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“And you’re sure?” Jax bit his lip.
“Sure as hell, Mister Jackson,” Rip grinned at the team, “the device is in the back of his minivan.”
They had tracked Vandal Savage to the early 90s, they had tracked down the one man working for him that held the device, and they had tracked that man to this very diner just off the interstate.
The device itself was a harmless yet innovative piece of technology, a prototype model for a highly condensed solar cell, able to absorb great portions of the sun’s energy and store it more efficiently than anything before it had even come close to accomplishing. The problem was that in Savage’s hands it would become the new power source for his ongoing pit for world domination, feeding his great war-machine and bringing an end to humanity as they knew it. Obviously.
His agent, the man who stole the cell from the laboratory where it had been developed, did not know this. All he was tasked to do was bring it back to his master, which he was doing of course, but not without the modern commodities and conveniences of long distance road travel in America – stopping every few hundred miles for a Big Belly Burger and a steaming cup of java. And he had, in his infinite wisdom, left the device locked inside the trunk of his minivan.
“So all we have to do,” Rip continued, thumping his fist on the aluminium side panel of the van they had hired, “is break into his car and steal it. I can’t say that would be too much of a difficult feat, eh Jax?”
“Well I mean, sure, breaking in to one of Vandal Savage’s men’s car, that ain’t gonna be hard,” Jax raised his eyebrows, “but man, its broad daylight. And that diner looks pretty full. For starters, how do we know he won’t just waltz right out as I’m smashing through his window, huh? Or what about all those other people? Anyone could see me! And call the cops.”
Stein, Mick, Sara and Kendra were back at the Waverider, twiddling their thumbs and waiting for the call for backup. That left Rip, Jax, Snart and Ray all crouched awkwardly in the back of the rental, peering through the grimy back window at the packed parking lot.
Snart rolled his eyes, “so we need a distraction.”
“What do you suggest, Mister Snart?” Rip was gripping the perishing rubber sealant around the window, eyes darting between the door of the diner and the minivan, parked a few spaces away.
“Simple. We rob the diner.”
“Wait, you mean like in Pulp Fiction?” Ray’s eyes were wide as he looked between Snart and Rip with that puppy-like grin plastered across his face, barely keeping the excitement out of his voice.
“Exactly like in Pulp Fiction,” Len said with a thin smile.
Ray and Len were sitting in a window booth, a plate of pancakes between them. Len had one foot up on the seat next to him and he was examining his nails. Ray, on the other hand, was gripping knife and fork with enthusiasm, that stupid grin still plastered all over his face. He gave Len an encouraging look.
Sighing, Len held up his empty coffee cup to the waitress. “Garçon! Coffee!” he flicked his eyes up to meet Ray’s, another sigh accompanied by an eye roll as Ray silently prompted him to continue. “This place.”
The waitress approached and refilled his cup, glaring at them both from behind her glasses, muttering under her breath something that sounded, to Ray’s ears at least, beautifully along the lines of “'Garçon’ means boy.”
Snart let his eyes follow her as she left, apathetically taking in the curves of her hips and ass picked out by the stained apron she wore over her dress, before turning back to Ray. Ray looked around with feigned disdain, putting a little too much effort into poking his finger at the table between them.
“This place? A coffee shop?” Ray was still grinning.
“What’s wrong with that?” Snart clasped his hands together, closing his eyes, “no-one ever robs restaurants. Why not?” Ray gave his most quizzical look and Len fixed him with an amused stare. “Bars, liquor stores, gas stations. You’ll get your head blown off sticking up one of them. Restaurants, on the other hand, you catch with their pants down. They’re not expecting to get robbed. Not as expecting anyway.”
“I bet you could cut down on the hero factor in a place like this,” Ray lowered his voice, tilting his head to the side.
