by Joyce Nance
“How much for that?” Shane asked breathlessly.
“Not for sale. I’m keeping it,” Jerry said and headed back inside. “So ... you want the Remington or not?”
Shane walked over, picked up the shotgun again, and ran his hand up and down the barrel. Holding it horizontally, he held the pistol grip in his hand and aimed it at the wall. “Bam, bam,” he said, pretending to pull the trigger.
Jerry’s deadpan expression did not change.
“Got any ammo?” Shane asked, glancing inside the box.
“No.”
“Bummer.”
“Yes or no?” Jerry asked. “It’s a deal. Worth way more than $200. Look around town if you want, you’ll see.”
“Oh, I know,” Shane said. “I know what guns cost.”
Jerry stared at him. “So?”
“I probably shouldn’t.” Shane glanced over at Jason, who was shaking his head. “But, you’re right, this is a really good deal.
Shane spoke haltingly now, trying to ignore his friend who said, “Don’t do it.”
Jerry's hands were on his hips. “What’s your answer, man? I got somewhere I got to go.”
“Yeah,” Shane said, followed by a deep breath. “Yeah, I want it.” He reached into his front pocket and fished out a roll of twenties.
Jerry counted the money. “What’re ya shooting?” he asked without looking up.
“Targets,” Shane replied. “Mainly.”
Jerry nodded and put the shotgun back in the box.
On the way down the apartment stairs, Shane stopped and faced Jason. “Yeah, I know, I know. But it was just too good of a deal. I’m gonna throw this in the back of my closet and probably forget all about it. It’ll just be there for emergencies. That’s it. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Before Jason could respond, Shane grabbed his arm and said, “Look, dude, I know you don’t like this, but you gotta do me one more favor. This is probably the most important part.”
Jason stiffened and pulled back, “Yeah? What’s that?”
Shane’s face contorted and he didn’t speak right away. “Don’t tell Raina, okay?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell Raina about this. I don’t want her to go freaking out and shit. She’ll go all hippie on me and get mad about me having a gun, and I don’t want that. She won’t understand like you do. That it’s just for very extreme emergencies.” Shane grabbed Jason’s other arm. “Don’t tell her, okay?”
***
Hunched over a lit stove with a hot dog stuck on the end of a fork, Shane prepared his dinner. Not exactly gourmet, but it served its purpose. At six foot three and 150 pounds, Shane was a lean guy. He found other things more interesting than food.
While he leaned up against the gray kitchen counter and ate his hot dog, he puzzled over a pile of credit card receipts. Esther got them from Denny’s at his urging. He told her it was an easy way to make money. It would only hurt the credit card company, and credit card companies were evil anyway. Esther was afraid to do it at first, but Shane told her no one would notice. And even if they did, they would never know she was the one who took them.
Now it was up to him to turn them into cash.
He stared at the stack of receipts and rearranged them into smaller stacks. Then he rearranged them into taller stacks. He became so engrossed that at first he didn’t hear the phone ring, and then, when he finally did, he was annoyed.
“Fuck,” he said, reaching for the receiver.
It was John. He was calling to say he received the $200.
“Thanks, dude, I really needed that,” John said. “Where’d you get it anyway?
“I made a quick thousand selling some stereo equipment I found. I knew you were short, so when I got the cash, I just felt like I should pass some of it off to you.”
“I did need it, man. Thanks.”
“Don’t worry, bro, I got your back,” Shane said, wiping hot dog juice from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. “I’ve got another idea where we can make even more money.”
“How’s that? What you got in mind?” John asked.
“Oh, it’s a really cool thing. I got it all set up. I’m going to get you a fucking shitload of cash. I’ve got this little credit card scam going and I think it’s gonna be sweet.”
“What do you mean 'credit card scam?’ I don’t think you should do that, man. That’s out of your league.” John sounded serious.
“You worry too much, man. I already got the numbers and everything. It’s all worked out. I might be able to pull out twenty, maybe even a hundred bucks from every one of these little fuckers. And I got a pile a numbers. No one’s even gonna know what hit ’em. The way I’m doing it, it’s practically untraceable.”
“I don’t know, man. What makes you think you can pull it off?”
“Oh, I definitely can, you’ll see. We’re gonna both make big bucks from this one, and soon. I can maybe get another $200 to you by next week.”
“Another $200? Next week? Shit. You really got that much confidence this thing’s gonna pan out?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can get you something by next week.”
“Wow! Okay,” John said. “Do not get busted.”
Shane was about to respond when John added. “But if you do get busted, do not bring up my name.”
“Like I said, man, don’t worry. It’s gonna be like a greased pig. Fast and fat.”
***
As the afternoon wore on, Shane continued to stare at the pile of receipts. He even made a list of all the numbers. He felt he should be able to come up with some type of brilliant embezzlement plan, but so far he hadn’t. He thought maybe he could use the numbers to buy things over the phone and then return them for cash. But what if they wanted to take a look at the actual credit card? Or suppose they wanted to see an ID? Well, he had a couple ID’s, so that was handled, but what if they called the credit card company while he was there and figured out it wasn’t his credit card? This scheme was definitely not ready for prime time. He would have to put it on hold until a workable idea was developed.
