Courtney wakes up on Duncan’s chest again, but this time they were in his bed. His hands were on her back, and their legs were intertwined. Duncan smirks at her, but his smirk disappears once Courtney lets out a groan. “What’s wrong, Princess?” he asks.
“I think I have the worst hangover ever,” she explains, putting both palms on her forehead and squeezing her eyes shut. “But I’m not quite sure what a hangover feels like, since I’ve never got one before, so it might just be a migraine. But due to the unfortunate turn of events, I’m tempted to believe I actually have a hangover.”
Duncan chuckles, causing Courtney’s body to shake on topo, início him. “Ow,” she says simply. Duncan rolls over, flipping Courtney onto the bed.
“I’ll get you some water,” he offers, pulling on some pants over his boxers. He silently closes the door behind him, leaving Courtney to wallow in her misery. Within a minuto or two, he’s back with a small cup of water and something in his fist. Duncan sits on the edge of the cama and hands Courtney the cup of water. He unfolds his fist, revealing two small laranja pills. Courtney stares at it in trepidation.
“What is that?” she asks.
“A pill. Take it.”
“But… what’ll it do?” Courtney asks, not touching the pills. “Wait a second… are those… drugs?!”
“Pft. Jeez, Princess, why would I do that? Craig invented these things to get rid of hangovers in, like, ten minutes, no matter how much you drink. He’s kindof a genius for this sorta thing,” Duncan explains. Courtney didn’t know who Craig was, or how much of a genius he could be, but she took the pills and swallowed them down. Anything that would stop her horrid hangover.
Duncan took the glass and set it on topo, início of the dresser. “Guess what we’re doing today,” Duncan tells her with a grin.
“What?”
“No, you have to guess.”
Courtney puffed out a breath of air and her bangs flew up. “Fine… Robbing a bank?” she asks.
“Are you, like, psychic or something? Because, yes, we’re robbing a bank,” Duncan says, flopping down on his cama at the same time that Courtney stands up in astonishment. Duncan places his hands behind his head.
“WHAT?!” Courtney screeches, onyx eyes wide. Duncan didn’t bother to try to explain, because she would just interrupt him anyway, so he just laid there. Not to his astonishment, Courtney continued ranting, “You can’t just go robbing banks once you’re short of money! That money that you are stealing are people’s life savings, practically, and what are you even going to spend the money on? cerveja and cars? That is unacceptable! Some families need that money to feed their families or pay for their homes. Once that’s gone, where will they be? I’ll tell you where they’ll be: They’ll be on the street, dirt poor is what. And what will you be doing? Buying liquor and upgrading your escape car!”
She throws her hands in the air with disapprovement and then put her hands on her hips. “Well, Princess, you have a nice debate. However, if I do not find some cash soon, there will be no way to pay our taxes. Capeesh?” Duncan asks, rubbing his thumb and forefingers together to indicate money. “And do you know how Uncle Al got caught? He killed rival gangsters, robbed banks, smuggled liquor, but do you know what, out of all those, actually condemned him? Taxes. He didn’t pay taxes, and that was the only way they finally found him. I’m not about to let that happen to me.”
Courtney rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you have a freaking accountant or secretary or financial aid of some sort?” she asks. “That way you wouldn’t have to rob banks whenever you need a tiny bit of extra spending money.”
“Would you like to be our little secretary, then, Princess?” Duncan asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Um, no. At least not until I have my own uniform, cubicle, and radio. I like to be professional when I do things, you may assume,” Courtney insists.
“Uniform?” Duncan asks, slowly sitting up and raising an eyebrow.
“Ew, ew, ew!” Courtney grimaces, waving her hands at her sides and shuddering. “Get that nasty idea out of you head. I will not be one of those flapper-slash-prostitute girls who dance around in the shortest dresses available. I will be a prim, proper, and tidy, young secretary.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, darling.” Duncan disappointedly lays back down on the bed, but his mind doesn’t let go of the thought of Courtney in a thong. He might as well keep letting her imagine she was picturing her in a short saia instead of what he was really thinking, otherwise he may lose his “manly” parts.
There’s a knock on the door and the door swings open to reveal Damien. “Dude, we gotta leave now,” Damien announces, “Apparently the government got word that The Almighty Duncan Malone is gonna rob the bank on the northwest side ’a downtown. An armored car is driving from city hall to downtown, and we already have three accomplices trying to slow it down.”
“Awesome. The perfect high-speed chase,” Duncan says, hopping off the bunk and brushing past Damien. Courtney and Damien stare at each other, Duncan’s footsteps filling their ears. Courtney walks past Damien into the hallway and tries to follow Duncan, but Damien grabs her arm.
“You have a different agenda than Duncan, Miss Pembrooke,” Damien tells her, pulling her down the hallway in the opposite direction Duncan went. Courtney doesn’t protest, but just focuses on not tripping in her high heels as they navigate the poking-up floorboards.
Damien opens a huge door to reveal the mother of all closets. Literally, the room was packed. It was even bigger than Courtney’s closet back home. And that was big. She dashes into the room, frantic to finally put on new clothes other than her pale blue dress and the black-skirt-white-shirt ensemble Duncan gave her. But Courtney’s spirit was dampened when she realized all these clothes were for guys.
