Payday

[Keira Kelly]

The van was more cramped than usual, five armoured figures rather than the usual four huddled together, around bags on the floor. Clover sat, crunched in beside Wolf and the rear door, arms crossed and her right blue, latex-gloved hand held tightly around her upper left arm, just below where her heavy body armour terminated above her elbow. Hidden behind her mask, her eyes clenched tight and teeth were gritted. The van turned suddenly, throwing one of the other crew members into her. She almost yelped at the sudden jar but managed to keep silent. "Sh*te, sh*te, sh*te, sh*te...." she began to repeat to herself quietly, almost as a mantra, trying to keep the pain in check. With the sounds of pursuit outside and the revving of the van's engine, her trail of cursing was drowned out from the others. She could feel the warm wetness soaking the sleeve of her dark suit, hidden from the others only by the colour but it would only be a matter of time before it over-saturated the material and the blood become more apparent. There wasn't anything anyone could do though until they made it to safety anyways.

Bastard sniper, she thought angrily. It had been stupid... The bank job had been running so well too... until that wanker Houston had slipped up and been spotted by someone outside with a phone. It had only gone downhill from that point. The coppers were called and soon it had all devolved into a free-for-all gun battle. And right at the very end, as they had made their way out to the exit, they had had to pass a window... Clover had been last in line, carrying a bag of loot. The gold bars were heavy and she had stumbled, almost dropping it, but that had save her life. The way she had turned, trying to keep from falling with the heavy sack and twisted her just enough; the heavy calibre sniper bullet had struck her arm rather than hitting home in the centre of her chest where not even her heavy armour would have saved her. At least it was a clean shot, through and through. As it was though, she was scared to see how much damage had been caused. That she could still feel her fingers, move them, gave her some hope that it was only a flesh wound. It still hurt like bloody hell though.

A few more violent turns of the van and the sirens began to fall away. She continued her mantra until eventually the vehicle came to a halt and then the rear doors opened, letting in the subdued light of an underground parking garage. Quickly by rote, they got out, filing into a few other vehicles, de-masking and taking off the suit jackets they each wore, and the men their ties, just to look different for the ride back to the safehouse. Hoxton and Dallas were both berating Houston for his move in the few minutes they had of safety here. Clover pushed past them, standing toe to toe with Dallas' younger brother, not saying anything. Behind her the other two men stopped, interrupted by her action. Suddenly she brought up her knee between Houston's legs, causing him to grunt in pain and fall to his own knees as she walked away. Behind her, the only sound was Hoxton beginning to laugh; he had made it clear many times that he had no love for the wanker that had briefly taken his place in the crew. She left the others to finish unloading the few bags of loot they'd managed to recover.

She walked over to one of the cars whose trunk had been opened by Hoxton's key remote and dumped her mask and weapons in the back, slowly peeling off her armour and then stashing that as well. Time for the jacket, she thought sourly, looking down. There was a red gash visible through the rent in her outfit but she still couldn't tell how bad it was. The right sleeve of the jacket came off easily but the left hugged damply against the shirt underneath. She coaxed it off, swearing sharply as she saw her once-white shirt was now red from wrist almost to shoulder, the material having soaked up the blood hungrily.

It was right at that moment when Hoxton came around the car to stash his own things and stopped seeing her, pulling off his mask, a concerned look on his face. "F*ck me." he said in surprise. "When did this happen?!" He glanced back where they'd come from near the van, looking for a trail of blood.

"Right as we were leaving." she answered. "Sniper got me... And I made sure I didn't leave a trail, my jacket acted as a bandage."

"You didn't say anything." he accused.

Clover shrugged. "I got him right off after." she answered. "And we needed ta get out."

Hox made an annoyed sound. "Well, we can't have you seen like this and can't do too much about it right now..." he said, pulling out a knife. Anyone else might have pulled away, afraid of what he might do but Clover didn't. "Hold your arm over the boot." he said indicating the trunk. It wouldn't do to leave DNA evidence. He got to work, cutting the shirt at the shoulder seams on the left side, removing the blood-soaked sleeve and dropping it into the trunk. He mirrored the action with her right, pristine sleeve as well; having only one sleeve would look odd but having just a sleeveless shirt would catch no attention. He used the good sleeve to tie around the wound, causing Clover to gasp and swear in pain again. It started to soak through almost immediately but sitting low in the car, it wouldn't be very visible. Hox looked over her head at the others. "You two ready?" he called, getting affirmative replies from them. He looked back to his once-apprentice. "I can see why you kneed that wanker in the bollocks. Well deserved... Okay then. Get in the car." he ordered her.

