It’s funny, really, how vulnerable people are despite all their attempts at security. Firewalls, passwords, metal detectors, security cameras, background checks… all useless if you want to get past ’em bad enough. Like this, right now; see how easy it is to fall in step with a little crowd and blend right in through the slidin’ doors, past the cameras and the sleepy security guard? Everyone figures if you’re at a hospital this early in the morning, you must belong here. And anyway, no one ever watches for a girl hunched in her trench coat, skin like a candle’s wick and dark messy hair, they take one look and assume she’s visitin’ a sick relative. No need for suspicion, though I could be carryin’ anything under this coat, maybe somethin’ faster and deadlier than the handgun in my right pocket. But see, I walk right in and go left down a hallway and no one stops me, no one asks where I’m goin’ or if I need help. No one sees me, really, not even the mother and teenage daughter waitin’ by the elevator – I could shoot ’em both in the back of the head right now and they’d never know a thing. But I don’t, of course; instead I take the elevator with ’em, back against the wall and hands in my pockets, all innocent ‘cept for my martial stance.

After a few seconds the elevator comes to a jerkin’ stop on the wrong floor and a voice over the intercom commands, “Put your hands on the walls!” and when the duo look around in fright it repeats, “Now!” They both do as commanded and of course I don’t, my hands are in my pockets and I’m prob’ly smilin’, I can’t help it, I just love when things go so smoothly. The elevator door has glass panels and beyond them we all watch, they in terror and me, well, still grinnin’ like the cat that ate the canary, as what looks like a whole damn SWAT team surrounds the elevator. The guy in the lead approaches, points his big fancy gun at me, and demands in the same voice from the intercom, “JewelThief, put your hands on the wall or we fire!” That’s not my name, of course, just one of my handles. Booker Shaw, that’s not my name either, but it’s what I go by when I feel like going by somethin’. Anyway, so I take my hands out of my pockets, empty, the boys don’t seem to expect that, and lift ’em in the air, still smilin’. “On the wall!” he yells again and I obey, I can play nice when it suits me. The elevator door opens and they gesture for me to walk out nice and slow. This is my favorite part, where they think they’ve caught me all on their own, that I didn’t plan this down to the second. Sometimes you have to go deep inside in order to get past some of those security measures, break ’em from the inside out, so why not have ’em open the front door for you to do so?

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