Of all the things Eddie had said or done to annoy her, nothing had made Nikki want to kill him more than this.  And it wasn't even his fault.  That was ironic enough that she might laugh about it later.  Maybe.  Right now, all she wanted was to get out of this bank, strangle him, throw him on a fire, and watch his eyes pop.

She was lying flat on the floor, in the middle of a serpentine line of prone people.  An hour ago, three heavily armed men had stormed into the bank, taken control with a few warning shots, and then forced everyone to lay on the floor.  The bank staff joined them shortly, so that they were in a loose group in the middle of the lobby, just out of sight from the front doors.  No one looked at anyone else.  The blinds had been pulled as well, blocking any view in or out.  A few hostages sobbed softly.

Their three captors were identically dressed, in black fatigues, bulky flak jackets and shiny black open-face helmets.  Dark plastic visors covered their faces past the cheekbones, and they wore gloves as well.  Their individuality was limited to their chins:  one white, one black, and one blond-bearded.  Each of them carried two pistols and a submachine gun.  The bearded one seemed to be the ringleader; at least, he was the one who had spoken with the police negotiator.  He spoke calmly, but there was malice in his voice.  "No, I'm not going to wait for you to call your supervisor," he told the voice at the other end of the line.  "I suspect he's out there already anyway, isn't he?  It's not an outlandish request.  Transportation to a plane, which will then take us to Mexico.  An hour is plenty of time for that, I think.  And if it isn't, we'll see how quickly you move when I begin shooting.  I'll shoot every last hostage in here.  Ta-ta."  With that, he hung up and turned to his companions.  "Looks like we've got an hour to kill.  No pun intended.  How do we pass the time, fellows?"  He slung his Uzi over one shoulder and clasped his hands behind his back, strolling among the huddled hostages.

Nikki watched him as best she could as he drew close, following him with her eyes.  She couldn't turn her head.  From somewhere beyond her field of vision, there was a thump and a groan as one of the hostages was kicked, apparently for sport.  She guessed that they were going to rob everyone.  And she was still carrying fifteen thousand dollars in cash.  Shit.  Nikki closed her eyes and listened to the feet moving to and fro on the floor.

She was wrong, though.  After some discussion, the robbers decided to force all of the women to strip.  Well, two of them wanted to.  "Haven't you always wanted to do that?" the clean-shaven one said.

"It don't serve any purpose, man."

"Screw purpose.  I like breasts."

Nikki kept her eyes closed as they selected their first "contestant."  She didn't care to have a visual of a woman's meek protests.  It didn't take long anyway.  The woman whimpered, the ringleader cocked his pistol menacingly, and their subsequent ugly laughter suggested that she was disrobing.

She felt a surge of mingled hatred and disgust, as much for the hostages as for the men with the guns.  Not a single one of them was willing to fight back, to try to stop this, to not be humiliated.  They'd lie passive on the floor if these men chose to walk around and shoot them one at a time.  Like sheep.

Nikki knew the attitude was more Taiisha's than her own, but it had leached into her so deeply that she wasn't sure where her own feelings began just right now.  Every last one of these hostages lying here with her was pathetic, groveling on the floor because scary-looking men were waving guns about.  Nobody wanted to be a hero, of course, but waiting around to be saved was little more than an excuse not to act.  The robbers were probably too chickenshit to actually shoot anyone--just as meek and herd-like in their own way as their captives.  Truly dangerous...Nikki had seen truly dangerous people.  Lived with them.  Fought them.  These guys were garbage, elevated only by superior weapons.  Someone had to call their bluff.

When they picked a second woman and made her start taking her clothes off--despite her two children lying prone at her feet--Nikki stood up.  "Stop this," she said.  Her voice was stronger and clearer than she expected it to be, and her eyes were on the bearded one.  "Stop this right now."

He looked down at her with a grin.  "No one told you to get up," he said.  "I think you'd better wait your turn."

If Nikki had expected any of the other hostages to stand with her, she had cast her lot with the wrong group.  She hadn't really expected any of them to get behind her anyway.  "Screw you," she said.  "Don't make anyone else do this."

"Screw me?" the ringleader laughed.  He pulled one of his pistols and pointed it at Nikki's face.  She could see herself reflected in his dark goggles.  "I think not.  Screw you."

He pulled the trigger.  Nikki's hands came up in an abortive defensive motion, and her head snapped back as the back of her skull was blasted out.  Already dead, she dropped to her knees as if to pray, her head lolling like a ragdoll's, and then she crumpled forward onto her face.