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She raised her shakily slim hand to her lips for another drag on her cigarette. Damn him, the bastard, for starting first. His pen scratching away irritated her nerves, like it was scratching on her shut eyelids.
"Stop it, its not time," she grated through yellow stained teeth. He had no capacity to listen to her though, her fleshy wattles vibrating and the dent in her skull where the implants used to reside pulsed like an eye tic. He hardly noticed it anymore after all the years sitting across from her at the Crazy Tadpole. He'd first seen her there on the same day he'd lost his job at the factory. Unforgettable. At least, that's what he thought then. Meanwhile, across town, the black-haired john spit out his wad in an effort to express once and for all the perfect chaw. He inspected his efforts on the sidewalk, tobacco, spittle, and a hint of his last meal lay in a target zone only so wide. Yes indeed, (his bionic tongue had not been a waste of money) another perfect 'un. It was cooperating. He sized up the door to the bank, closed till 8. Furtively, he looked both ways, bent close, then shot it out. Two quick raps, clean efficient, and the planks lodged horizontal in the far wall. He retracted his tongue in slow motion. "Wanna see that again?" came a voice from Outside. Muted grunts followed this interrogative from somewhere Else and suddenly the sound stopped. They tried to keep it quiet for the visitors, and for once, they were succeeding. If it weren't for the heist he needed to complete, he would have even paid attention to the disturbance his Spy Ear was picking up. Damn thing, only half installed, was always shorting to "on" after he had showered. Leaping in, he grabbed the diamond coins and got out. Right into the arms (bionic) of the police. "Why did he break with his partner in crime," he asked himself again and again in the prison years. She would always complement his impatience with "its not time yet!"