“Correct. Same as banks, these places are insured. Manager: he don’t give a fuck. He’s trying to get you out the door before you start plugging the diners. Waitresses? Fucking forget it. No way are they going to take a bullet for the register. Bus boys? Some wet-back, getting paid dollar-fifty-an-hour, really give a fuck you’re stealing from the owner? Customers sitting there with food in their mouths, and they don’t know what’s going on. One minute they’re having a Denver omelette, the next someone’s sticking a gun in their face.” Len flicked his eyes shut for a brief moment, eyelashes fluttering on his cheek as he inhaled, forming his next line perfectly on his lips. “See, I got the idea the last liquor store we stuck up, remember? All the customers kept coming in,” Snart’s mouth pulled into his signature thin, deadly smile, his eyes narrowing maliciously.
“Yeah,” Ray took a bite of pancake.
“You got the idea of taking their wallets. Now that was a good idea.”
“Thank you.”
“We made more from the wallets than we did from the register,” Len kept his gaze steady, drumming the fingers of one hand against the table-top.
“Yes we did,” Ray nodded in agreement, putting down his cutlery with a clink.
Snart eyed him nefariously. “A lot of people come to restaurants.”
Ray gave his best despicable look in return. “A lot of wallets.”
“Pretty smart, huh?”
“Pretty smart,” Ray ginned, a little manically, and Len returned his smile. “I’m ready, let’s do it. Right now, right here. Come on.”
Snart knew it was all an act, but the way Ray said the words did something to him. It was almost sexual. The very thought of Raymond jamming a gun against the back of someone’s head and forcing them to give over their valuables sent blood rushing to places that, in the middle of a stick up in the middle of a mission, were not exactly appreciated. It was a thought to be banked for later, however, when he had the time to really explore the possibilities. Part of him wished that he’d known Ray twenty years ago when he was sticking up liquor stores for real; the obvious re-enactment aside, he was sure Raymond would have been a treat to have around.
“Alright. Same as last time remember, you’re crowd control,” Snart un-holstered his Cold Gun from his hip, slapping it on the table in front of Ray, “I handle employees.”
Face a picture of enthusiasm, like a little kid at a fairground, Ray leant forward across the table. Snart cupped the man’s cheek in his left, gun free, hand and kissed him. Their lips met softly at first, then firmly, Ray’s exuberance translating from nervous energy into deep, passionate kissing lead by a daring tongue licking into Snart’s mouth and pushing as far back as it would go. Len didn’t fight it, instead relaxing into the kiss and letting Ray have his way just this once. They were about to threaten a large number of innocent citizens, after all, and he’d be able to get his own back after they were safely aboard the Waverider.
When they broke Ray was a little red faced but beaming, his eyes glinting as he made sure to enunciate his next words with care.
“I love you, Pumpkin.”
It was part of the script, Snart knew, but that didn’t stop the words hitting him in the chest like a sledgehammer. He felt his cheeks twitch as a real, genuine smile broke out on his face, uncontrollable. He let his poorly concealed happiness escape further, feeling it reverberate in his voice as he returned the words honestly.
“I love you, Honey Bunny.”
With a wink, Snart snatched the Cold Gun from the table top and hopped up onto the seat of the booth, holding the weapon high in the air above him. Not shouting, but projecting his voice so that he could be heard above the chatter and clinking of cutlery, he spoke clearly:
“Everybody be cool, this is robbery.”
As one, the heads of staff and customers alike turned, staring at him in startled disbelief.
Palms sweating with nerves mixed with exhilaration, Ray pulled the handgun from the holster on his hip and stood. Gripping the firearm tightly, he swung the muzzle across the diner, making sure that every single patron knew exactly what was headed their way if they didn’t cooperate. He sucked in a breath.
This was it, go time.
His yell was at least three times louder than Snart, his pitch higher than even he was anticipating, but it felt so good.
“ANY OF YOU FUCKING PRICKS MOVE, AND I'LL EXECUTE EVERY MOTHERFUCKING LAST ONE OF YA!”