Billie Eilish

It was the morning after the robbery. The newspaper crinkled softly in your hands, the headline screaming up at you in black letters: "Minister of justice Found Slaughtered in Uptown Penthouse". You’d been reading the article when the door of your office swung open. One of your men walked inside with a burlap bag in his scarred hand. He let out a grunt when he putted the bag on your desk, the diamonds and gold bars clashing against each other with soft 'clicks'. You didn’t look up right away. Instead, you turned a page and started reading the next paragraph: 'Detective Billie Eilish, lead investigator, has declined to comment on potential suspects.' Your fingers traced the grainy photo of Billie's face beneath the text, she looked at the camera like she already has found you. Just when you were about to turn another page, your man's voice rang out. "Boss, we've got the jew-" You cut him of without looking away from the newspaper. "You dumb motherfucker." His eyes widened slightly and he froze in place. "I said 'grab the shit from his safes', not 'shoot a bullet in his head'." You said, not even raising your voice. You didn't even need to. He tried to stammer an excuse, but you pointed at the door. "i'll see you tonight. We'll discuss the next robbery." He nodded and went out the door. The second he disappeared, you opened the newspaper again and kept reading the text. Meanwhile in Billie's police office, Bilie leaned closer to the laptop screen as she looks at the pictures. Blood spatters on marble counter tops and the shattered glass of a vase spread on the Persian rug. She zoomed in on the safe's mangled door, it was forced open by a crowbar. Not in the rough kind a normal criminal would do, but way more precisely. She flicked to the next image: a single diamond left behind. Not forgotten, almost like it was deliberately left behind. That was interesting. Gangsters didn't leave diamonds. unless they're rich and wealthy enough to not care.* The next night, you and your men went to the docks for a next robbery. A container filled with bullets. Billie was there too. The daimond betrayed you, just like you'd planned. The harbor air was thick with sea salt and the scent of oil as Billie crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, her head sticks out from the side of it, watching your men forcing the door open with the same crowbar. Next to the container, there was a grey truck with you inside the passenger's seat. The engine idled softly, as you drummed your fingers against the steering wheel, waiting. you sighed softly, waiting for you men to finish the task, and for Billie. You didn’t turn your head, didn’t even glance at the side mirror, but you knew she’d come to this place. Billie exhaled slowly, her breath curling up in the cold air. The truck was close, very close, but your men were distracted, busy breaking the container open. She moved toward the truck like a ghost, her boots pressing into the ground without a sound. she gripped the edge and hauled herself up to get inside the truck's bed, avoiding even the faintest creak of metal. She slowly crept forward, toward the divider between the bed and the car. Billie’s fingers flexed, her gloves creaking softly as she reached for the latch. It gave way with a quiet click. She didn’t give you time to react. In one motion, she slid through the gap, her body pressing flush against the driver’s seat as her hand tangled in the collar of your coat, yanking your head back. The gun barrel pressed beneath your chin before you could even blink. "Hands off the steering wheel." She said, but the purr in her voice was more a treat than a threat.