Meanwhile, neighbor Jason knocked on his door. He had a six-pack in his hand.
“Hey man, it’s raining out. Can I come in?” Jason asked rhetorically, and plopped on the couch.
“Yeah, come on in. Stay dry.”
“What’re ya doing?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just hanging’,” Shane replied, hastily scooping up the receipts and shoving them into a large brown envelope.
“I brought over some beer and a video. You wanna watch it with me?” Jason asked.
“Probably. What is it?”
“It’s got lots of killin’, and Brigitte Nielsen’s in it and she’s hot. You’ll like it.”
“Stick it in.”
Feet on the coffee table, munching Cheetos and drinking beer, they watched the guns, the girls and the gore. Every few minutes, one or the other made a comment that the other one laughed at.
About half way through the video, Shane sat up straight and said, “Hey, pause it, pause it. I think that shotgun they just showed in the movie is the same one I just bought. Pause it, and I’m gonna go get mine and see.”
Shane jogged over to his closet, picked up a newly-purchased black duffle bag and lifted the shotgun out.
“Rewind. Rewind,” Shane said excitedly. “I wanna play that part back slow and check.”
Jason dutifully hit rewind, and then slow-mo.
Shane held the gun up to the TV and compared.
“Hmmm? I’m not sure. Hit pause again. Oh, yeah, maybe? What do you think? No, no, it’s not, but it’s close.” He dropped the gun to his side.
“Hey, do you wanna hold it? It feels good to hold.” Shane leaned the gun towards Jason.
Jason backed away. “No.”
“Why not? It feels cool.”
“No way, man. It might be loaded or something. I don’t want to hold a loaded gun.”
“It’s not loaded. Look
.” Shane opened the barrel-stock and exposed an empty chamber.
Jason peered in. “Are you sure, man?”
“Sure as shit on a shingle. I just showed you. There’s no bullets in there. Go ahead, check it out yourself.” Again Shane pushed the gun towards Jason.
This time Jason took it, holding it gingerly with both hands, with the barrel pointed up.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said, and gripped the handle with one hand and held the long barrel with the other. “Wow! This feels different than I thought it would.”
“Go ahead, man, pump it. Pump the motherfucker. Feels good, huh?” Shane said. Jason pulled the pump-action back one time and Shane smiled.
“You got it now, bro. You’re really getting the hang of it. Try pulling the trigger.”
Shane playfully pushed Jason’s hand in that direction.
“Go ahead, dude. Just do it. It’s not loaded. It won’t hurt nothing. Try it, you’ll see it pulls real sweet.” Shane was standing shoulder to shoulder with Jason, lost in the moment.
But somewhere in the back of his bliss, Shane heard a jiggling sound. It was almost imperceptible. He recognized the actual source of the noise too late.
The front door jerked open and Raina stood in the door frame, collapsing her broken umbrella. She was wet from head to toe, staring at Shane and Jason.
Monday, February 26, 1996
Esther’s black cat sat on the window sill, basking in the sun. His ears perked up when the phone rang.
“Hey,” John said.
“Hi, John,” Esther gushed. “It’s great to hear from you.”
John exchanged small talk with her for a few minutes and then informed her Shane had wired him some money. He said he might have enough to come down to Albuquerque shortly.
She thought she was being helpful when she told him about Shane’s credit card scam. She said Shane had a plan worked out so they could make money from credit card numbers. She told John she was planning on sending him most of her share of the money.
“Don’t do it,” John said.
Even though Shane had already told him about the scam, John had no idea Esther was involved. John had previously told her to stay away from all types of crime because he wasn’t there to protect her or advise her. Now he was upset that she had let Shane talk her into stealing the receipts from Denny’s.
After hearing John’s reaction to the credit card scam, Esther decided she would not mention anything about the Mac’s robbery.
Chapter 11
“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.”
VOLTAIRE
Tuesday, February 27, 1996
Lazy day at Shane’s house. He got up late, had some cold leftover Chinese food, and turned on the tube. Nothing but shit on. Again. He’d already watched the videos he’d rented the night before. Didn’t matter though. He had stuff to do. Might as well get on with it.
He gave Esther a call and asked her to come by. Said they needed to talk.
While he waited for her to arrive, he got the scissors out and trimmed his beard and mustache. He dabbed the whiskers with a small amount of water, combed everything downward, and snipped in straight lines. Stepping back from the mirror, he looked at himself and liked what he saw: an extremely cool looking dude.
Esther walked in. “Hey,” she said and looked around. His apartment looked like it always did: trashy, dirty dishes everywhere and clothes strewn on the floor. Smelled like it always did too: stale cigarette smoke with a whiff of rotting food.
“Wanna beer?” Shane asked pleasantly.
“Yeah, I guess I could. I drug tested already this morning.”
He brought her a cold Bud Lite and sat down next to her.
Looking thoughtful he said, “That Mac thing went pretty smooth, huh?
“I guess so.”
“We got in, got out, made some all right cash.”
Esther nodded.
