yours?”
------------------------------------------------
And even closer to the present…
He held the gun tight with both hands. His weaker left hand supported his stronger right one, just like he’d been taught. Elbows slightly bent and sights aligned, he stood with legs spread eagle in a combat stance. The clerk, eager to please, inched his raised hands down in a I’m not looking for trouble style of deliberate cooperation and lowered them to the register, careful to keep them visible at all times. The clerk slowly inserted a key and turned it to open the register, moving so intentionally that he looked like he was playing charades and merely acting the role of cashier. The clerk then held up each tray’s stack of bills, $20’s, $10’s, $5’s, and $1’s, as he took them out, first to show the gunman that he was forthcoming with the money and then to place the money in the bag like he’d been told. The clerk made it a point not to look at the robber’s uncovered face, lest this young kid ( who’s obviously never done this kinda thing before, the clerk thought) figure out that he’d forgotten to wear a mask and kill him to remove a live witness.
Aiming a snubbed nose stainless steel .357 Magnum revolver, Gabe, seventeen, had never felt this powerful. Ever since that fateful day when he was seven, he’d mostly felt powerless, and the feeling his gun gave him was a welcome return of the kind of adventure that his swing set had once given him. While not South America, Outer Space, or any other place he used to visit in his backyard, this truly was a new world, and he didn’t need a swing set to take him there. His gun and 1997 two-door cobalt blue Camaro provided all the adventure he now needed.
Moments earlier, as he’d passed time in the gas station’s peanut and potato chip aisle pretending to read snack labels and waiting for the store’s two remaining customers to leave, he’d debated how he was going to get things started. He wanted to say something, though he didn’t know what he wanted to say. He felt like he should speak something memorable, though why he was concerned about the memory of an audience who would soon be dead never crossed his sophomoric mind. Maybe I’ll make a proclamation, he schemed, like telling the little pussy behind the register, “ You stand here only because I allow it, and I allow it no longer .” Today, he would be a made man, the Mafia’s term for a new Family member who’s been initiated by taking Omerta (the code of silence regarding the authorities), pledging loyalty to the Family, and killing on its behalf. Since Gabe was still a teen, he was excused from assassinating one of the Adelaides’ enemies, as those jobs couldn’t afford to be botched by an amateur. Instead, he’d been given the task of killing a random guy to show the strength of his nerves and his dedication to the clan. He’d killed once before… with Victor’s help, though he hadn’t wanted to, and he tried not to think about that now. This was the first time that he’d kill on his own.
Holding his gun made him feel like he could go anywhere, do anything, and no one could stop him. Feeling powerful felt good; it felt like the ultimate rush of adrenaline. It felt safe. And it had been years since he’d felt safe. He had all the power, the clerk had none, and that was as safe as he could imagine being.
“Okay, here’s the money, sir.”
Sir! Gabe loved it. No one had ever called him that before. Amazing what a weapon could do for one’s social status.
Concerned about the stupid grin that had just appeared on Gabe’s face, the clerk stood facing his robber. Minutes passed as they stared, one with his hands raised in the air and the other pointing a gun. Eventually, the clerk slowly lowered his left hand and, with it, moved the bag of cash across the counter, nodding at it as if to say Aren’t you going to take it? That was
------------------------------------------------
And even closer to the present…
He held the gun tight with both hands. His weaker left hand supported his stronger right one, just like he’d been taught. Elbows slightly bent and sights aligned, he stood with legs spread eagle in a combat stance. The clerk, eager to please, inched his raised hands down in a I’m not looking for trouble style of deliberate cooperation and lowered them to the register, careful to keep them visible at all times. The clerk slowly inserted a key and turned it to open the register, moving so intentionally that he looked like he was playing charades and merely acting the role of cashier. The clerk then held up each tray’s stack of bills, $20’s, $10’s, $5’s, and $1’s, as he took them out, first to show the gunman that he was forthcoming with the money and then to place the money in the bag like he’d been told. The clerk made it a point not to look at the robber’s uncovered face, lest this young kid ( who’s obviously never done this kinda thing before, the clerk thought) figure out that he’d forgotten to wear a mask and kill him to remove a live witness.
Aiming a snubbed nose stainless steel .357 Magnum revolver, Gabe, seventeen, had never felt this powerful. Ever since that fateful day when he was seven, he’d mostly felt powerless, and the feeling his gun gave him was a welcome return of the kind of adventure that his swing set had once given him. While not South America, Outer Space, or any other place he used to visit in his backyard, this truly was a new world, and he didn’t need a swing set to take him there. His gun and 1997 two-door cobalt blue Camaro provided all the adventure he now needed.
Moments earlier, as he’d passed time in the gas station’s peanut and potato chip aisle pretending to read snack labels and waiting for the store’s two remaining customers to leave, he’d debated how he was going to get things started. He wanted to say something, though he didn’t know what he wanted to say. He felt like he should speak something memorable, though why he was concerned about the memory of an audience who would soon be dead never crossed his sophomoric mind. Maybe I’ll make a proclamation, he schemed, like telling the little pussy behind the register, “ You stand here only because I allow it, and I allow it no longer .” Today, he would be a made man, the Mafia’s term for a new Family member who’s been initiated by taking Omerta (the code of silence regarding the authorities), pledging loyalty to the Family, and killing on its behalf. Since Gabe was still a teen, he was excused from assassinating one of the Adelaides’ enemies, as those jobs couldn’t afford to be botched by an amateur. Instead, he’d been given the task of killing a random guy to show the strength of his nerves and his dedication to the clan. He’d killed once before… with Victor’s help, though he hadn’t wanted to, and he tried not to think about that now. This was the first time that he’d kill on his own.
Holding his gun made him feel like he could go anywhere, do anything, and no one could stop him. Feeling powerful felt good; it felt like the ultimate rush of adrenaline. It felt safe. And it had been years since he’d felt safe. He had all the power, the clerk had none, and that was as safe as he could imagine being.
“Okay, here’s the money, sir.”
Sir! Gabe loved it. No one had ever called him that before. Amazing what a weapon could do for one’s social status.
Concerned about the stupid grin that had just appeared on Gabe’s face, the clerk stood facing his robber. Minutes passed as they stared, one with his hands raised in the air and the other pointing a gun. Eventually, the clerk slowly lowered his left hand and, with it, moved the bag of cash across the counter, nodding at it as if to say Aren’t you going to take it? That was
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