2007-06-19: Target - Rich Environment



NPCs: Two Wells Fargo armored truck drivers and Angie the Petsmart store manager.

Summary: Lyndsay finds a target - rich environment.

Date It Happened: June 19th, 2007

Target - Rich Environment

Times Square, Manhattan, NYC

Ah, Times Square near midday. It's busy. Bustling, even. People come and go from the multitude of businesses in this part of Manhattan, shuttled about by yellow taxis and/or subways, then on foot. And they've got money too. One might well call it a target rich environment. Watches, money, jewelry, theatre tickets, other merchandise… And there are banks too.

Lyndsay is out and about. Bored, really. Which is never a good thing to be when you're a mind-controlling mutant menace. She's moving through the crowd, and literally tagging people because she's bored. "Excuse me, do you have the time? And give me your watch." A few steps further to a nicely dressed man. "Excuse me, could you spare a dollar? And all the rest of the money in your wallet." Bored, bored, bored. She's debating having people start a conga line across Times Square. Because it would be funny.

It's easy pickings, really, these initial targets. The first man looks at Lyndsay when she asks her question, then consults his watch to answer it, but seems to think a far better idea is to just hand it over so she can have the thing and always know without having to ask. Then he's on his way, thinking little of it. Maybe in his head he was just feeling generous at that moment in time. The second target, dressed like a Wall Street type, looks confused as he complies. Out comes the wallet, and he forks over five hundred dollars. As he resumes his travel, his head is shaking. "Why did I just do that?" But he did it just the same, and on he goes.

Traffic in the square is heavy. But one of the vehicles is an armored truck which pulls up to and parks in front of a bank.

Lyndsay blinks. Oh, -goodness-. Oh, that's big time. But at the same time, that's a lot of money. She considers it a couple moments, then starts to approach the armored truck.

Soon after the vehicle comes to a stop, one of the men gets out. He's dressed in a Wells Fargo uniform, with a gun in a holster strapped to one hip, and heading toward the bank. A sign on the building wall announces it as a branch of the Bank of America. People are passing by, large numbers of them moving back and forth. Most are in business suits, men and women alike, but others are tourists and less business-clad residents. The other man from the truck emerges from his side moments later and goes to stand near the vehicle's heavy doors in the back.

The gothling approaches. Geez…this is risky even for her. Guns are no fun. She'll happily let the one with the gun go inside, though. That's one less she has to worry about. Lyndsay smiles as she gets vaguely close, and says "So tell me…was it just the two of you in there?" She nods to the armored truck.

"Yes," he answers, verifying standard procedure. But he's also wary of people being close when operations are underway, and watches her carefully. One hand rests near the gun he carries, ready to use it if needed, but not behaving in a threatening way. "You need to move along, Miss." He's a big one, nearly six feet four inches tall and looking like he might've played linebacker sometime in his past. The company he works for likes them that way. Intimidating people make security easier, after all.

Lyndsay smiles sweetly at him. "Oh, you don't need to worry about me. You can trust me." She waits till she sees some sign of actually relaxing before closing, though. She learned at least one lesson from Jane. If it's important? Couch it as normal speech. That way if it DOESN'T work, you're still okay.

He seems to relax somewhat, but is still watching her a little. Most of his attention, though, goes to checking out the bank entrance. His partner should be coming out shortly with bags of money, and after all he can just chase Lyndsay off before opening the doors. She doesn't seem threatening to him, there's no evidence of weapons or backup waiting to take advantage of her distraction.

Lyndsay grumbles to herself. No good luck. It's not worth pushing it and getting shot. The money would be nice…but no amount of money beats continuing to breathe. The goth turns to head off. Easier marks another day.

Moments later, as Lyndsay is heading away from the truck, that partner emerges from the bank with several heavy bags of money. Some of it is cash, some of it coins, if the apparent weight of them is any indicator. The waiting man opens the doors, they do the ritual of placing the bags inside and both verifying what they took on by signature. While this is going on, a twenty-something blonde makes her way toward the bank entrance and passes near the gothling. Her clothing indicates she works at one of the local merchants, a place that clothes people in pants other than jeans and golf shirts with a logo. PetSmart, in this case. Her left hand holds one of those canvas pouches with the bank's logo, the sort used to carry deposits there.

Lyndsay smiles. There. Easier marks indeed. She looks to the blonde. "Hi there!" she moves to intercept. "Stephanie, right? From the party?" Lying out her butt, of course, but she just needs an excuse.

The woman looks over one shoulder, then the other, to see if someone behind her is being addressed. It would seem her name isn't Stephanie, and she wants to be sure Lyndsay does actually mean her before answering. "I don't remember meeting you," she finally replies. Seen up close, her name tag declares she's Angie, the manager. "But parties are like that. Might've missed you." And she's moving to continue on her way, got to get inside and make the deposit.

Lyndsay gets a better look at the nametag, lips quirking in a smile. "Oh, don't go anywhere Angie. I'm your best friend." At worse, chalkable up to being weird, not to being a mind-controller.

Her brows furrow at the words spoken to her, and Angie stares at this person. "Best friend? What? Who the hell are you, anyway?" But she's perhaps not the brightest bulb in the lamp because instead of continuing on into the bank and carrying out her depositary task, she stands there and waits to get an answer.

Lyndsay is getting vexed. She's having a ROTTEN couple weeks, and this isn't helping. "Look…just hand over the bag and forget all this."

Without a word, Angie's hand holds the bag out to be taken. She blinks a time or two while doing so.

Lyndsay takes the bag. "Finally. Yeesh." And having it, and not wanting to answer any questions, she turns to bolt off with her ill-gotten gains in tow.

The bag, it will turn out when Lyndsay opens it, holds perhaps three thousand five hundred dollars in cash and a bit more in checks prepared for deposit to the store's bank account. All told, the value of its contents is around four thousand five hundred dollars. As Lyndsay departs, Angie is left standing there bewildered. It takes her a moment or three to catch her bearings, and realize not only is the money gone but she can't remember what happened. A report is made to the police of the robbery, she believes she was bumped into and relieved of it in a crowd, with no sighting of who did the theft. But, sadly for her, bank security cameras captured a clear image of her outside handing it over to a young woman with a gothlike appearance. By five that afternoon she's charged with theft, arrested, and held at Riker's.

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