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The fountain in front of her was loud, but not quite loud enough to overshadow the argument a mother was having with her adolescent daughter about thirty feet to Natasha’s right. She popped her bubblegum and listened to the teenager scream. This girl really wanted her ears pierced. Or . . . ? Oh. Not her ears.
Natasha didn’t think that eyebrow piercings were even “in” anymore.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. James had been insistent that the man they’d been looking for was working undercover as a manager in this specific Macy’s, in this exact mall in the rust belt, the exact Middle of Nowhere, U.S.A. Natasha was beginning to suspect that he’d just wanted an excuse to slip into a Hot Topic when he thought she wasn’t looking. Cheap eyeliner or no, that store is nothing like it used to be.
The Macy’s was an anchor store, fairly large, two stories. She was sitting with her back to the entrance of the second floor, facing the large open center of the mall. Complete with midcentury fountain. Immediately to the left was a small family shop - Rogers’ Jewellers, apostrophe after the S.
She took a picture and sent off a few texts. Sharon responded instantly with the laugh-cry emoji, followed by a second message that just read No. Steve took a minute longer to reply: Don’t give her any ideas.
Checking the time again, she saw it’d been nearly half an hour. James had only been cleared to get visual confirmation and get out. Her only hope that he hadn’t accidentally-on-purpose started a gunfight was that she hadn’t heard any shots. Yet.
The mother and daughter were still screaming. Daughter had conceded that a lip ring would be just as cool; Mother was threatening to rip it out if she even thinks about it.
Natasha stretched and cracked her knuckles. Stakeouts were always too tedious, she just wanted to get up and move. She rolled her head around, sparing a glance over her shoulder, and mentally willed James to hurry the fuck up.
Ah, there he was. Walking very quickly towards her, with a shopping bag in his hand and different clothes that he’d gone in with. They’d gone for “casual Midwest” - jeans, tshirts, flannel because it was September but not quite cold enough for a jacket, they’d bickered and she’d ended up with the beanie - but now he sported slacks, a tie. And the best part, a sweater vest.
She raised her phone to take another picture. It was pure blackmail, she could read on his face how much he hated it.
“Don’t you dare,” He hissed, standing behind the couch and hurriedly taking something dark of the bag.
“You took the time for a Windsor?” She grinned. Click.
“Put this on, don’t ask, just grabbed it off the rack.”
It’s a coat. Dark red-brown, motorcycle cut, high fashion. Well, as high as one can get at Macy’s.
“You didn’t pay for this, did you?”
James scoffs at her and rolls his eyes, “I’m a professional.”
“Yes, you look very professional.” She purrs, untying the flannel from her waist, pulling off the beanie, and securing her hair in a high, tight ponytail. Slips on the coat - quilted on the inside, something heavy in the front left pocket, “James-”
“These too.” He says and offers a pair of plain black flats.
Oh. So they’re going to be running.
Natasha slips them on and they’re on their way out in seconds. Walking briskly but not suspiciously quick, just a young couple finished with their shopping for the day.
“James, you want to tell me what happened?”
“Ran into some friends,” He throws his arm around her shoulder, fakes a smile and a laugh for the security guard passing on their left. Then he lowers his voice, “Had the payload with him. Saw an opportunity, skipped right to the end.”
As they walk out into the parking lot, she smacks him on the chest. It looks like a lover’s spat, but she means it. “You never leave anything fun for me to do.”
“Of course I do,” James says, wounded, but lets her go so she can unlock the car, “You get to decrypt the drive.”