Diablo Mesa(10)

He drove a few blocks, looking for a gas station with a promising-looking auto shop attached. He chose one on the opposite side of the four-lane road, with a convenience store grafted to one side, set close beside a forlorn-looking creek. He pulled in next to the shop—cars on the lifts, but no mechanics in sight—and, zipping up his windbreaker, walked into the store.

It was then he realized that fortune wasn’t smiling on him after all—and that this might be the start of a very bad day.

Even before the glass-fronted door closed behind him, he understood a robbery was in progress. A skinny man, hair askew and clothes wrinkled, was standing just behind the sales counter, gun trained alternately on a cashier and the small group of people—two mechanics, an elderly patron, and what looked like another shop employee—standing close together on the far side of the lotto rack.

As the door chime sounded, the man turned, gun swinging wildly. Lime froze, then raised his arms slowly, fingers apart, careful not to further antagonize the gunman.

“Get over there,” the man said in a reedy voice, directing Lime to join the hostages on the far side of the counter.

Lime did as he was told, and the gunman turned back to the clerk, resuming a conversation that had been interrupted. “You’re full of shit,” he said. “You gotta have more than that.”

“Swear to God,” the cashier said, voice trembling nervously. “It’s still early. There’s only a hundred, a hundred and twenty maybe, in the till.” He took a step back. “Look for yourself.”

The gunman didn’t move. “What about the safe?”

“Only management has access to that, man,” the clerk replied. He was sweating and obviously—at least to Lime—telling the truth.

The armed robber was sweating, too. “That’s bullshit. You’re just told to say that.” Suddenly, he swung his gun back toward the small group. “You move again,” he shouted at one of the mechanics, “and I’ll splash your brains all over this place!”

The customer behind Lime—an overweight man of about seventy—let out a faint, high whimper of fear.

“Now open the goddamned safe!” the gunman yelled at the clerk. “And the rest of you, take out your wallets and toss them over!”

Lime reached into a back pocket for his wallet, taking the opportunity to step forward as he did so. He was good at reading people. Although the man’s clothes were creased, they were clean. He was sweating, but that was from agitation; his pupils weren’t dilated, and Lime couldn’t make out any needle tracks. This wasn’t a career criminal or a junkie. The gun looked old, but it wasn’t a crappy Saturday Night Special.

“What do you need the money for?” Lime asked calmly.

The man was still menacing the clerk, and it took a moment for the question to sink in. “What?” he asked, eyes still on the clerk.

“I said, what do you need the money for?”

This time, the man turned his attention, and the barrel of his gun, to Lime. “Shut the fuck up.” He took a moment to glance over the others, eyes bright with hostility and suspicion. “I said, empty your wallets.”

As he spoke, Lime took another step—not toward the gunman, but flanking him, arms still raised. As he did so, the knot of hostages loosened slightly, instinctively edging away from each other.

“Don’t move!” the gunman said, the muzzle of the gun bobbing from person to person.

“What do you need the money for?” Lime asked a third time, making sure to get the man’s attention focused back on him. He held his wallet in one hand. “I mean, this is probably going to get that poor guy fired. And if I’m going to hand over all my money, I’d kind of like to know where it’s headed.” He paused. “Drugs, I suppose?”

The man looked at Lime as if he were an idiot. “Fuck you,” he said.

Lime shrugged, as if confirming his own suspicion.

“I look like an addict to you?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I would know. The system’s fucked me up the ass. I been fired from three jobs. If I don’t pay my rent today, I get evicted.”

“Evicted,” Lime repeated, lowering his hands in order to open his wallet invitingly.

“That’s what I said. Evicted. The state gets custody of my kid. Not that it’s any of your fucking business!”

This last was said in a louder, more threatening tone, accompanied by a fresh aiming of the gun. The man was wavering a little now, unsure of himself, but Lime sensed this only made him more dangerous. The other hostages were forming a loose semicircle behind him.

“Stay the fuck back!” the man yelled, threatening them.

Silently, Lime nodded at them to obey.

“So now you’re desperate,” he told the man. “I get that. But think about what you’re doing. You’re no thief. Okay, so you lost three jobs. You feel the system has let you down. Maybe it has. But if you go to prison, you’ll become part of a different system. An ugly system. A brutal system that only leads in one direction.” He paused. “You haven’t stolen any money yet. You haven’t used that gun. It’s not too late.”

“Shut up!” the man said, enraged. “What do you know about anything? You got a wife? A kid? Huh?”