Free Thigh High by Christina Dodd

line was as long as ever. The other cashiers were busy. Cooper, our security guard, was dealing with the usual cranks who had arrived too late to get in, turning them away at the door. The other transvestite…the other transvestite held a much larger pistol in the folds of her skirt. His skirt. The skirt. Mr. Debutante said, ‘Don’t push the silent alarm. Don’t make me shoot you. Just put the money in my bag.’ I knew if he shot me at this range, even with that tiny pistol, I would die. I didn’t want to die. So I put the deposit slip in the machine, typed in $1,192.45, popped open my drawer, and pulled a handful of hundreds out.” She gripped the edge of the table. “The guy told me to count it out exactly. Didn’t want more, didn’t want less. I was counting, ‘One hundred, two hundred…’ And all the while I kept thinking that the silent alarm button was right there by my knee, and if I scooted over a little, I could set it off. It was like he knew what I was thinking. He made a tiny circle with the pistol and said, ‘Don’t do it.’” She stopped, gasping.
    Scooting over, Jeremiah put his arm around Melissa. “Take deep breaths. It’s over. You did the right thing. You’re alive, and you’re helping with the investigation. When you get scared, think of that.”
    â€œI have nightmares sometimes,” Melissa admitted.
    â€œRevenge will cure your nightmares. I promise.”
    Nessa almost jumped when he smiled into Melissa’s face.
    Wow. He could turn on the magic. And…sweet? Yeah. Maybe sweet.
    Melissa visibly calmed. “I would like revenge.” She smiled a little and straightened. “This is when it got really weird.”
    â€œAs opposed to being robbed by well-dressed transvestites.” Jeremiah was still smiling.
    â€œRight. I said to Mr. Debutante, ‘I really need this job.’ And Mr. Debutante said, ‘You need to finish college.’ He sounded stern, like my mother. I finished counting out the cash, put it in an envelope, and shoved it across the counter. He took the money, said, ‘You don’t want to work as a teller your whole life. You might run into someone like me again.’ When he said, ‘Now step back from the window,’ he glanced behind him, so I pushed the silent alarm, screamed, and threw myself on the floor.” Melissa glanced over Nessa’s shoulder. “Brad!”
    â€œAre you done questioning my wife?” Brad Rosewell spoke from behind Nessa.
    She heard the anxiety hidden behind the hostility in his tone, and as she turned, she said lightly, “Almost done. I don’t think we’ve taxed her too much. Have you met Mr. Mac?”
    Jeremiah rose and the two men shook hands, measuring each other.
    They were, in one way, almost identical. Both were tall, distinguished-looking men in dark suits, white shirts, red ties. Both sported an air of authority, but there the resemblance ended.
    Brad Rosewell looked like a bank manager, a man who understood numbers and who worked well with employees and customers.
    Jeremiah Mac looked like a thug in a designer suit.
    â€œMrs. Rosewell has been very helpful,” Jeremiah said. “Won’t you sit down while we finish up?”
    Brad slid a chair close to his wife and took her hand.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said. “Really.”
    Brad didn’t relax, but leaned toward Jeremiah. “I want you to understand, I want those Beaded Bandits caught. At the same time, I hate rehashing that day. I almost lost my job, and worse, I almost lost Melissa.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, you almost lost your job?” Nessa asked.
    Mac sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
    â€œThat night, I got a phone call from Mr. MacNaught. That guy is psychotic about losing money. I mean, he’s a banker, we’re all psychotic about money, but he was over the edge. He pounded on me, asked