“Hey! I just had a crazy thought. What if...?”
“There isn't time for your damn stories!” Sophie shouts to me without a pause.
Dozens of cops cock their weapons in a metallic chorus. I guess they don't like hearing the word 'crazy'.
“I mean, what if this is just a dream?” I answer and swing my pistol toward a cop moving on my left. He shys back behind a cruiser.
This is a standoff.
The plan was flawless and it didn't work. We are back to back, shouldering heavy satchels of gold bullion, on the steps of the Royal Canadian Bank in the busy centre of Toronto. The whole city core is shut down and helicopters buzz noisily overhead.
“If this is a dream then you better pinch me because I don't like the way it's going!”
I realise that she is right. The bright morning ligtht reflects off something on the rooftop opposite. I look up in time to see movement. A sniper has moved into position.
Then the idea hits me. We are surrounded by police cars. Why not just take one?
“Sophie,” I say, trying to sound upbeat, “we're gonna take a cruiser and go. Stay close and move with me down the steps to the left.” She responds affirmatively, low and tense.
It is only 5 yards to the nearest vehicle. Step by dangerous step, we draw closer to the car and and two cops sheltered behind it.
When I notice him concealed behind a nearby pillar it is already too late to change plans. The sharp shooter is aiming at my upper body. I look on and he nods, receiving the whispered order in his earpiece. Time is up.
I cry out to Sophie for cover and shift my aim upwards but the heavy satchel causes my movement to be sluggish. I squeeze off a poorly aimed shot and then all hell breaks loose.
My mind registers the sudden eruption of guns all around me. Our bodies begin to do a staccato dance on the building steps. Sophie is the first to fall. Her arms fly out as she embraces infinity and then topples over. The satchel slips from her shoulder and, with the heavy sound of gold bars, clatters to the foot of the stairs. A second later, a bullet pierces my neck and a warm spurt of darkness envelops me.
I awake with a start to the sound of gunfire and the smell of powder in my nose. The two canvas satchels lie misshapen in the corner of the hotel room.
“Sophie! I just had a dream that it didn't work out; that it turned into a standoff!”
She stirs, awakening slowly, and gazes back at me.
“Well, it either did or we're dead.” Then she smiles and winks. “Com'ere lover. We're rich.”

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many thanks to erica3 and alleen who commented on a draft of this.