The Xtra- Volume One

by Oliver Willis

  The numbers on the keypad seem slippery and out of place. She can't concentrate. She just picked up this job so she'd have some extra money to buy some makeup. Standing at the other end of a loaded gun was not a part of the plan.

  "Hey, what are you –"

  It's the manager of the store, an older man in his late forties, heavyset with a receding hairline and a pleasant face. He is walking toward the cash register, not quite aware of what is going on.

  Then he sees Armin's gun. He sees the cashier's nervous face. His hands go up at his sides to signal that he means now harm.

  But Armin only sees a threat. He sees someone challenging him while this young woman is defying him. He likes power and control and right now that is being challenged.

  He knows of one way to handle these things, because that's how he has handled them his entire life: Violence.

  That's how his father handles him and his mother, how Armin handles the other boys at school, and it is the only way Armin knows how to handle the world when it seems you can't control it.

  He fires the gun.

  Chapter 50

  Devon flinches as the gun goes off and he watches the store manager immediately fall to the ground. Devon grips the laptop boxes in his hands, not knowing how to respond. He is frozen in place.

  He is watching the events unfurl in front of him like it's a movie, even though it is real life. He is filled with regret at being involved in all of this. The adrenalin and excitement he felt just minutes ago is now replaced with dread.

  The cashier screams.

  "Get over here," Armin orders, pointing with the gun to a spot in the store for her to move to. She follows his orders immediately.

  He points to a few other customers who are standing in the aisles.

  "You, you, you. Get over here too."

  They follow his orders.

  Armin shows hints of that cruel grin returning. He is asserting power again and likes the sensation.

  "Devon, come here."

  Devon walks over to his leader.

  "Damn it," Armin says, "why are you still holding those boxes?"

  Devon feels chagrined and immediately casts the laptops aside. They make a soft thump as they land on the carpet.

  "You idiots don't think," Armin continues. "That's why I have to do all the thinking. Without me, y'all would be lost. I always have to do the thinking, and nobody listens. Well, they're going to listen now."

  Devon's blood runs cold. Does Armin even realize he just shot a man?

  Am I next? He thinks.

  "Take out your phone," Armin demands.

  Devon complies. Armin walks up to the huddled customers and the cashier. One by one he pushes on their shoulders so that they are soon all kneeling down on the ground.

  Armin puts his gun to the temple of one of the men. The man closes his eyes tightly and his lips begin to move soundlessly, in prayer.

  "Stream this," Armin orders Devon. With a couple swipes on his screen, Devon complies. In seconds, they are online and live to the world.

  Armin now has an audience. He has multiple lives at his mercy. He is powerless no more.

  Chapter 51

  I'm sulking. I'm sitting in a corner of Taylor's kitchen, my coffee long gone, and I'm just sulking. I know it, I acknowledge it, and I've been there before. It isn't healthy or smart. It's just how I tend to deal with difficult emotions. It isn't very mature of me, but it's an indulgence.

  I can't even consider the case Taylor laid out earlier, because I'm not ready to deal with her being the logical one all of a sudden. That's almost weirder than finding out Mom was an alien.

  "Watch this," Taylor yells at me, running into the room. She's carrying her tablet and I roll my eyes, thinking she's off her rocker thinking some weird online video is going to make me totally change my mind.

  "Taylor—"

  "I'm serious. Watch it."

  She forcefully puts the device on the table in front of me and I see that it is a news broadcast, coming in live.

  The video shows a man – a kid, really -- with a gun held to the temple of an older, obviously terrified man.

  We watch together in silence as the anchor talks about an "ongoing hostage situation" and how police are en route to the scene.

  "This is what I was talking about," she says.

  "What?"

  "These people – that man – he needs help. Special help. Your help."

  "Taylor, that's silly. They said the police are on their way. They can handle this. They're trained to handle this."

  "But what if they can't? What if that thug shoots someone? What if they can't move in fast enough to stop him from hurting someone? And you can."

