“Are you insane? Any minute that kid’s going to blow our brains out and you’re lecturing me on patience? Is that all you’re worried about?”
“Perhaps not the only thing.”
“Well, good. Now will you please cooperate so we’ll have a chance of getting out of this alive.”
He felt an urge to slap this woman across the mouth, but fought it off.
“Either way he’s going to shoot us,” he said. “So why do you want to deny me a little fun in the last minutes of my life?”
“My God, you’re insane.”
“As the day is long,” he said, smiling.
They could hear the kid returning, so the woman lay back down on the floor. When the kid came in, he looked agitated.
“There’s only seventy-five dollars in the cash drawer. Where’s the rest of the money?”
“Told you so,” Mr Sly said.
“Shut up.” The kid motioned with his gun to the Indian girl. “Get up and open the safe.”
“I’m not sure I can open it,” the girl said, rising to her feet. Tears dampened her delicate brown face. Now Mr Sly liked her. He loved the diamond stud in her nose and the way her small breasts pushed against her Quik Stop T-shirt. She displayed an intoxicating blend of terror and submission. In the end, these were the ones that really fought back or at least took some dignity in suffering.
“Just relax and give it a try,” Mr Sly said.
“Did I ask you for any help?” the kid said.
“No, you did not. I apologize. I hate it when someone interferes with my work, too.”
“Man, you’re fucked in the head.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
They left the room. Mr Sly could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out the words. The woman sat up again.
“You want us to get killed, don’t you?”
“Not particularly. I’m just trying to feel him out.”
“And your opinion is?”
“I’d say one of us is going to die.”
“Oh, terrific. And this doesn’t bother you?”
“Not really. Not when I figure you’re the one that’s going to take a bullet.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open.
“Excuse me?”
Mr Sly leaned closer and whispered.
“The way I see it, our best shot is for you to make a move on him. He’ll have to react to you, most likely by blowing your head off, but at least I’d be able to subdue him.”
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps, but it’s a good plan.”
“It sucks. I end up getting killed.”
“I didn’t say it was perfect.”
“Well, why do I have to be the brave one? Why don’t you make a move on him?”
“Because if he shoots me, you’ll never be able to take him down. Then you get shot and most likely so does the girl. If I get a hold of him, I’ll twist the little bastard’s head off. Then at least the girl and I make it.”
“It still sucks.”
“Look, lady. If you have a better idea, I’m waiting to hear it.”
The gun appeared at the door, followed in by the kid.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Plotting your death,” Mr Sly said.
“Man, I am this fucking close to shooting you. And you.” He pointed the gun at the woman. “Back on the floor.”
“No.” The woman straightened her back “If he sits up, then I sit up, too.”
The room exploded with a hail of smoke and coffee grounds. The kid had blasted a four-inch hole in a can of Colombian mix on the shelf above their heads. Mr Sly’s ears rang from the noise. He suppressed a smile when he saw the woman face down on the floor again.
The kid had the gun pointed at Mr Sly.
“Next one’s gonna be lower. You get my drift?”
“Loud and clear.”
The kid left the room. Mr Sly could smell piss.
“Fear should be our friend,” he told the woman.
“Dear God, we’re going to die,” she said.
Yes, they were, Mr Sly thought, unless he thought of something soon. He closed his eyes and thought of his walnut chest at home, the one he kept his knives in. He wished he had one now, but he never took them out of the house, because of the risk they presented if he was caught with one. After tonight, he might have to rethink that policy, if he got the chance.
“Fear brings clarity,” he said. “It fires the brain. I don’t mind admitting that I’m scared, but I’m trying to enjoy this experience and learn from it. I don’t often get this perspective.”
The woman looked up at him, her face a series of red splotches on a pale white canvas.
“I don’t want to know what you do in your spare time, do I?”
Mr Sly smiled. As he did, they heard the gun go off out in the store.
“I guess she couldn’t get the safe open,” he said.
The woman put her face in her hands and wept.
The kid rushed back into the room. His gun seemed bigger now, as if reacting to some exhilaration it got from firing its shiny missiles. The kid looked wired. Either the drug he’d taken had finally peaked or he finally understood what this was all about.
“All right. Wallets. Jewelry. Anything you got. Dump it on the floor.”
The woman sat up and dumped out her purse. Mr Sly eyed the contents: a wallet, eyeliner, lipstick. A container of Mace landed near his foot. He looked at the woman, catching her eye, then looked back at the Mace.
“Not all that shit. Just the money and credit cards.” The kid aimed the gun at Mr Sly. “You, too. Get your wallet out now.”
Mr Sly studied the gun, figuring the bullet’s probable trajectory and the distance between himself and the kid. He reached towards his left back pocket where he kept his wallet. Then he stopped.
“I only have twelve dollars. I really only needed a cup of coffee and some maxi pads.”
The kid’s grip tightened on the gun.
“Maxi pads?”
“Let’s just say I’m entertaining tonight and she’s in no position to pick them up herself.”
“Just give me your wallet.”
Mr Sly looked back at the gun. He wondered if he’d survive taking a bullet in the gut. Given all his fat, he probably stood a pretty good chance of making it, but doing time in a hospital wasn’t something he could afford, nor could he afford a few days of questioning by the police. That was all he’d need, some bright cop putting two and two together.
“I can’t get it out,” he said.
“What?”
Mr Sly switched hands and reached towards his right rear pocket.
“It’s the problem with being fat,” he said. “My pants are too tight. I’ll have to stand up if you want me to take out my wallet.”
The kid took a step back. Mr Sly could see him sizing up the situation. The kid didn’t seem to like it, but luckily greed was still foremost in his mind.
“All right, but get up real slow.”
Mr Sly laughed. He had no choice but to get up slow. His leg muscles strained as they lifted his weight from the floor. He felt like an old grizzly bear raring up for one final attack. He only hoped he looked that way, too.
“That feels much better,” he said, stretching up to full height. “My legs were going to sleep.”
The kid looked up at Mr Sly, who now dwarfed him. Some of the kid’s cockiness seemed to drain away, but that didn’t stop him from sticking his hand out for the wallet.
“You have no sense of fun, do you?” Mr Sly reached for his right rear pocket. “A man should love his work no matter what line he chooses. Don’t you think?”
The kid cocked the trigger.
“Just give me your wallet.”
“As you requested.”
Mr Sly stopped time. He could do this when he wanted to, just like a quarterback when he gets into the zone or a racing driver when he pushes his car towards two hundred-plus miles per hour. Everything slows down when you’re in total control. He watched as his arm came from behind his back. Watched the look of horror on the kid’s face, then the split second of consternation when he saw that the big man’s weapon was a comb, a simple plastic comb. He watched as it tore into the kid’s cheek.