“I said I’ll tell you everything I knew,” says Glory. She’s pale and dull. “I am.”

“Then let’s start with their names.”

“Never knew them,” Glory repeats. “Angel, Faith, Charity and Clementine? Google those, dipshit.”

“Relax, Glory,” says McNamara. “Officer Pujols is a little overeager. You want a cigarette?” Her eyes are a warm hazel.

“If I can put it out in your face,” says Glory, in the same tone. “Just ask me the questions, you fucking sow.” She keeps her hands in her lap, one in the other.

“There’s a… a diner down the block,” Faith says, squinting. “I bet they have one of those machines in the restroom.”

“Good call. You guys want to wait at the corner?”

“Yeah. Need some change?” says Charity, digging in a pocket.

Angel laughs. “I won all your money last night, remember?”

Inside, she ducks back toward LADS ‘N’ LASSES. She unhooks the payphone, drops in Charity’s fifty cents and dials. She counts to five and hangs up.

“You’re wasting time,” mutters Clementine.

“Not every day–” says Faith, turning, and the teller swings an awkward punch.

“HEY!” snaps Angel.

“You fucking,” snarls Faith, but her shot’s wild. He grabs his hand and screams. Sudden blood, noise and the drop men walk in. 7:49–they’re early. Two long duffels on a dolly.

Faith feels Angel tackling her behind the counter just as she registers their guns. Why do they have guns? Something’s wrong. She knows, then, that they won’t be alone.

In the lobby, Glory flips on the old incandescent sign, the bank’s public all-clear signal. She unlocks the door. There’s a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s only twenty of, Glory,” frowns her boss. “We don’t open until the Palms boys make their drop, remember?”

Glory smiles.

Then they’re in. Faith hits the guard in the throat. Charity shoots out the cameras. Angel and Clementine cover the tellers, caught in shock near the door.

“Nobody touch anything,” Glory purrs.

“There’s still Vaseline in my eyebrows.” Angel grimaces and raises a dime.

“No,” says Glory, “they just feel weird afterward. I’ve made a million of these, they’re perfect for the job. They’ll melt in water.”

“And I won’t have pantyhose over my eyes,” says Charity. “See a quarter, raise a quarter, call.”

Angel drops queens over eights.

“You weren’t bluffing!” Charity stares. “You had to be–”

“Nobody sees through this, sweetie.” Angel grins and rakes in the change.