Damien laughs and opens a closet connected to the larger closet. Courtney gasps, and her enthusiasm was completely renewed. It wasn’t a large closet -- this one was probably a bit smaller than her own closet. But still, it was new clothes! Courtney runs her fingertips along silks, cashmeres, cottons, and tons of other fabrics. Soon they all blended together and all Courtney could think was: New. Clothes.
“Duncan had some guys go and buy you some stuff to wear, since you’ll probably be here a while,” Damien explains. “He wants you to wear shorts and a camisa for the robbery. I’ll be back soon to check on you.”
The door shuts and Courtney immediately starts hunting for shorts. It takes her three minutes, but she finally finds the shorts drawer. Unfortunately, the shorts are barely shorter than Courtney’s underwear. Damien gives a warning knock on the door, and she pulls the jean shorts on. She shuts the drawer and grabs the first camisa she can find: a red-and-white-striped sweater with a scoop-neck. She kicks off her high heels and slips on a pair of bright red ballet flats.
Damien opens the door and says, “Great. You’re ready. Now let’s go.” They walk down the flights of stairs to the foyer. A gusty breeze blew through the front door and Courtney shivered in her shorts, even though she was wearing a sweater. Winter seemed to come early in Chicago.
“The car is a couple blocks away, so I can get it and drive it up to the curb so you don’t have to walk there with me, m’kay?” Damien asks, cocking a black-and-white-striped fedora on his head at 35-degree angle. Courtney smiles and he gets the message, shutting the door behind him. She was starting to like Damien.
Courtney was standing in front of the window-pane, watching the empty rua when a hand brushed her thigh. She flinched and spun around, seeing a drunk gangster behind her. “Hey,” he slurs and takes another sip of whatever was in the brown paper sack. Courtney was confused at his need to hide what he was drinking when they were in a liquor smuggling warehouse, but she waved that thought off.
“Nice legs. What time do they open?” the guy asks, apparently trying a crack at another pick-up line.
Instead of getting upset, however, Courtney just raised an eyebrow and jutted her hip to the side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damien drive up in a red racecar. Her hand blindly finds the doorknob. “I’m not sure. You’d have to ask Duncan.”
With a tug on the handle, the door opens. Courtney walks out the door and down the steps. Of course, she was not planning to fuck Duncan. At least those perves will finally be off my back. They’d never flirt with their leader’s alleged girlfriend, Courtney thinks. She opens the car door and slides into the seat.
Damien presses the gas pedal and they zoom off to meet Duncan at the bank they’re planning to rob.
“I think I have the worst hangover ever,” she explains, putting both palms on her forehead and squeezing her eyes shut. “But I’m not quite sure what a hangover feels like, since I’ve never got one before, so it might just be a migraine. But due to the unfortunate turn of events, I’m tempted to believe I actually have a hangover.”
Duncan chuckles, causing Courtney’s body to shake on topo, início him. “Ow,” she says simply. Duncan rolls over, flipping Courtney onto the bed.
“I’ll get you some water,” he offers, pulling on some pants over his boxers. He silently closes the door behind him, leaving Courtney to wallow in her misery. Within a minuto or two, he’s back with a small cup of water and something in his fist. Duncan sits on the edge of the cama and hands Courtney the cup of water. He unfolds his fist, revealing two small laranja pills. Courtney stares at it in trepidation.
“What is that?” she asks.
“A pill. Take it.”
“But… what’ll it do?” Courtney asks, not touching the pills. “Wait a second… are those… drugs?!”
“Pft. Jeez, Princess, why would I do that? Craig invented these things to get rid of hangovers in, like, ten minutes, no matter how much you drink. He’s kindof a genius for this sorta thing,” Duncan explains. Courtney didn’t know who Craig was, or how much of a genius he could be, but she took the pills and swallowed them down. Anything that would stop her horrid hangover.
Duncan took the glass and set it on topo, início of the dresser. “Guess what we’re doing today,” Duncan tells her with a grin.
“What?”
“No, you have to guess.”
Courtney puffed out a breath of air and her bangs flew up. “Fine… Robbing a bank?” she asks.
“Are you, like, psychic or something? Because, yes, we’re robbing a bank,” Duncan says, flopping down on his cama at the same time that Courtney stands up in astonishment. Duncan places his hands behind his head.
“WHAT?!” Courtney screeches, onyx eyes wide. Duncan didn’t bother to try to explain, because she would just interrupt him anyway, so he just laid there. Not to his astonishment, Courtney continued ranting, “You can’t just go robbing banks once you’re short of money! That money that you are stealing are people’s life savings, practically, and what are you even going to spend the money on? cerveja and cars? That is unacceptable! Some families need that money to feed their families or pay for their homes. Once that’s gone, where will they be? I’ll tell you where they’ll be: They’ll be on the street, dirt poor is what. And what will you be doing? Buying liquor and upgrading your escape car!”