Tapping an extended ash from his cigarette into the ashtray, Shane continued, “I know this is kind of new work to you, but I think you might be a natural. You did good. The whole thing went better than I thought it would.” Esther raised her eyebrows and listened. “Nobody got hurt, we didn’t get caught. Nothing bad at all happened. It went just like it was supposed to.” Shane turned to face her. “I think we work pretty fucking bitching together. Am I right?”
“Ri-ight.”
“So whataya say ’bout doin’ another one? A quick one; a bigger payoff one. One we can make so-ooo much more money on, to where we’d be fucking set for a while.”
Esther took a big swallow of beer and did not answer.
“I really need you on this, Esther,” he pressed. “Everything came together on the last one, right? I really don’t think I could do it without you.” He rubbed his hands together. “And, here’s the best part, the very best part. We’ll be able to get a bunch more money for John, so you guys can get back together.”
Shane had spoken the magic words and he knew it. Esther looked up at him, eyes wide. “Tell me what I’d have to do, and I’ll think about it.”
Smiling his widest, brightest, shit-eating smile, Shane explained the details of their next armed robbery.
***
Anyone who cared to listen closely could hear the wheezing of the customers’ lungs as they huffed their way through Walmart. The Muzak, the vastness, the dead look. It was a world unto itself, one you could easily get lost in, or at least not get noticed.
Shane and Esther were not noticed.
They purchased another replica 9mm BB gun. Shane said it would be better if they each had their own. He explained that there would be more employees this time, so more guns were needed for control. He reminded her more than once that the reason for using BB guns was simple: people cooperated but no one got hurt. Esther agreed with this idea.
9 PM
Lauren, the Hollywood Video night manager, looked out of the glass entry doors and saw a small black sports car in the darkened parking lot. Her heart raced. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the car disturbed her. She stared at it, waiting to see who got out.
No one got out.
Should I call the cops? she asked herself. Not yet, not yet. Let’s see what happens. I can lock the door quickly if I have to, and there’s always the panic button. No one will like it if I over-react.
Inside the vehicle, she saw movement. She was pretty sure there were two people in there. One or both might be women. Both occupants appeared to have long hair.
Lauren edged along the glass to get a closer look at the vehicle. She wasn’t positive, but she thought she saw a glint of light bounce off the face of the person sitting in the passenger side. She thought that person might be wearing glasses.
Just as she was about to call another employee over to take a look, the black car sped away.
Wednesday, February 28, 1996
Staff Sergeant Adam Romero had been actively serving in the U.S. Air Force for over ten years, working in munitions most of that time. In July of 1994, he moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico, his new post.
Adam was a gun enthusiast and owned quite a few types of firearms. Every now and then, if he saw a gun that interested him, he bought it. When he was stationed in Texas he bought a TEC-9, a 9mm handgun with a bad reputation. It was essentially a low-priced, semi-automatic version of a military submachine gun. Two TEC-9s were used in a notorious 1993 mass murder in San Francisco, California, that killed eight people and injured six others. Not too far in the future, in 1999, a TEC-9 would play a key role in the Columbine High School massacre.
The TEC-9 came with a pistol grip, a barrel shroud and the ability to hold large-capacity magazines. It was the gun of choice for many self-styled gangsters. Adam bought it for target shooting, but he hadn’t even done much of that, only taking it out to the range a couple of times. It turned out; it wasn’t a very accurate weapon.
This gun had become a giant pain in the derriere for Adam. After Texas, he was
stationed in California, where he registered the gun as required. The TEC-9 was on the assault weapons banned list in that state.
A few years later, even after he moved to New Mexico, Adam still continued to receive phone calls from California about the gun. He decided it was more trouble than it was worth and placed a classified ad in the Albuquerque Journal to sell it. The ad was scheduled to run for one week.
Thursday, February 29, 1996
Raina had had enough. First, the lying, then the revelation that he had been in prison. Then it turned out that most of Shane’s friends were ex-cons. He even tried to get her involved in his credit card scam. As each day passed she felt more and more uncomfortable.
Then one day, Shane brought home a shotgun. As far as Raina was concerned, he had crossed the line with that move. She abhorred guns and he knew it. It had been a couple of days since he brought it into the apartment, and it wasn’t feeling any righter. Shane was out of control, and he was scaring her. This was not the happy, peaceful life she wanted. She decided to have a talk with him.
She worked hard to keep her voice even. “What do you need a shotgun for?” she asked.
“I’m going to use it to make some money,” Shane said without hesitating.
“Money?” Raina shook her head in disgust.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“I”m gonna be a bodyguard.”
She tilted her head. “With a shotgun? That doesn’t sound true.”
“I’m gonna be Mary Jane’s bodyguard.”
Raina mouthed the word, “What?”
“I was offered a job to help this guy drive 18-wheelers up from Mexico. Trucks full of weed, you know — marijuana. So the pot gets to Albuquerque for people to smoke. It’s a service.”
He paused, to read her face.
She frowned, but he continued anyway. “The guy told me he needs protection when he drives. You know, from other guys and cops and shit. So I’m gonna be his protection. I’m gonna ride shotgun with a shotgun.” He looked again for a reaction to his small joke but her face hadn’t changed. “Basically, I’m gonna be his sniper.”