Countin’ up the money that night in my dingy little hotel room, jumpin’ at every shadow and noise, I knowed I got lucky, an’ I wasn’t like to get that lucky again. If I was gonna keep the money rollin’ in, I couldn’t do a one-man-band, I’d have to have a crew to do the work with.

I was pretty happy with the take; I’d gotten more than I wanted in the end. That bag held over $180,000 altogether, enough to pay off the house and set myself up somewhere’s else real, real nice. It was a big jump, I know'd it, goin' from performin' and watressin' to robbin' banks. I hear yuh on that, for sure. Why'd I makke that jump? Today, well, I was mad at banks in general a'for what they were doin' to my house, and all I had left to remember my daddy by. But I didn't wanna hurt Mr. Wilson at our bank in town, so goin' after the big boys seemed the next best thing to do.

I blew back to town, back home the next day carrying my clothes and the cash in a separate suitcase- not a brand new one, mind you; I found a second-hand store one that worked just fine. I’d read how one o’ Pretty Boy’s crew had gotten tagged for buying a brand new car right after a job, and the feds had nabbed him and just about every member of his gang right after. So, if anyone was to look at me, they wouldn’t see nothing different. Just a country girl taking a little holiday in the city after having a rough time in her life, and on her way back home after it was done.

I paid off the mortgage when I got back. Mr. Wilson at the bank in town was actually more ‘n happy for me. Today, someone coming in with a big stack of cash and putting it into your account would set off all kinds of alarm bells. But back then, remember there was a depression on. The banks was havin’ trouble payin’ their bills same as the rest of us. Mr. Wilson had always been nice to me, even when I was a little girl. And in went I went with a cockamamie story about how I’d gotten Daddy’s money back and then some from Ma, he was only too happy to belive I’d done it all legal like.

So, our rickety old house was saved. By then I’d started to look at it more an more like most people saw a summer home they did vacations in, and that was alright. I lived there, paid the bills there, but the money I had was gonna run out one day and I knew it.

And I’m old enough now that I can say it and not fool myself: I coulda made enough to live on being a waitress at the diner or even as a secretary at one of the businesses that still ran in town. But after the circus and robbing a bank? The very idea made my poor li’l stomach churn.

But as I said, I knew I’d gotten lucky, real lucky the first time through. I didn’t want to roll the dice again, not when snake-eyes meant I’d be sitting in an eight-by-ten cell for twenty years.

So I had to get a crew.

They started talking about me in the papers, calling me ‘Calamity Jane’ after some gunslinger lady in the history books. Fine by me. But then they started talking about others; a fella who flew on wings, another who could hypnotize folks in seconds flat, and another who could melt stuff with his eyes.

And then there was the Snowman.

I can’t rightly say now why I found the little fella so cute, then sweet, then my heart just fell for him. I’d told myself I wanted someone rugged, a man’s man, a cowboy who could punch a steer between the eyes before breakfast and light a Marlboro for an after dinner snack.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

But when I saw Mitch- well, for me it was all over after the first few seconds. Now, years later, I knew it was the little girl in me lookin’ for my Daddy all over again. Someone who was kind, slim, a little foolish, and great with gadgets. Mitch was someone I coulda maybe settled down with, if’n he’d growed up some more and gotten a pair. But he was only, what, sixteen and I was two or three years older’n him? Not a chance, really.

But it was good while it lasted. As I said, I’d had a few beaux by then. But in truth he was the first man I ever kissed for real, and I was his first gal. Things don’t get better than that, even if we was livin’ in an old subway car at the time.

But time went on. The last bank job went bad and we scattered. Things were movin’ that way anyways for us, even if Mitch and Monty couldn’t see it. I tried to look him up later, ‘way later, but recall it was the dawn of the 50s. there was no way to find folks if you didn’t have a ton of skills and spare time to go with it.

Plus, I found better ways to make money.

TV had been around for a few years already, and Barbie was selling like anything. So were soldiers with arms and legs that moved- even little kids from families with no money had a bunch of them. Ace introduced me to a fella named Eddie from Vegas came up to me, knowin’ who I was [it’s a long story for a different day], and asked if I wanted to get on board with Ace’s whole line of figures. We all could go into business together. He’d make the dolls, I just hadda say they were good enough and maybe do a commercial or two.

An’ they sold.

Most of the girls still bought Barbie- can’t change that, though gals like that crazy bitch The Feminist sure tried- and the bitch is still trying, though now she teaches at Yale instead of doin' the supervillain thing. But the boys bought it, and the other dolls too- sorry, action figures. Well, words mean things, so they say. Later, when I walked in on Ace and Blackjack doin’ their thing, I had enough leverage to get Ace to buy me out. Soon I was pushin’ my own line, learnin’ the business from Eddie, an' soon Eddie decided he liked workin’ with me better than Ace.

Later, much, much later, after the doll-figures slowed down a bit, Eddie had a different idea. “Jane,” he says, “you’re a fine figure of a lady, even though you’re good ways past sixty, you’ve taken such good care of yerself that you look like you’re only pushin’ fifty. Jane Fonda and a few other gals are doin’ these exercise videos; wanna get a piece of the action?”

Sure, why not? I felt silly, but the money sure was real, real good. I traded in my bluejeans for a set of tights and leg-warmers, did my thing and those sold real good, too, for the next few years or so.

And then I met someone else through Eddie.

He told me his name was Smith. I never worried much about it, or him. Eddie brought him by for a business meeting and he just sat there, a long face and no expression, short white haircut and a dark suit. Wrinkles all over his face- looked like a roadmap, some of ‘em were so deep.

He was sitting at the table where Eddie and I had our usual morning meeting, where we’d go over what we hadda do that day. “I don’t b’lieve I’ve had the pleasure,” I said, sticking out my hand.

He didn’t shake it.

“Uh, Jane,” Eddie said. He wasn’t sweating, but his voice was. You could hear it. I’d seen Eddie stare down billionaires without blinking, but this guy had him rattled somehow. “Jane, this is Smith. He’s a . . . a potential investor. He just wanted to meet with you and see if we’d be a good fit for him and his people.”

Smith looked at me like I was a horse moseying on by on a dirt road. I might be a distraction, but I wasn’t interesting.

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TO BE CONTINUED...