------------------------------------

The ride back in the car at least had been a tad more pleasant, despite the pain, without being crammed into a corner with her wounded arm being jabbed every few minutes. With the makeshift bandage, the bleeding had lessened as well, Clover thought. She only knew that she was glad when they finally pulled in behind the old dry cleaning place that was the front for their safehouse. When the car was parked and the engine turned off, she pushed open the passenger side door and got out, feeling rather light-headed. She gripped the frame of the car door until her knuckles of her right hand were white, steadying herself as she tried not to pass out. Suddenly she felt an arm slip around her, under her shoulder.

"Come on then, time to get inside." Hoxton said to her. "We can see about fixing you up."

She let him help her inside and into the small kitchen area. The safehouse was mainly only used here and there, before and after a heist so there wasn't much in the way of furnishings. Instead, Hox pulled over a rather large cardboard box beside the counter, indicating for Clover to sit which she gratefully did, fighting a bit of nausea and faintness. She'd lost more blood than she'd thought, glancing down at the wrapped injury. The bandage that had once been her sleeve had turned from white to completely red and a few trails had overcome even its absorption, running down her bare arm. "I don't feel so hot..." she admitted as Hoxton went over to another of the large cardboard boxes and dug around, finally pulling out a medical kit and returning to her.

"This is probably going to hurt more." he warned, examining the strip of cloth around her arm.

Carefully, he began to unwrap it and Clover closed her eyes against the pain, as the cloth moved against raw flesh. As the sleeve fell away, she saw Hox wince, baring his teeth in a grimace at it. She glanced down, finally seeing the extent of the damage for the first time. Blood had covered it before and they had been in a rush but now it was more apparent. It had been a graze but a graze of a high calibre, armour-piercing shot. The track was just about the width of her upper arm from front to back and it looked to be at least a centimetre or two deep.. slicing through muscle as if she'd been hit with a cleaver. No wonder it had bled so much, she thought. "F***ing hell.." she said in a quiet voice.

Hox shook his head. "Going to have to sew this up, I'm afraid... Can't leave it like this." he replied, digging around in the kit and coming up with a needle and some thread.

Clover's eyes went wide. "Ya gotta be f***ing kidding me..." she said, drawing back a bit.

"No joke. You can't go about with a hole like that in your arm." he answered back, gripping her by the shoulder tightly. "This won't be the first time I've sewn someone up... You can take it."

Clover's head turned away for a moment as she considered. She knew he was right. Finally she closed her eyes and nodded in agreement. "Fine den... but get me someting ta drink.. ta dull da pain a bit... Da wanker has got some o da good stuff tucked away under his cot.. I tink I'm going ta need a good hit of it. Least he can contribute as it was his fault after all."

Hoxton made a sound in his throat but then put down the needle and headed away. After a minute he came back, holding a bottle with Houston trailing him. "That's mine!" the American replacement complained. "How'd you even know I had it anyways? Give it back, now..." He trailed off when he saw Clover's wound. "Uh.... at the bank?" he asked hesitantly.

Clover gave him a cool look back, looking at him as if he were daft. "Where do ya tink, ya f***ing twat?" she asked back. "Tink I jest magically got shot while sitting here? Or maybe I did da whole heist ripped up like dis?"

Houston just blanked for a moment. He should apologize for his F-up but there was no way he was going to do that. "Uh, fine, keep the bottle." he said finally and walked away.

"Wanker." both Hoxton and Clover said quietly in unison at the American's retreating back. Hearing the words mirrored, they looked at each other for a moment, cracking just a bit of an amused smile.

"I'm going to need to pour some of this on the wound." Hox told her.

"Let me jest take a swig first." she replied, grabbing the bottle away with her good hand. Getting the top off one-handed though was trickier than she'd thought and had to have Hox help her with that. She hated having to be so reliant but it was only temporary. Cap off, she put the bottle of liquor to her lips, throwing it back and taking a long swallow. She handed the bottle off. "Kay, go ahead.." she said, bracing. The pain as the alcohol worked into the wound was more than she had bargained for, screaming through the severed nerves. It felt as if she was in a tunnel, the blackness threatening to engulf her but she fought it, fought to stay conscious and then it was over. Well, the worst of it anyways... the afterimage of the pain remained and she knew it would get worse again once the sewing started. She grabbed the bottle back in a sweaty, white-knuckle hand, taking another drink as Hoxton began to work on closing the wound. It ended up being too much though what with the blood loss she'd already suffered and the pain, unconsciousness quickly took her.