Night fell but a few short hours ago. Plenty of time for a pair of bored, restless youths to plan a quick fix for some easy cash. Mr. Robinson’s convenience store proved to be the perfect target and best bet for a fast getaway. Bridge Street across from the intersection was a road with no street lamps. It had been that way since they were kids but now provided the essential cover they needed to keep tucked up out of sight. Vince watched from behind an abandoned, white pickup parked at a slight angle off the kerb. Carl squatted down with his back pressed up against the vehicle's cold, metal rear exterior. Both of them were concealed from view, almost to the point of invisibility.
”I’m still nervous, man.” Carl mouthed through clenched teeth. His tight grip upon the long, sharp machete causing the whites of his knuckles to push through. “It’s always the same. This feeling I got now ain’t never failed me yet.”
Vince continued observing the lone, isolated shop from the side of the truck. ”Your noise is breaking my concentration. Stop acting like a little bitch. Goddamn new cap is itching like crazy.” He brought a thick, silver muzzle up to the side of his head and rubbed it against his right temple.
”Who cares about your itch, man? I’m trying to tell you a got a bad feeling about…”
He spun around and glowered back at Carl. ”Man, fuck your bullshit feelings. You hear me? You was down for this shit just fine before we left. Giving it large and acting like the big man. Saying Mr. Robinson ain’t shit and you’d even blow him away if need be. The fucks happened to you now, boy?”
Carl stared into his cold, dead eyes. The years of time spend together had at least taught him one thing about their enduring friendship. When he gives you that look, the rules have just gone straight out the kitchen window and there is not a damn thing anybody can do about it. He counted as many as four separate occasions of experiencing this phenomena, including the one at present. And every time was just as scary as the last. He opened his mouth to reply, but an intimated coward spoke out in his place.
”Vince, man. All I’m saying is we ain’t done no stick up before. It used to be just idle threats waving around some blunt ass knife. You know how protective Mr. Robinson is of his treasured pride and joy of this neighbourhood. I just don’t want no one to get hurt.”
Maybe he was concentrating too hard on the unrehearsed delivery of his sermon, but the derisive sniggering next to him had only just registered with his ears. ”Listen to you, man. A Stick up!” His mocking tone only added to Carl’s rising levels of dread. ”We out in the old west, man? Or jumped straight out of a bullshit ass James Cagney movie? Pick your embarrassed derriere off the damn floor and put your head on straight. Or I swear it’ll be my god’s honest pleasure to knock some good old fashion sense into it myself.”
There was no way out. He knew that now. The time to pull out of this deranged partnership had been and gone. He had to man up, if not only for himself but to save his best friend from doing anything too stupid in the process. Time for a role swap. Carl sighed hard and ran a finger down the silver shaft of his blade.
”Fuck it. You’re right. We here already and I’ll put that shit to bed. It’s on and I’m ready.”
”That’s the shit, my brother.” Vince crowed back. ”Listen, I need this money. You know what it’s like for me. So get your shit together and let’s do this.”
The early hours of the morning brought with it an eerie yet calming silence. Not a car had passed by since their stakeout began at least two hours ago. They pulled down the thin balaclava’s over their heads and on Vince’s signal, sprinted across the road. Carl kept looking back and forth multiple times, making absolutely sure the coast was clear. They ran up to the store and huddled parallel to either side of the front entrance. Bright light poured out onto the forecourt as the two watched each other. Vince waved a lowered hand out toward Carl. He showed he understood by nodding his head and staying frozen in place. Vince leaned out and with one eye, peered through the glass door panelled window. Mr. Robinson was standing there but a few feet away, behind a flip-open wooden desk. He was hunched over the counter reading the latest headlines of the small town’s newspaper. Something he had become all too familiar for with the community locals.
Vince held out three fingers. His other hand wrapped around the small firearm. Carl could sense both their heartbeats quicken as the moment drew near. One finger curled back. He looked at Carl, eyes almost bulging. His chest had begun to heft up and down, adrenaline being pumped into his pulsating veins. The plan was about to become a reality. One more finger fell as Vince tilted his head to one side and blinked once. Carl responded by shooting off glances around them one final time before nodded back at him. The time was here and there was no going back. A rapid in and out, like they discussed. Snatch and bolt. What could be simpler?
Vince balled his hand up into a dark fist. The sign he was waiting for. Carl watched as Vince turned into the door and slammed it open full force with his thick-soled Dr. Martens boot. Metal tinkling chimes rang out into the chill night air as he disappeared inside, followed hot on his heels by Carl…
