IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO.

A yellow Land Rover Defender raced down the deserted boulevard, carrying in it a lady, young, early thirties maybe, and a lad, who chose to be bestowed the honours of being driver on such a significant occasion. A thin sweat trickled down his armpit, he felt it all the way down his body, this, if anything, the only impression of his rather tense self. Yet he was good at the wheels, often making those important turns and just in time to literally disappear from their chasers. It came as a relief, as she struggled to look behind in search of the trailers, “I think we lost ‘em”, she said, and bumped on her seat with sheer relief.

They sped past the traffic lights, down and enjoining the streets. They were all alone now, and as they headed for their safe house, they couldn’t wait to start counting their loot, their faces now shining with expectation. As they drove their car into the garage, it was slowly ticking towards 0900 hours.

Six hours before…

A phone noisily rang in the otherwise quiescent room. This must have startled the big bellied guy who was sitting playing minesweeper on his computer. He suddenly grabbed the receiver and mumbled the word ‘Hello’ in the most unenthusiastic manner ever. The caller was quick to express their reason for the call, there had been a bank heist, he said, and that the superintendent was urgently required to assemble his team and assist in tracking down the criminals. This was in fact how the conversation went;

“Hallo Mr. Chump? I am calling from the distress unit, there has been a bank heist, or something of the sort…”

Silence…

“Hallo? Hallo? Is anyone there?”

Of course there was someone at the other end, rubbing their big belly, before belching, probably finally giving a response you know?

“Hallo Mr. Chump? This is urgent; the intelligence department is keen to insist that they had warned about an imminent heist. We might have to act fast to save our face…”

The caller wasn’t even done yet, before Mr. Chump let out a lengthy guffaw, causing his caller to be entangled in the same moment of hysteria. The Intelligence department? That was the joke! Intelligence department sounded like a joke to these two esteemed fellows.

So the superintendent took his mobile phone, and luckily for him, his service provider had a call back service, which he used to request his immediate boss to call in order to give orders for the commencement of the operation. The flight commandant had earlier on made it clear that only one police chopper was at their disposal, as the bigger one had been used to take his (the flight commandant) three year old son to kindergarten for his first day in school. In fact, he had also been assigned a contingent of police officers to oversee a ‘state kindergarten admission’.  Again, with only one chopper in actual service, it was impossible to carry on board the required number of officers, at least not with their armory since the superintendent’s belly was too big to spare any space.

So the green light to commence the mission was given after a painful sixty minutes, Mr. Chump not hesitating to take the chopper to the site of the crime. He reached just in time to address the journalists who were already at the scene, revolving their cameras and salivating at the prospects of selling the following day’s paper. Some of them were even taking selfies and what have you! They had also seemed content when the superintendent explained that they had only one chopper at their disposal for purposes of transporting the officers as well as conducting aerial surveillance, as the other one had ostensibly been derailed as a result of the recent flooding in the streets while returning from a covert mission.

So when some officers spotted a yellow Land Rover Defender later on the same day in the streets, they were quite aware that it was the same exact one that had been described by numerous eye-witnesses. They engaged the occupants, brandishing the brand new guns that their parsimonious national government had recently purchased for its armed forces on e-Bay. They had attempted to chase down the vehicle, but their Chinese automobiles were desperately incommensurate. Down the road, two quick turns and the Defender had disappeared into thin air. So the officers had begun blaming each other, before they decided to step out of their car and engage in a physical fight, until one of their walkie-talkies croaked into life, “Suspects last spotted on Pumbavu Street, house number 33.” They quickly entered their car and raced towards the destination, all aware of the immense accolades that would be given to any officer who would be part of the arrest.

Inside house number 33…

One would mistake them for a couple, as they counted their booty in sheer camaraderie. Yet you could still feel the grip of the tension in the atmosphere. She could feel something was not right, the gut feeling, a woman hardly ever mistakes it. So she double mindedly went through the loot, placing the money in stacks of twenty thousand. Then she absentmindedly began to stare at him, his huge arms, a firm chest, looks any woman would die for. The way his shirt hugged his body, she felt a shiver down her spine. She was head over heels, or so they say?

Anna, a self proclaimed fingersmith had met Larry, her accomplice, at the International Villains Fair. She was in love at first sight, and over the many heists they had since conducted together, anyone could tell she only attempted to conceal the feelings she harbored for him. He was the logistics guy, brainy and quick-witted. His driving was nothing but perfect, and he knew his way with firearms. She never felt any safer than always by his side. How she wished there was more to them than mere accomplices, it would make more sense to all the nights they spent together. It would have added flavor to living life on the fast lane, or so she had always thought.

Suddenly, a vehicle appeared through their surveillance monitor, and her gut feeling was instantly confirmed. They say a thief’s days are numbered, and this night seemed to be their ever last. Larry quickly stood up and got his rifle, and was just about to take position when Anna pinned him against the wall, landed a square and calculated slap on his face. “Say you love me. Say you will spend the rest of your life with me!” She beseeched, staring at his bewildered face.

And she felt death engulf her, as she waited for him to utter a word. She glanced at the surveillance monitors once again, and saw the policemen taking position just outside the door. She took off an SMG from her holster, cocked it and held it, then turned towards her baffled accomplice. She passionately kissed his lips, and conclusively told her heart out, “If we don’t die today, say you will marry me!”

What happened next was straight off a thriller. She went berserk, the moment the words, “Sorry, but I am gay” escaped his mouth. She was deluded. She flung her hand into the air, finger on the trigger and shooting sporadically, sending the cops into frenzy. Most of them had never even heard the sound of gunfire. They ran for dear life, before she finally threw her gun to the ground, slapped her accomplice once again, kissed him passionately and walked away. Forever.