The Last Customer (7 page)

Over the course of the first few months he’d given her everything that he could, which wasn’t much. He earned his living
off of
robbing people. Once in a while, he landed an odd job. He didn’t want her to work, he could be sweet like that and when they made love it was gentle
;
mostly. When money was tight or non-existent and stress levels were high, he would drink heavy and slap her around. Once in a great while, he would punch her. He always apologized, sometimes he’d even cry and Cherri knew that he loved her. He didn’t mean to hit her. He felt awful about hitting her.

How could he possibly be such a bad guy
?

He lacked self-control. He couldn’t help it and he punished himself for abusing her. He would cut himself with razors or sharp knives. Usually he would slice into his shoulders and arms, but sometimes he’d cut his legs. The pain settled him.

           
Now, cramped in the truck between Terrance and Timmy, Cherri’s eyes drooped. Her head bobbled to the side. She rested near Timmy’s shoulder and soon she dreamed of a normal life
;
a boring life with a small house and a cat. Maybe, in this dream, she could have a secretarial job in an office and Timmy could work at a mechanic shop. They could reside in a small town where they could live easy.

3

Terrance was startled awake. The late night wind had gone from soothing to chilly. He looked out the passenger side window. There wasn’t a car in sight. They were turning into a gas station—no, it was a liquor store.

Timmy tapped the brakes, slowing the truck down. They turned right. Terrance rubbed his eyes with his fists. Light gleamed in through the windshield. A green neon sign blared from above. Looking out the back window, then the front, Terrance saw cornfields, road, and the store. The neon sign read ‘Buggy’s Liquor.’ Beyond the store, past an acre of cornfield, there was a small farmhouse resting on top of the hill, all the windows were dark.

Sitting up, Terrance turned to Cherri. She too was awake and stared at the store.

Timmy meant to rob the place. Terrance knew it and he was excited. They were running low on cash and the store was more than ideal, it was perfect. It was far away from everything and anything. It was too rural for a fast reaction force from the local police. They could take their time. Terrance and Timmy had knocked off enough liquor stores to know that the only real security in a place like this was the infamous gun that always and stereotypically rested beneath the cash register.

           
“You want to stop and scope it out, or just rush it?” Terrance asked. He slowly crooned his head toward Timmy. Terrance rubbed his hands together, successively.

           
“I say we rush it. Cherri was right, they’re about to close. We’ll be the last customers, grab what we need, tie up the clerk, and take off. The morning clerk will let them go. We’ll be well past the state line by then and no one gets hurt.”

           
“Sounds like a plan.” Terrance said. He leaned forward and retrieved his nine millimeter pistol. It was stuffed below his belt loop. He slid the chamber open and made sure it was loaded. He set it on his lap and flipped the safety off.

           
“I don’t want to do this.” Cherri chimed in.

           
Terrance wondered why Timmy was so in love with Cherri. It was obvious that she wouldn’t continue with this lifestyle and this lifestyle was Timmy’s destiny, it was all he knew. If Timmy really loved Cherri—as much as he said that he did—then he should leave her. In the big scheme of things, leaving her was the most unselfish act that Timmy could perform. He could leave her on the side of a road in some offbeat Podunk town. Maybe she would find a job. She could make a little life for herself. As for Terrance, he was living his dream, his destiny.

Terrance had grown up privileged. He’d always been given everything he wanted; money, cars, girls, but he didn’t want any of it. The thrill of crime got him off—it fit him. He loved it and he was good at it. The underworld fascinated him, luring his desires and capturing him. Nothing was more exciting than the rush of a robbery. The energy that pumped through his veins when a police chase was involved felt better than any orgasm. Crime was his drug of choice. It made life worth living.

           
The truck slid into the last parking spot near the back of the liquor store. Terrance jumped out of the passenger seat. He stomped toward the front door...gun in hand. Timmy walked to the right of him, shotgun at the ready.

A smile stretched across Terrance’s lips.

Timmy and Terrance pulled the glass doors open and slid into the store.

Part 3: The Robbery

Chapter 6

1

The store was quiet. It was calm, almost
too
calm. Winny finished mopping the bathroom floor, pushed the bucket toward the far wall and emptied the dirty water. The bucket rested on the white plastic drain cover, which prevented water from splashing onto the floor.

Up front, the electronic buzzer chirped letting him know someone had entered. Garth’s voice rang out as he announced the new customer.

           
“You’re the last customer of the night. Congratulations. Try
and
make it quick, will yah? I have a six pack of cold beer waiting at home.” Garth called out.

           
Winny hated it when Garth rushed the customers. Winny’s theory was that if you rushed the customer, they didn’t take their time inspecting the goods. If they didn’t take their time, then they didn’t buy stuff and then no one made any money. Added to which, the lack of charm, could, in theory, prevent new customers from returning.

           
Winny set his mop next to the neatly stacked cases of Diet Coke. He pushed the bathroom door open and made his way into the store area.

He stopped dead in his tracks. He looked forward. A large man with a thick beard was pressing the barrel of a shotgun against Garth’s chest.

Suddenly, someone screamed at Winny, “Get on the ground motherfucker!”

Standing near the front of the store, a muscular black guy held a nine millimeter pistol.

           
“We don’t want any problems.” Winny pleaded. He looked to Garth. “Garth, give him the money.”

