The guard was armed and prepared for such an event. Eugene slowly lifted his gaze from his shoes. He would only die if someone tried to play the hero. It had been such a long summer, the sun so bleak and unforgiving, and at the end of such a wearying decade. He prayed there were no heroes left.

Monnet approached, her heels clicking loudly, and still no one moved. Walker held him fast, the barrel of his tommy gun resting atop Eugene’s shoulder, so that a single twitch of Walker’s finger could blow his head off. Eugene held so still he could feel his heartbeat thudding sickly in his chest, his blood coursing through every vein. His hands trembled infinitesimally. Walker could surely see it, and a hot thread of shame coiled through Eugene at the thought of having his weakness on display.

“You’re all right,” Walker said, patting the shoulder unencumbered by the gun. “This won’t take a minute.”

At the teller’s window, Monnet instructed the girl to fill her bag with cash, starting with whatever was in the tills. The girl stammered that her coworker hadn’t come in to her shift that morning, and she was sorry, but she couldn’t go any faster by herself. The window to her right stood blank-faced and empty.

“Shame for her,” Monnet said. “She’s missed a grand old tale to tell.”

Eugene kept his gaze fixed on Monnet’s back. He didn’t look at the guard, though the tension crackled in the air like electricity before a summer storm. He didn’t look at Walker, though he could see the barrel of the gun out of the corner of his eye.

The teller finished bagging the money. Monnet made no demands for safes to be opened. Her hair cascaded down her back in wild, loose curls like a lion’s mane. As she turned, the black skirts of her dress flashed around her knees. Eugene met her gaze for the barest second, and she smiled wide like a cat before sliding past him to look at her partner.

“All set?” she asked.

Eugene caught movement in his peripheries, a sudden jolt of motion as the guard drew his gun. Eugene’s breath caught in his throat and he flinched, his shoulders rounding in, expecting the flash and burn of a bullet. Walker shoved him forward a step as his gun swung up off Eugene’s shoulder to fire a round, deafeningly loud, into the ceiling. The screams were almost enough to break through the ringing in Eugene’s head. He bent double, his hands over his ears, as the others in the bank dropped to the floor. Monnet stepped forward; all he could see were her scuffed black boots, well-worn and laced almost to her knees.

“Everyone, stay down,” she ordered. She carried the bag of money slung over one shoulder and the butt of her tommy gun sat nestled under her arm against her hip, its barrel facing out into the crowd. Her eyes were bright and fierce as she whirled back to face Walker. “Ready?”