46th and Stockholm

         “You good?” Stupid question. He doesn’t answer. How can I expect him to be ready if my nerves are shot too?

         My fingers slide into the my pocket and pull out a slightly crushed pack of 27s; there’s only one upside-down jack left in the corner, brown leaves poking out the top of the warped pack. I pull it to my lips, flick the lighter, and take a long, slow drag.

         “You pulled your lucky,” he says, taking an American Spirit yellow and lighting it up. “You think it’s a sign?”

         “Maybe.” I’ve been chain smoking since three-thirty—this stick isn’t lucky. I let out a big cloud, pull it back in through my nose and for just a half-second nothing fucking matters; but then it does again. In five minutes the clerk is gonna unlock the safe to deposit profits. In three minutes, I’ll walk in, go back to the drinks—right under the big circle mirror where the clerk can’t see nothing—and wait. Jason’s gonna come in, look for my nod, and pull his gun. No problems.

         He grew up into a big damn kid while I was away. I knew Jason was running around with some MS wannabes for a while, smashed headlights and stupid shit like that, trying to be like his big bro. But he didn’t see the inside like I did. Two and a half years for joyriding an old ’83 5 series taught me just how fucked up the kids in Juvie can be. Jay deserved a better life than this. But that’s all in the past now; I look at my watch: 8:26—fuck it—the 27 falls to the curb as I cross 46th street.

         “Wait, Zee!” Jason hasn’t moved an inch. “One last chance…”

         “No more chances, little bro,” I say, not turning around. “Just do it right.”

         I will, he howls as I pass the pumps and make my way towards the glass doors. A chime announces my presence and the clerk looks up from the counter with hard eyes. I turn down the first aisle and let my fingers run along the line of chips, making them sing out their foiled crackle. An old man looks up and I stare him down. As I slowly pass, brushing his shoulder with mine, I feel him reading me; I steel myself and don’t look back. It’s too late for jitters.

         Making my way along the back fridge glass, I pull a six of Mickey’s. There’s a convenient stack of Bud Light cases on sale right below the security mirror, so I pop a squat and rip open my first hand grenade. Chugging it, I hear someone giggle.

         “Startin’ the party a little early, aren’t ya?” she says. The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

         She’s pulling a two liter of Coke a few fridges down. I check to make sure my piece isn’t peaking out of my belt, and wipe my face. I look around the store to make sure I’m not missing anything.

         “I, uh…” No excuse comes so I laugh and relax a little on my beer chair. She’s got the most intoxicating green eyes. “You go to school around here?”

         “Heinlein High,” she says, smiling behind stray locks of long brown hair. She steps closer. “You?”

         “Uhhh,” what do I say? I opt for the truth. “New Beginnings…”

         “The alternative school?” She laughs again and I should be embarrassed but I’m drunk off her voice. “You’re a real bad boy aren’t ya?”

         “Well you’re talkin’ to me,” I reply, coolly. She blushes and runs her fingers through her hair, exposing even more of her pretty face.

         The door chimes. I look up but I can’t see Jason from where I am.

         “I think you seem nice,” she says, oblivious. I’ve got to finish this up. Jason’s waiting for my nod.

         “Hey listen,” I say, standing up. I spot Jason—he’s pointing out a pack of smokes to the clerk. I look back. “What’re you d—”

         “Put your fucking hands up!”

         Shit! I look and Jason’s training a Ruger LC9 at the clerk’s head. Pulling the girl down onto the Bud Light cases, her Coke hits the ground and sprays up. She’s rigid with fear and it breaks my heart.

         “Don’t move and you’ll be fine!” I shout, drowned out by a gun blast. I break the lock her eyes have on mine and stumble into the nearest aisle—aspirin and condoms spilling all over the floor behind me. I rip a Browning 9mil from my belt and crash out of the aisle, gun across the counter. And everything stops.

         The floor is covered with glass and Zippos and blood and M&M’s. I look down the barrel and the clerk still standing, with a fucking shotgun. Out of the corner of my eye I see more blood and bottles of motor oil everywhere; feet hanging out of another aisle. But all I really see is the fucking clerk, twisting himself towards me slowly. And my ears are ringing. And my nose is full of gunpowder. And everything is blurring away except the fucking clerk, twisting closer.