           
Although there was a gun pressed against his chest, Garth looked annoyed. He was aggravated with Winny for suggesting that they give in to the gunman’s request, but there wasn’t another choice. If they disagreed with these people, they might end up dead. Never, in the history of the store’s existence had Winny or Garth been robbed—never at gunpoint. Their father had been robbed. A few of the employees had too, but never anything this serious. Those robberies were more like extreme shoplifting. The standard operating procedure was to give the assailant all of the money. Buggy Gasper preached that life was more important than a couple of bucks. And right now, Winny was afraid that the gunman would shoot his brother. The cold realization that Garth might get shot and meet his demise sank in like sharp hooks.
Garth couldn’t die.
That would be more than Winny could bear. The thought of his brother dying, hurt. It felt like metal flakes were blowing through his stomach. Quickly, he tried to dismiss idea.

Winny felt faint.

           
The black man holding the pistol skipped toward him.

Instinctively, Winny raised his arms above his head and waved his hands in surrender.

           
“
Ain’t
nobody
need
to get hurt here. You understand? Now, fork over your cell phones.” The black man hollered.

           
Garth rolled his eyes as he pulled his black flip-top cell phone from his jeans pocket and tossed it in the air. The bearded man caught it, removed the battery, dropped the phone, and stomped it into smaller pieces.

           
The black man took Winny’s cell phone and slammed it on the floor. It broke, neatly.

           
“Yes, we understand. I assure you that neither of us will be a problem. So please, don’t hurt us. There’s a couple hundred in the register and another thousand in the safe.” Winny said. He sounded much cooler than he felt. The wet surface of his palms was icy. The beads of sweat threatening to tumble down his face expanded and grew heavy. He wasn’t shaking, but he quaked on the inside. His vision was becoming hazy and the front of his head began to pound.

           
“I’m not giving him what’s in the safe.” Garth called out in a cold tone. “Take the money from the register and get out.”

           
The large bearded man jammed his shotgun into Garth’s chest again. Garth jumped back.

           
“This
ain’t
my first rodeo,
dickweed
and this boom-stick is ready to go…boom!” The bearded man cried out. A maniacal grin swept his face. His teeth sparkled beneath his beard as he raised his shotgun.

           
The black man weaved behind the counter. Something from the parking lot caught his eye. The large man with the shotgun looked out the window.

           
The doorbell chimed. A girl with silky red hair walked in. Her neatly lined jaw descended into a beautifully slim angle. Her complexion was slightly tan, different for a redhead. He didn’t see any freckles on her face. She looked to the large bearded man and commanded, “Someone’s coming. They came out of the cornfield. A guy and girl…I think they’re together.”

           
Winny hadn’t the slightest idea why anybody would be in the cornfield at this time of night. Then he saw their silhouettes. They bobbed forward, walking hand in hand through the parking lot. They were halfway to the door.

           
The large man leaned in toward Garth. He whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “If you let-on to what’s going down in here…I’ll start blasting away at everything, anything, and anyone.” He pointed to Winny. “You’re friend gets it first. Then I’ll shoot you in the kneecaps and hands. It’ll hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and it’ll cripple you for life. Got it?”

           
Garth turned to Winny with a cockeyed, arrogant, glance, and nodded.

           
“I’ll keep my trap shut.” Garth said.

           
“Good,” the large man finished. He placed his shotgun behind his back. He turned and walked down the hygiene aisle. He stopped in the back corner. He fingered a few toothbrushes and picked up a bottle of mouthwash. He tried to look inconspicuous.

           
Winny found it curious that the robber took interest in the hygiene products. After the bearded man picked up the toothbrush and mouthwash, he made his way over to the deodorant. Strangely, Winny wondered if his selection of deodorant was sufficient.

What kind of anti-
perspirant
did the typical armed robber wear?

Maybe he could call his supplier and have them drop off a few more brands. As of now, they only carried travel-size,
Speedstick
.

Maybe the customers would like Old Spice or Brut?

           
The doorbell chimed as the couple entered the store. Guilt swept Winny. The nice looking young couple had just walked into serious danger and all Winny could think about was making a few bucks by broadening the selection of underarm deodorant.

           
The young man with shaggy brown hair walked toward the glass cooler. He stopped near the Gatorade and opened the slim see-through-door. He fingered the fruit punch bottle and then dipped his hand down to the grape flavor. He pulled it from the plastic rack. He tossed the bottle in the air, spun it, and caught it.

           
“There
ain’t
nothing like a grape Gatorade to refill those depleted electrolytes—you have to drink a bottle of water afterward though, or it’ll just dehydrate you from all the sugars,” the attractive young man said, smiling, as he slowly made his way over to the next glass cooler that encased the bottled water.

           
Winny watched the good looking blonde woman make her way toward the wine racks. She picked up a bottle of chardonnay. When she bent down, Winny couldn’t help but watch the way her backside creased in her jeans. She wasn’t too thin. She had a nice bump in her rump.

           
Stop.

Winny looked at the large man holding the shotgun behind his back. He took position near the restrooms. He was fidgeting. The sweat on his forehead gleamed under the bright fluorescent lights.

           
The black man stood near the back, left, corner of the liquor store. He stood parallel to the larger man. The black man wasn’t sweating at all. In fact, his curled lips suggested that he was holding back a smile. He looked as though he were enjoying the intensity of this situation. The red-head looked nauseated. Winny found it odd that he was attracted to her. She clearly came into the store as an aid to the robbers.
She must be some kind of a lookout.
Still, there was something very attractive about her. The way her face drooped was saddening, yet mysterious and sexy. Her features were stunning. The excitement of life didn’t shine behind her beautiful face, but that didn’t matter, she was beautiful.

           
Winny turned to Garth. He heard a stack of papers shuffle behind the cash register.
Garth was going for his gun.
He kept it hidden beneath the register. It was in the knick-knack drawer behind the plastic scissors.

Tiny bulbs of sweat beaded up beneath the skin of Winny’s forehead. His cheeks were burning. He tried to shake his head but couldn’t, he was frozen.