Bank Robbers by C. Clark Criscuolo Page A

TWO
    â€œA HEM .” Dottie cleared her throat.
    The kid sitting next to her on the park bench still didn’t take any notice. She looked over at the small dots of black foam covering his ears. The music on his Walkman was turned up so loud it sounded like bees buzzing through the earphones.
    She suddenly nudged him. “Ahem,” she said louder.
    His eyes popped opened and he looked at her, startled.
    â€œI’m looking for something,” she said coolly, looking the other way, at several old men sitting near her on the bench. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the kid take off the headset and stare, frowning, at her.
    â€œWhat?” he asked, and moved his neck back so his chin became double.
    â€œI’m looking for … a piece,” she said as roughly as she could, and watched his expression turn to confusion.
    â€œOf what?” He looked scared.
    â€œYou know,” she said uneasily.
    She watched his eyes dart around, and look back at her.
    â€œYou looking for sex? ” he shouted at her.
    The old men sitting next to her stopped talking. Dottie went pale and for a split second it seemed as though everyone within earshot had frozen and was gaping at her.
    â€œ What? What!” Dottie barked at him.
    â€œLook, lady, what is it that you want from me?” the kid asked, staring at her.
    â€œA gun,” she said through clenched teeth.
    â€œA gun,” he said almost in relief. Then his lip turned up in an insulted sneer and exposed a set of stunningly straight and stunningly white teeth. His eyes stared at her, angrily.
    â€œI am a law student! ” he barked. “Je-e-e-sus!”
    She watched him jump off the bench shaking his head, and he began walking away quickly.
    Dottie stiffly rose, trying to hold back tears. She stared straight ahead, trying not to look at anyone directly, and gritted her teeth. She began rigidly walking out of the park. She stared ahead of her, down the main walk in Washington Square, at a group of black men huddled around.
    They were probably medical students.
    She began to move faster and faster. She just wanted to run away. God, yelling out loud that she was searching the park for sex, that was just so humiliating. Not to mention it was the second time in twenty-four hours someone had insulted her like that, first Teresa and now that rude kid.
    Did she look desperate? Did she look that lonely? God, she could bear anything but that, to be some woman people felt sorry for. And even if she did look that way, where the hell was human decency? Where the hell was the human compassion not to make some demeaning crack about it—as if being alone were a crime! And even if she was lonely, what the hell was she supposed to do about it? As if she was going to find someone to date? It was just cruel.
    She needed a gun.
    She looked back to the park. Maybe she should try another park? She felt herself begin to waffle about doing this again. A shot of anger went through her. No, she was going to go through with this, and Arthur, like it or not, was the fastest way to get this done with. So what was she going to do? Was she going to call him and actually speak to him this time? Would he sell her a gun? No questions asked? Like his regular clients?
    That would give him a laugh, she thought bitterly. She could see him … and then another thought occurred to her. She stopped walking and stood still in the middle of the sidewalk.
    What if Arthur looked terrible?
    Like the man who had the physical-therapy session right before hers when she was in St. Vincent’s. The man had had a complexion the color of old newspapers, and liver spots dotted his face and hands. The skin on his hands was so tissue-paper thin that Dottie could see his veins pulse. He had no hair or teeth, his eyes were all watery. They would lower the man into a wheelchair as she arrived and then they would cover him with blankets or, sometimes, more disturbingly, tether