         Our eyes meet and I drive a bullet through his head and bury it into a display case behind him. Marlboro blend number 27. The barrel is warm and pulls me back to my senses—back to Jason.

         “Oh God! Oh fuck!” He’s screaming out and I can’t bear the agony in his voice. “Where were you?”

         “I’m here!” His arm is torn up, more blood than I’ve ever seen. I killed the clerk, why couldn’t that be enough? Damn it! How did this happen?

         “Move!” A strong foot hits me square in the stomach and I slam away from Jason, sliding in his warm blood and racked in pain. The old man drops some gauze and pills from one of the aisles and starts ripping off Jason’s shirt.

         “You probably got ten minutes to figure out how your man is gonna live through this shit,” the man says, not looking up. “The cops’ll be here by then.”

         “Police? You called fuckin’ 5-0?” I’ve already got my gun on him.

         “Look out the window!” The man glares at me hard. “You robbed a gas station for chrissakes! You didn’t think someone would notice?”

         I pull myself to my feet and stumble back over to the counter. A car is speeding out onto the road. We shouldn’t be here. I move back along the edge of the counter, and get around it. Stepping over the clerk I find the open safe and start digging through the cash. 14, 15, 1600... 2000 fucking dollars for Jason? I pull out a little bag stashed in the back of the safe and fill it with green before making my way back around the counter. At the edge I look across the aisles and see, sitting on a slightly crushed case of Bud Light, the girl.

         She looks exactly the same as I left her, completely frozen except her eyes, which immediately lock onto mine again. I drop the gun and money.

         Her eyes are wild with fear and confusion. I walk over and fall to my knees.

         “I’m so fucking sorry,” I manage to choke out. The tears are rolling and there’s a big knot in my throat. Everything is so wrong.

         “Zee!” Jason’s voice is hoarse with pain. I look up and see blue and white lights reflecting off the glass. The sirens are loud and sobering. They get louder and louder and I finally plug the tears and pull myself up, pulling her up with me.

         “My name is Isaac,” I say after a few seconds. She’s still shaking. I tell her, “you are the most beautiful girl I have ever met.”

         Now her eyes start welling up, and little lakes pool around the rim of her brilliant emeralds. She isn’t rigid anymore, but there is still a lot of fear written all over her. She is so innocent and sweet and I have destroyed her, too. I kiss her on the forehead as the first drops begin to break their seal. I can’t look anymore.

         “This is the Boston City Police! We have the building surrounded!”

         I look up and see cars piling into the station through the exposed window glass. Shit! There aren’t many places to hide in here. I tell the girl to stay low for the time being.

         “How’s he doing?” I yell as I make my way back past the aisles, ducking around to Jason. The man has him wrapped up and he’s propped against a candy rack. Empty gauze packs and malt liquor bottles litter the floor. His Ruger is there too and I grab it.

         “He’s pretty messed up,” the guy replies, pressing some bloody oil rags to his arm. “There’s probably an ambulance out there and I can’t stop the bleeding by myself.”

         “Hey, Zee,” says Jason weakly, his voice cutting me like a knife. “You mind lightin’ me up a yellow?”

         I go into his pocket and pull the pack out, flipping up the tab. There’s one left. Pressing it to my lips, I spark up a Zippo lying on the floor and inhale as deeply as I ever have.

         “I pulled your lucky,” I say, smoke falling out with every word as I pass it to Jason’s lips. “You think it’s a sign?”

         He smiles a little and then winces. A phone rings from behind the counter. Glancing around the corner, I can see an army of cops looking back. I chance it and make a quick leap past the glass, behind the counter, and pick up the phone.

         “This is Sergeant Shelley with the Boston City Police,” a rough voice booms through the speaker. “Who am I talking to?”

         I say nothing.

         “How many of you are there?” I glance over at Jason and tell him it’s just me.

         “Listen,” he continues, “I’m going to need to know how many hostages you have.”

         “Is there an ambulance out there?”

         “How many peo—”

         “Is there an ambulance?”

         “Yes—”

         “I need you to send someone in with a stretcher.”

