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Short Stories -- Seven Goes Eleven

......My AM radio gives me bad news. They found another cut up body, the serial killer is still at large. There are no leads. The story is all over the news. This time, I don't even have to search for it. The weather is going to stay the same. I have a bad feeling. I will have to be especially alert tonight.
......A guy comes in my Seven-Eleven. I turn off the radio. Watch him, Peter, you must watch him. O.K., he came on foot. He's wearing a brown leather jacket, blue jeans, dirty white Nikes and a blue baseball cap. He has medium length brown hair. A few curls slip out from under the cap. He leaves the bells on the door rattling behind him. I know these bells are my best friend, I know they cover my back side, but, God, I hate them. Every time they ring my gut ties another knot. The guy turns down the first aisle. He stops and looks at some Chips-a-Hoy boxes. He wants sugar, I bet he's a marijuana user. I bet he'll try to steal them. O.K., It's 1:56 a.m. Should I call the police now? They'll get here sooner that way.
......When this guy's feet aren't scuffing and squeaking on the floor I can hear the florescent lights and the refrigerators hum. I hate that almost as much as I hate the bells. Everything is so damn loud. I can't hear the sounds I need to hear; less warning time.
......Oh crap, he's coming towards me. The guy brings a clear green plastic bag of pistachios and a can of Budweiser to the counter.
......"How about some I.D.?" The guy looks young, eighteen to twenty-two. A patch of acne on his cleft chin doesn't look right. I note the guy's straight teeth and green eyes -- could be useful.
......The guy puts his I.D. on the counter. I pick it up and read, "California State Driver's License, Lou Reed, 12-13-67." Remember that, Peter. Remember Lou Reed. The picture matches.
......"Three seventy eight, Lou Reed." Say it twice to remember. "Lou Reed is a rock and roll star, isn't he?" Lou Reed. Lou Reed.
......The guy nods and pulls four singles out of a leather wallet the same color as the jacket. I bag the merchandise. The bells on the door rattle when the guy opens it to leave. He is approximately six feet by the tape measure on the door frame.
......I let out a deep sigh. That was close, Peter old boy. He could have pulled out a handgun and shot me several times. They never shoot just once anymore. I see the guy pulling the gun from his jacket with a jerk and the bullets ripping through my chest. Bang, bang, BANG! The storeroom door opens on the last shot and John comes out carrying a box of drink lids. I nearly die of fright. The sound of the door bursting open -- it is too big a sign. John doesn't even see me. He is so irresponsible.
......"John, I wish you wouldn't always leave like that. I had a customer in here while you were gone and he almost shoplifted merchandise. He could have pulled a gun." I always have to scold John.
......"Peter, dude, we were out of drink lids. You told me to get more. I did. Just chill out, O.K.?"
......"No, you don't understand, John. If we're both here it's safer. Eighty-five percent of all violent crimes occur when only the victim and attacker are present. That is why the management sees fit to have two of us here. What if the guy pulled a gun and you came out of the storeroom like you just did? He would've shot both of us just because he was startled."
......"Peter, I'm not going to argue with you about this all night again. You always say the same things. I'm just not into this fear trip like you, dude. I don't think we're 'On the front lines of the consumer battlefield,' or whatever you always say. Sometimes people wig out, but you can't worry about that all the time. Besides, if you think it, there it is," says John.
......John's eyes are blood-shot. The management may buy his excuse of not getting sleep, but I don't. He obviously isn't making sense.
......"You may think my precautions are excessive, but in this day and age you're not responsible if you're not cautious, if you aren't vigilant. My friend Sara wasn't alert, and look what happened to her; she was taken hostage at McDonald's by a bank robber. She lived, but she was lucky."
......"She was taken hostage by a bank robber in McDonald's? You're slippin', dude."
......"He was fleeing. It did happen. And what about this knife murderer that's running around these days, huh? Or car-jacking, huh? If you're prepared for a violent situation your chances are better, and your chances are better when you're not alone." I tell him off good.
......"Was your friend Sara alone at McDonald's? Just stop, dude. You totally bum me when you do this. Let me do my job. If you want to freak out, keep it to yourself. And don't start telling me about your bad luck friends, either. I might quit. Then you'll have to be all by your scary self in this stupid convenience store 'where fifteen percent of all robberies are committed,' or whatever."
......John turns and starts putting lids into the holder in an agitated fashion. He is definitely using some kind of illegal substance. If I could nail him...
......Everything is humming: the lights, the freezer, all the machines, the video game. I need some sensible sound. I turn on the radio. The hourly news report is starting. A woman who worked at a retirement home is being sought by authorities. The woman is suspected of killing several elderly clients by giving them lethal injections. She's a new one to follow. It's a sick world when you can't even grow old in peace.
......A car pulls into the parking lot. A navy blue ford from the 70's. What year is it, what year was it made!? Ah, the left headlight is dim. I turn off the radio.
......A man and a woman get out of the car and slowly walk around the newspaper machines to the door. They enter, the door bells rattle. Go Peter, do it, run down the list. The man is wearing tan pants, work boots, and a heavy grey flannel shirt. He has straight black hair and a flat spot on the bridge of his nose; it may have been broken. He's a brawler, thick set.
......The woman is wearing a white nurse's uniform and white Reebocks. Her hair is pulled up in a bun and is light brown. She wears glasses.
......I feel a twinge of panic when the man walks to the refrigerator while the woman walks to the drink dispenser. I won't be able to watch them both. I wish I could trust John. Then it hits me, I need to watch all three of them.
......"Low-fat or non-fat?" yells the man. Health conscious? No.