She throws her hands in the air with disapprovement and then put her hands on her hips. “Well, Princess, you have a nice debate. However, if I do not find some cash soon, there will be no way to pay our taxes. Capeesh?” Duncan asks, rubbing his thumb and forefingers together to indicate money. “And do you know how Uncle Al got caught? He killed rival gangsters, robbed banks, smuggled liquor, but do you know what, out of all those, actually condemned him? Taxes. He didn’t pay taxes, and that was the only way they finally found him. I’m not about to let that happen to me.”
Courtney rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you have a freaking accountant or secretary or financial aid of some sort?” she asks. “That way you wouldn’t have to rob banks whenever you need a tiny bit of extra spending money.”
“Would you like to be our little secretary, then, Princess?” Duncan asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Um, no. At least not until I have my own uniform, cubicle, and radio. I like to be professional when I do things, you may assume,” Courtney insists.
“Uniform?” Duncan asks, slowly sitting up and raising an eyebrow.
“Ew, ew, ew!” Courtney grimaces, waving her hands at her sides and shuddering. “Get that nasty idea out of you head. I will not be one of those flapper-slash-prostitute girls who dance around in the shortest dresses available. I will be a prim, proper, and tidy, young secretary.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, darling.” Duncan disappointedly lays back down on the bed, but his mind doesn’t let go of the thought of Courtney in a thong. He might as well keep letting her imagine she was picturing her in a short saia instead of what he was really thinking, otherwise he may lose his “manly” parts.
There’s a knock on the door and the door swings open to reveal Damien. “Dude, we gotta leave now,” Damien announces, “Apparently the government got word that The Almighty Duncan Malone is gonna rob the bank on the northwest side ’a downtown. An armored car is driving from city hall to downtown, and we already have three accomplices trying to slow it down.”
“Awesome. The perfect high-speed chase,” Duncan says, hopping off the bunk and brushing past Damien. Courtney and Damien stare at each other, Duncan’s footsteps filling their ears. Courtney walks past Damien into the hallway and tries to follow Duncan, but Damien grabs her arm.
“You have a different agenda than Duncan, Miss Pembrooke,” Damien tells her, pulling her down the hallway in the opposite direction Duncan went. Courtney doesn’t protest, but just focuses on not tripping in her high heels as they navigate the poking-up floorboards.
Damien opens a huge door to reveal the mother of all closets. Literally, the room was packed. It was even bigger than Courtney’s closet back home. And that was big. She dashes into the room, frantic to finally put on new clothes other than her pale blue dress and the black-skirt-white-shirt ensemble Duncan gave her. But Courtney’s spirit was dampened when she realized all these clothes were for guys.
Damien laughs and opens a closet connected to the larger closet. Courtney gasps, and her enthusiasm was completely renewed. It wasn’t a large closet -- this one was probably a bit smaller than her own closet. But still, it was new clothes! Courtney runs her fingertips along silks, cashmeres, cottons, and tons of other fabrics. Soon they all blended together and all Courtney could think was: New. Clothes.
“Duncan had some guys go and buy you some stuff to wear, since you’ll probably be here a while,” Damien explains. “He wants you to wear shorts and a camisa for the robbery. I’ll be back soon to check on you.”
The door shuts and Courtney immediately starts hunting for shorts. It takes her three minutes, but she finally finds the shorts drawer. Unfortunately, the shorts are barely shorter than Courtney’s underwear. Damien gives a warning knock on the door, and she pulls the jean shorts on. She shuts the drawer and grabs the first camisa she can find: a red-and-white-striped sweater with a scoop-neck. She kicks off her high heels and slips on a pair of bright red ballet flats.
Damien opens the door and says, “Great. You’re ready. Now let’s go.” They walk down the flights of stairs to the foyer. A gusty breeze blew through the front door and Courtney shivered in her shorts, even though she was wearing a sweater. Winter seemed to come early in Chicago.
“The car is a couple blocks away, so I can get it and drive it up to the curb so you don’t have to walk there with me, m’kay?” Damien asks, cocking a black-and-white-striped fedora on his head at 35-degree angle. Courtney smiles and he gets the message, shutting the door behind him. She was starting to like Damien.
Courtney was standing in front of the window-pane, watching the empty rua when a hand brushed her thigh. She flinched and spun around, seeing a drunk gangster behind her. “Hey,” he slurs and takes another sip of whatever was in the brown paper sack. Courtney was confused at his need to hide what he was drinking when they were in a liquor smuggling warehouse, but she waved that thought off.
“Nice legs. What time do they open?” the guy asks, apparently trying a crack at another pick-up line.
Instead of getting upset, however, Courtney just raised an eyebrow and jutted her hip to the side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damien drive up in a red racecar. Her hand blindly finds the doorknob. “I’m not sure. You’d have to ask Duncan.”
With a tug on the handle, the door opens. Courtney walks out the door and down the steps. Of course, she was not planning to fuck Duncan. At least those perves will finally be off my back. They’d never flirt with their leader’s alleged girlfriend, Courtney thinks. She opens the car door and slides into the seat.
Damien presses the gas pedal and they zoom off to meet Duncan at the bank they’re planning to rob.
