blinks. Blinks again. "Yes, that is what I am saying, sir."Silence stretches out in the office for many moments too long to be anything but uncomfortable. Pope does not fidget. Bogota stares at her like the simpleton he is.Finally, Bogota spins his chair around a little and examines his planner. It's upside down, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Suggestion denied, Miss Pope. We are a bank, and as such are not made of money. I propose that you shore up the defenses sans a budget increase, because the next time we're robbed your job will go out the door, along with the burglar's spoils."Bogota doesn't look at her again, and Pope inclines her head before she makes a clipped about-face and leaves the office.In the lift she finally manages to unclench her hands. She only barely represses the desire to punch at the closed doors.Stewart gives her another side-eye, and shifts so he's pressed against the opposite wall.◆◆◆ She takes an early day. It's her right as a victim of trauma, or so the Yank secretary Peggy Walters tells her on her way out. She waves as she slides out the door, and Peggy nods with her usual sanctimonious approval from behind her reception desk.The sky is clear for once, and Pope stares at it for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do. She can't very well loiter on the steps of her place of employment. It would be a waste of personal time, and all that besides: there's a pile of fresh bird shit on the step next to where she's standing.The morning rush is over so there is little foot-traffic on the street. She walks leisurely, with a farcical ease down the street, and chooses a cafe at random to read a paper in.The waitress is pretty, and smiles wide at her as she orders a coffee and the day's morning edition. She has it to Pope quickly with another smile, which Pope returns a good ten degrees cooler. She doesn't want to lead on the poor girl, after all.The paper is sub par. The coffee more so. But she thumbs through the smudged newsprint diligently, because quitting is not in her repertoire, and much to her own disgust agrees with Yank Peggy that she does need a break.Personal ads are tricky things, so she looks extra careful at those. One never knows when wayward burglars might get foolish and put out their location at two pence a word.The small box saying "I FIND WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING FOR" catches her eye. She stops and looks at it properly, purses her lips