         “Okay, okay, we can do that.” His voice sounds forced, anxious. “In the meantime, yo—” Click. I slip the cordless phone into my pocket. Looking around I wipe Jay’s gun down, find my own on the ground, and swing the money bag around my shoulder. I find a fresh pack of 27s and pocket it before slipping back over to Jay.

         “Listen, old man,” I say, stooping down between the aisles. “You got a name?”

         “Buck.”

         “Buck. In a minute they’ll in here with a stretcher,” I say, pulling a stack of bills from the bag. I can see them unloading the ambulance now. And about three guns trained on me. “I’m gonna let you go too.”

         “I told them it was just me,” I continue, counting out a couple hundred. “But they’re gonna figure out he’s blood, ya know?”

         Buck’s eyes flicker and narrow. After a few seconds, he snatches the bills I’m counting. “I’ll tell ‘em he had the dumb sense to try and stop his delinquent brother.”

         Jay laughs, then coughs and winces. I laugh too, rummaging his hair.  There’s a knock on the glass, a SWAT at the door.

         “Stay back!” I jump to my feet and mumble ‘I’m sorry’. “Stay back or I’ll shoot this geezer!”

         The SWAT steps away slowly, his gun now trained on me, hard. The phone rings. I step behind Buck and with my free hand, take it out.

         “Listen, I just want the medic to come in,” I shout over Shelley’s demands. “Nobody’s gonna get hurt.”

         “How do I know my guy’s isn’t going to an early grave in there?”

         “You don’t!” There’s only one way this can all play out. “But I’ll let two hostages go when he leaves.”

         I hang up and slip the phone back into my pocket. I let Buck go and shout for the medic to come in. He hesitates, looks back, and then braves the door. The SWAT stays, observing everything over the barrel of his M4.

         “Sorry about that, Buck. I can’t go dying too early.” He shrugs as the stretcher comes up and stands to help.

         “Zee,” Jay’s face is stone cold. “You better not die on me.”

In ten minutes I watch them all leave. As the door closes, I move back to the back of the store, not bothering to stay low anymore. The phone rings again and I pull it to my ear.

         “What’s going on in there?” Sergeant Shelley is much calmer now. “How many hostages are there?”

         “Shelley, right? I promise this’ll be over real soon, okay? There’s one more and I’m gonna let her out in a minute.”

         “Don’t do anything stupid, son. You can still step away from this.” I hang up the phone and pull the battery pack out, dropping the parts to the floor.

         “It’s time for you to leave, too,” I say as sweetly as I can. “I lost.”

         She nods and we walk slowly towards the front. Before we get there she grabs my hand.

         “What’s going to happen?” She asks. Her eyes probe and I turn away.

         “I don’t know. I just need you to be safe,” I mumble. But I know how this day will end.

         “My name’s Laura,” she says softly, reeling me back in.

         “Hi, Laura.” I let out a laugh despite myself. She’s got me hooked. “Could I—”

         “What?” Her hand is still in mine.

         “Well,” damn it; this is all I’ve got. “Could I…kiss you?”

         Her hand tightens and she pulls me close in a sweet embrace—and kisses me with a fire that fuels my body. I pull her even closer and the moment never ends—electricity running through my lips and down my lungs, my ribs, my fingers and feet.

         “I want to see you again, okay?” She looks past dark brown locks that have nested against her breasts and my chest. I’m crazy if I ever let her go.

         We do let go and I watch her walk to the doors alone, pushing them open.

         I step up to the glass and pull my 27s. I try to ignore the myriad red lasers that start dancing across my chest, and start packing the 27s against my hands. My eyes follow Laura as far as they can, as SWAT sweeps her beyond their wall. I rip off the cellophane, flip the tab, the foil, and pull a fresh jack to my lips. Sparking it, I drop the lighter and the pack and let the sweet smoke fill up my lungs.

         A few more puffs and I pull the guns from my belt. The lasers dance when I do. I push the doors open and walk out.

         “Hold it!” No phone this time. I see Shelley up ahead on a megaphone. “Drop those weapons, son!”

         I smile and look past the dots at my hands. I take another long drag and drop the Ruger in my right hand to pull the cig away. With my left, I slowly pull the gun towards Shelley, and conduct my symphony of steel.