......"Non-fat," says the woman as she pours two sixty-nine cent cups. "Do you have lids?" she asks me. I have to face her, my back is tingling.
......"Right here," says John and hands her two lids. John and the woman smile at each other, they look at each other too long. The woman winks at John.
......A substantial flash of terror runs down my spine. John is conspiring with them. He never smiles at customers. Customers never wink at John. He wants to quit. He doesn't like me. He's not watchful. He's one of them. Dear God, he's sadistic. Peter, that's crazy. Still, stay alert. Be aware. Code red. Watch the other guy. Don't let him get behind you. Watch John. There he is. O.K., where do I escape?
......The man walks up to the counter with a quart of low-fat milk. To my amazement, I haven't moved a step. I am frozen. God, help me.
......"This and the two coffees," he says. The man has a huge buck knife on his right hip. Why didn't I see that before? He reaches toward the knife.
......"John, you ring this up!" I can move again. Thank you, Lord. I leap back from the counter. I am safe with the cigarette rack between me and the suspects.
......Thwarted, the man pretends nothing happened and pulls his wallet out of his right rear pocket.
......"Three forty-six," says John, as the register beeps and the cash door opens. The man pays him.
......A bead of sweat falls in my eye. I wipe it with my shirt sleeve. John finishes ringing up the sale. Maybe I was wrong, but you just can't be too careful. If John is foolish enough to risk himself like that, he can. Not me. Not when the danger is that clear. But then, what if he is with them? That's why! How much change is he giving him?
......The woman walks to the counter with the coffees and says, "Jim, I said to get non-fat, not low-fat." She sets the coffees down and snatches the milk carton from the counter. She walks toward the refrigerator.
......"Sue, you said low-fat."
......I am frozen again. I realize the significance of the nursing uniform. All three are killers and thieves. Why are they toying with me? Are they stupid? Do they think I don't know?
......"That's a nice buck you got there," says John.
......"Yep, six inches of drop forged steel. I can cut through bone like it was paper," says the man.
......A bead of sweat runs down my side from my armpit to my belt. All my practice runs, all my preparations, and all I can do is sweat. If the video from this ever goes on "Cops" I am going to look very stupid.
......"I did say non-fat," says the woman by the freezer.
......"Can I have a look at the knife?" asks John.
......"Sure," says the man. "Why don't you ring up one of those Soldier of Fortune magazines, too," he says.
......He hands John the knife.
......This is it, the bloody robbery and murder start now. I know in the simplest way that they are going to hurt me, they are going to rob me -- react now! I don't move. John flips open the knife.
......I can move. I am free. Adrenaline fills every inch of my body. I shove John into the cash register. I grab the phone and dial 911, just as I practiced all those times. This time I don't hang up when I hear ringing on the line. John turns from the cash register.
......"What's your problem, man?" He hasn't been able to open the knife.
......"Relax, fellahs, relax," says the man.
......"You were too slow," I tell them firmly. "Now I know and the law's coming for you."
......"What?" says John. He's such a faker. He's got the knife, and he's still faking. He must be on drugs.
......An operator answers. "They are going to kill me. He's got a knife. Save me!" I drop the phone and run to the storeroom. I see the door handle. I reach for it. The floor rushes up at me. My knees hit the floor, then my chest. I slide into the door. The man laughs.
......"Don't bother getting up. And you, give me back my knife."
...... A revolver cocks and I hear the knife thud on the counter. I am on the ground. I tripped? The damn uniform pants are so baggy. I am behind the counter by the storeroom door. They can only see my feet. I can't see them. Ouch, my knees hurt.
......"Dude, this is cold"
......"Shut up. You know the routine, you've seen it on T.V." The cash register opens.
......"Don't smack him around," says the woman. What, give him a lethal injection? Wait, John isn't with them after all.
......"What do you care about him?"
......"He needs this job."
......"You know him?"
......I slide my legs under myself so I am crouching. John is with the woman but not the man. I must get in the storeroom. I must get away from this madness.
......"I don't know her." It's John's voice.
......"Sue, is this the guy, the one you messed around with? This little runt, this little pipsqueak?"
......"Yes, this is John. John, this is my husband."
......I spring to the storeroom door and try to open it. If I can only lock myself in this little room with the detergent and mops I will be safe. I will be away from this madness. I am having trouble with the lock. I give up. That quick, I am dead. I know it.
......I turn and face the three of them. John has his back to me. He is shaking. The man is pointing a big gun at John, but he is looking at the woman. The man's lower lip is quivering. The woman is backing away from the man toward the chip stand. She has a syringe in her hand.
......"Are you people serious?" I yell at them. They don't even notice me. I have the two most wanted murderers in the news in my store, and an adulterer to boot, and they don't even notice me! I followed their every murder in the news and they don't even notice me! This is too crazy.
......The man falls to the floor. His gun makes a big clunk. The threat is gone. I react. I smash the decaf pot of coffee over John's head. He goes out cold. I hurl cigarette cases at the woman. She side steps them and comes around the counter toward me. I move around the counter opposite her. When she reaches the break in the counter, she goes to John. I throw a beef jerky container and hit her in the side of the head. She falls on John.
......Suddenly it is quiet except for the hum of the lights, the machinery, and the video game. The hum is driving me crazy. I walk to the doors and push them open. It takes so much effort. The glass feels cool. I press my forehead against the glass door and breath in the cool outside air. A police car pulls into the parking lot. In the reflection I can see I am approximately five foot seven. I am wearing green pants, a Seven-Eleven employee's shirt, and my head is extremely distorted. The bells above the door are tingling in the breeze.
Submitted by:
Mike Tomlinson
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