This is a work of fiction. Any coincidental likeness to names, places, people or activity is purely that: Coincidence. All characters are over 18 years old. Constructive criticism is welcome. Outright bashing of being "unbelievable" or some such is not - of course it's unbelievable! It's a fictional story meant to create an emotional diatribe between the words and your imagination.
Please enjoy!
HELD UP
The convenience store was a great place to work, so said all of the employees. Even though the owner called it a convenience store it was really just a well-to-do liquor store. A kind of spiced up 7-11 without the crazy prices nor the inflation of consumer intrepidity over stock and demand. The only problem with it was that it was located in a section of town that was middle ground to the upper class and desperate thieves. A right on the train tracks type of place. The upper echelon of humanity on the one side of the tracks came, as well as the ne'er-do-wells, but this story isn't about the supposed good people this time.
The thieves liked it more than the upper class.
Daryl thought of this for less than a second as he stared down the barrel of the gun. His other, more forbearing and rudimentary, thought was that the gun being only a couple of inches from his nose made it look like a ninety-nine magnum.
Having been the clerk for three robberies before this Daryl knew what to do, how fast to do it and when not to do anything. He was also trained by the security team that setup the new anti-theft system the store paid heavily into: where the cameras were, where the buttons to activate the alarms were - there were three, what happened when the alarm was pressed and how long it took to get the security company and the police onsite. He'd also been taught what to look for in potential thieves who were casing the joint.
Daryl saw the casement from when the first young woman came in and just walked around for a minute and then walked out without purchasing anything and then when the masked person came in again fifteen minutes later. As soon as he saw this - from the way the person looked at who was or wasn't in the store, from the way the masked ne'er-do-well kept staring at him and the way the person kept looking up and around as though searching for cameras. The cameras were easy enough to spot but thanks to the redesign of the interior it took several seconds for any potential robber to get to the counter whether the gun was out or not. In this case the gun came out as soon as the door opened and the command to "not move a muscle" had been shouted.
The young man's hands were below the counter when the door opened and the yell reached him. When the second command was given to raise his hands over head Daryl did so hitting the button under the counter with a turn of his hand so that his index finger ran between the three sided plastic encasement where the button was located. At that moment the front doors to the store immediately closed themselves and then large metal bars shot across the frames of glass while the two front windows had metal blinds dropping down and locking into place - essentially barring any chance at escape.
Two thieves quickly approached the counter, guns out and threats falling from their mouths.
Of the two, the taller one, who was obviously in charge, reached about five foot six and with the mask kind of looking like a high school freshman out for a dare run. The other, the shorter one, stood only about five feet even. Daryl had been taught how to gauge the heights of people and he was actually pretty good at it. He also saw that their walk was different than he'd seen on many of the robbers who had come through. There was almost a lilting gait from the tall one and short, quick measured hip steps from the short one - both of them had very nice thighs accentuated by the tightness of their jeans.
'Tall' shouted, "Open that fucking door!" This was when the gun was put right next to his face and he had to cross his eyes to focus on it.
Hands raised he could only shrug and shake his head and oddly and quietly blurt, "I can't." No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get that manly thing going in his voice so it shook a little with the fear.
He did notice, however, that there was something weird about the thief's voice. Something tinny inside the timbre that reminded him of his passed little sister trying to mimic him by lowering her voice and mocking whatever he said. Their movements were decidedly in between male and female so he couldn't place the oddity he thought he saw. Their jackets were wide and big so they hid any telltale curves and accentuations of the forms but he knew - mainly from the form fitting jeans. Femme fatale.
"You had better open that door or I'm gonna open a very large hole in your head, bastard," Tall threatened. Daryl could only shake his head in mute apology, his eyes never leaving the large black hole of the gun barrel.
Short piped over, "Just get the money and we'll go out the back." Daryl noticed that Short's voice was also an odd timbre. He also noticed that Short was about as tall as the young woman who cased the place just a short time ago.
Tall looked over at Short and said to Daryl, "You heard her...it. Open the register, bag it and hand it over right now."
Daryl heard the mistake but was too frightened to make any use of it at the moment. He looked at the gun and pointed one finger from his raised right hand at it and quietly said, "I'm goi...goin...going to need you back up just a bit so I can move...uh, over there." It didn't matter how much of a man you thought you were - if a gun is pointed scant millimeters from your face you're going to be a little shaky somewhere.
Tall reached over the counter a bit more, enough to put the gun even closer right between the scared clerk's eyes, and asked, "What did you just say?" He couldn't see the hole anymore. It was pressing into his forehead.
"If you want the money I have to be able to get to it. It's over there," he motioned again with his right hand.
With eyes afire Tall slowly backed up enough for Daryl to move. As Tall moved Daryl noticed Short had gone back to the front and was watching for anyone or anything to come along through the fallen metal bars that crossed the windows now. Inside he knew that he was probably going to die tonight. He wasn't a coward but a situation like this scared you, he knew. He had to firm up his resolve because he knew that they were going to be a while. A stand-off of some sort was inevitable. When those bars dropped it took the police and the security company to open them again.
He calmly stepped the three paces to the register while Tall kept the gun pointed at him. Having been robbed before he knew the drill but this was different since the new security system was in place. It had been designed to keep the malcontents inside until the police arrived and could shoot everyone. That's what the owner thought, anyway. Still, it was always trying as he stepped to the register and began pressing the digital screen of this completely modern liquor store.
Tall saw all the presses on the screen and yelled, "Open it! Now!"
Daryl was shaking but screamed right back, "I can't. The system isn't designed that way." At a very fervent gesture of bringing the gun closer to him while Short came up beside Tall and pointed another gun at him Daryl cursed the owner for this nonsense. Despite that, he had never stopped depressing stuff on the touchscreen monitor and soon the register drawer popped open. He immediately grabbed a paper bag from the under the counter and began placing the money in it. When the register's cash was in the bag he held it out to Tall.
"Now the safe," Tall demanded.
Daryl's shoulders slumped. His face dropped with a conclusion of death and he resignedly pointed his left thumb over his shoulder to a sign above one of the shelves of bourbon that said "Clerks do not have access to safe."
