The bank – one of those old fashioned marble affairs with tall, echoing ceilings and brass bars over the teller stations – was nearly empty when Jessica arrived. She walked in the door behind a tall, savagely handsome man in an expensively tailored suit, and except for the old man shuffling toward the teller station with a cane in one hand and a little gray-haired woman walking slowly toward the door, the bank was empty. Early on a Tuesday morning was not a high-traffic time, and Jessica had chosen it exactly for that reason.
She slid her hand into the pocket of her coat for the hundredth time since she’d set out for the bank, her fingertips brushing over the cold barrel of the gun she’d taken out of her husband Peter’s safe. It was loaded and weighed the right side of her coat down so that it was impossible to forget, even while she walked as casually as possible across the bank’s echoing marble floor to get in line behind the man in the rich black suit.
His hair looked freshly barbered, the lines of his neatly groomed goatee running sharply down his angular jaw, and Jessica thought there was an arrogance about the way he stood with impeccable, stoic posture.
Jessica was not in the habit of visually appraising the strangers she met, but today everyone she passed on the street and everyone standing in the bank was another person who could memorize her face and identify her to the police after she did what she came here for. The teller was certainly a risk she would have to take. The elderly woman shuffling slowly toward the door would be long gone by the time Jessica approached the counter, and with any luck so would the man leaning on his cane in front of the tall, handsome stranger.
But she could not dismiss him as easily as the others – she wasn’t sure what it was about him, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off his broad shoulders or the neat English-style vent at the bottom of his suit jacket protruding just slightly over the curve of his ass. As she stood there in line behind him, Jessica ran her fingers nervously up and down the barrel of the gun in her pocket and in her mind he was turning around to face her, hunger in his eyes. She could just picture him grabbing her by the hips, lifting her up onto the large marble island in the center of the room where people went to fill out deposit slips and make out their checks – he would lift the hem of her skirt and she could practically feel the cool stone against her thighs as he pressed his hips between them.
The old-fashioned bell over the door chimed and pulled Jessica out of her fantasy – she blushed as she turned to see another man entering the bank, smiling kindly as he patiently held the door for the little gray-haired woman who was, even after all this time, still only halfway across the large room.
Jessica squeezed her hand around the barrel of the gun, feeling its solidity in her fist and using it to push the strange lust that had suddenly filled her out of her head – she wasn’t ordinarily so prone to random fantasies about the people around her, and that one had come unbidden to her. She was grateful for the distraction, however brief, but as the man with the cane approached the teller window, Jessica refocused on her mission.