A Bit of a Burgle

The midnight shift at the convenience store was the busiest and the slowest. At about four a.m. or so, after all those going home from last call had stopped by to pick up their emergency supplies of cigarettes, condoms and maybe put ten of gas in the tank, he burst through the door. Right away the manager looked up from his adult magazine and realized there was going to be trouble. It could have been the way he came through the doors, the fact that his face was covered in a purple balaclava with the words “I heart Minnesota” knitted on the back waving what looked liked a semi automatic weapon or just the fact that he came in yelling this is a stick up.

The manager having taken the survivor training course required by corporate to be a manager stood there with his arms up in complete surrender. The masked man waved the gun back and forth and demanded all the cash in the register.

“Give it to me now, man or I am going to go crazy.”

“Sorry friend, all of the cash is in the safe.”

“Open the safe.”

The manager pointed to a sign with his elbow, being careful not put his hands down. The sign in fine block printing simply stated: Employees do NOT have access to the safe.

“Damn!”

“I would like to oblige, but as you can see.”

“Arrgghhh, this thing itches like all hell. I must be allergic to wool.” He pulled off his balaclava and turned toward the manager his hair spiked with sweat. A bright red rash now occupied most of his face.

“Turn away. Don't look at my face. If you do, I will have to...”

“Have to what? Kill me? I'm the night manager of a pump and dump that gets robbed three times a week, making just about two dollars over minimum wage. I'm divorced, an ex-alcoholic and behind in my alimony. Killing me might be a step up.”

“Look away, look away.”

“Hey. I know you. I never forget a face. You were in Mrs. Hillyboddoms literature class. You and I, we sat in the back. I helped you pass the final. Yeah, it's you. A little older, a little fatter and oh, my, a lot more balder.”

“You ain't no spring chicken either.”

“What was it? Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.”

“Yeah something like that.”

The manager began to relax until the gunman waved the pistol in his direction. He quickly raised his arms. “Weren't you off to LA or something?”

“Yeah, that kind of didn't work out for me.”

“I know the feeling. I went to college, got married and then lost everything in a land deal, found out my wife was sleeping with my sister and my business partner left on an extended trip to Brazil.”

They began to swap stories, reminiscing their high school days. The manager now sitting on the counter offered the thief a cigarette, which he declined.

“That shit will kill you. Hey, what about the cameras? Won't you get in trouble for smoking in the store?”

“We haven't had cameras that work for about two months.”

“Man, I am jammed. I need to score some cash.”

“We ain't got none here. Did you try the Slurp-n-Gulp down on Elm? They always have cash.”

“Thanks. I guess I could go there next. You know this ain't my real profession. This is only temporary.”

“Me too.”

In unison they answered one another; “What I really want to do is play in a band.”

“A band? “They looked at one another?

“What do you play?”

“Drums.”

“Yeah, I figured you for a drums man. Me, I sit here all night long and write songs.”

“That's why I need the Benjamins, man. I go to get my drums out of hock for Saturday. We have a gig and my drums are in the shop. Thanks for the heads up, I mean on the Slurp-n-Gulp and the cash. You know I am going to have to tie you up.” He began stuffing things in a black plastic bag and motioned with the gun for the manager to head toward the back.

“Okay, okay. Point that thing somewhere else, will ya.”

“This.” He banged it against the wall. “Just a toy.”

“You steal that as well?”

“Hell no. I paid for this.”

“What ever happened to, what was her name? Mary, yeah that's it. What ever happened to your cousin Mary? The one with the, you know.”

“What?”

“The one with the big, umm.”

“Oh, Mary. She married some old dude you wouldn't know. He and I used to steal manhole covers about two years ago. Do you have a phone? In the bag.”

“That was you.”

“Yeah, that was us. Then we just hit houses, come to think of it, one of them might have been your mom's old place. Watch.” He held out the bag again.

“Really. That was a nice job. You didn't make a mess at all. You went right for the silverware, the jewelry and the spare cash. No mess, very professional.”

“Yes we did pride ourselves on our professionalism. Kids these days. No respect. Just smash and grab. Wallet.”

“Oh of course. Hands behind my back?”

“Yes please. Are those new shoes?”

“Yes they are and they might be your size. Would you like to try them.”

“Just throw them in the bag. I will try them later. I am in a hurry.”

“Yes, of course. So where's the show?”

“The show?”

“Saturday, you said your band was playing. Maybe you could listen to some of my songs?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. We are always looking to do some original shit to get away from doing covers. I will call you.” The thief pulled down his balaclava and hurried out the door.

“Yes, call me. Text me. Hey, are you on Twitter? Wait a minute, you have my phone. Hey! Hey!”