1930s Chicago. Notorious gangster Tom "Tommy Gun" Holland has been storming his way through Cook County, robbing banks and breaking hearts. One day you find yourself in the wrong place, at the wrong time when he makes a hit on your bank. There's...
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"What about the car?" you asked
"Forget the car. We're walking," Tommy said without turning around, without slowing down even. Forward he marched ahead of you, dismissing all your questions with a terse reply.
"But my clothes are in the car! Everything I just bought!" you said in a panic. Even that naughty negligee. You don't know why you bought it. You thought maybe you might wear it for him, as a thank you maybe. It was a silly idea but, you felt compelled to purchase it. Like it was enchanted or something. But now it's just gonna go to waste in the back of that Buick.
"You can get new clothes," Tommy said with an irritated gruff. You ran to catch up to him. He didn't seem to care that you were lagging behind or that you were wearing heels or that all that stuff in the trunk of that car was more than just stuff to you. It was dreams and fantasy. It was a small chunk of your life where instead of fretting over which tin to open for dinner, you fretted over which color dress to buy. Except you didn't have to fret because you had enough clams to buy the whole lot! He didn't care what that kind of luxury meant to a girl like you. Come to think of it, he didn't seem to care about you at all.
"I don't want new clothes!" you shouted at him. Finally he stopped. He turned around and came at you swiftly with a fed up look on his face.
"Keep your voice down," he said grabbing your arm roughly. You hissed at his meat hooks. His face came close to yours, almost nose to nose.
"We're ditching the car. We're ditching the clothes and we're going on foot," he growled through gritted teeth.
Your chin started to tremble. Not from fright, although sometimes his tone, and those sinister eyes could get awfully scary. No, the tears started welling because you were disappointed. It was like he ripped you out of your favorite illusion. One where you were the glamorous goddess in her fancy frocks, always in step or seated next to her handsome devil.
You ripped your arm from his grasp and lowered your eyes to hide the brimming tears.
He gave an exasperated sigh.
"Why are you crying?" he asked at a lower volume but with just as much gruff.
"Those were my things. It's not fair," you said with a sniff.
He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. You couldn't quite hear what he said but you were sure you heard something along the lines of "bloody women" and "God help me".
"Attachments are dangerous in this line of business, doll. That's just the way it is. You've gotta keep moving. I'm not forcing you here. You don't like it, you can leave." His tone was so harsh and patronizing. Like you were stupid or something. Sure, he may be smarter than you, and knew a lot more about this thing, but who got that car for you in the first place, hmm?
Seems like he really didn't care about you after all.
You glared at him and wiped your eyes with a haughty flare. He glared right back at you.