  The words land like bricks on my spine. There she goes again, making sense of the senseless. Who is this Taylor and what did she do with my friend? It's like I don’t even know her.

  "I can't," I reply.

  "Help them." It is an order, not a request.

  "But."

  "Help them."

  "It's—"

  "Help. Them."

  I really hate when she's right about anything.

  Chapter 52

  "You all ain't shit," Armin says, addressing his hostages as Devon records the entire scene. "Ain't shit at all. I'm God now. I am your God. Look at your man over there. Look."

  Devon moves the phone to show the lifeless body of the manager. A chill runs down the boy's spine but he continued to record the scene. Even now, aware that things had rapidly gone south, part of him still wants Armin's approval and blessing.

  "I'm the biggest man. Top of the heap," Armin continues his rant. "The biggest and the hugest. I have life in my hands and ain't nobody can't stop me. Nobody. That's what happens to people who mess with me, and nobody's gonna mess with me again. Nobody."

  His words are loaded with emotion. They carry the weight of everything he has seen in his short life. Slights, abuses, oversights, important fights and unimportant ones, they are all wrapped up in his emotions.

  Devon has heard rumors about Armin's background even though the boy has never spoken about his home life. The crew doesn't do that. Getting personal is for wimps. No crying, no vulnerability, no softness. It is where boys act like the men they want to be.

  And men cannot cry.

  Devon can see parts of himself in Armin. He has never held a gun, certainly never shot at someone, let alone killed them, but as he records the scene he can see where Armin is coming from.

  The hostages are adults who now respect him. The respect had to be forced upon them at the barrel of a gun, but respect is respect, right?

  Who cares how you got there. You're there.

  He holds the camera steady on Armin, who is talking about how strong and powerful he is, how he will show everyone that gave him a hard time what they had coming to them, and how they will be made to suffer in the future.

  There is a large cracking sound from above and the ceiling bursts open. Pieces of glass and plaster and wood fall from the newly created hole.

  A young black woman floats down through the opening. Devon recognizes her from that video everyone was passing around. He thought it was just a fake but now he sees her and turns the camera on her.

  Then he hears a gunshot ring out.

  Chapter 53

  I hear the gun as I float down through the hole I punched in the roof of the electronics store. I didn't know how hard to hit it and I'm shocked by how easy it was to break through the building material.

  I don't have time to move out of the bullet's path, at least I don't think so, and so it happens again.

  The bullet harmlessly bounces off me. I don't even feel it. It's hard not to reflexively flinch and I catch myself mid-cower. I straighten up, trying to play it off.

  I keep floating down. I see the boy from the video stream and his hostages kneeling before him. I see the other kid, holding the phone that is streaming the video out to the world.

  He fires again and there's no effect. Two
more times. Nothing.

  It's hard not to flinch when he fires, but I quickly find myself being unaffected by it. Who knew a gunshot was something you could take in stride?

  I'm learning new things about myself every minute.

  I land on the sales room floor and the gun-wielding teen is standing right in front of me. The look on his face is a mixture of anger, shock and surprise. I can't say I blame him. He's been ranting about being God and Mr. Powerful and everything in-between, and here I am showing him up without saying a word.

  "The hell?" He asks.

  "Put it down," I order, and I'm frankly surprised I sound as authoritative as I do.

  Kind of badass, I think.

  "You ain't the boss of me," the boy replies. He's still pointing the gun at me and it dawns on me that despite his emotional state and clearly murderous intentions, this isn't a stupid kid and he is about to turn his anger to someone else in the room.

  Unlike me, they can get hurt.

  I sprint in his direction.

  I'm still quick. Not track meet quick, but plenty fast. He isn't expecting the move and so his hand hasn't changed positions.

  I quickly grab his wrist and squeeze it. I'm barely applying any pressure, at least from my perspective, but he loudly yelps in pain. I'm going to have to figure out how strong I really am, soon.

  He drops the gun and the weapon falls to the ground. I let go of his arm then give him a quick uppercut with the other fist. His jawbone feels like putty and I quickly pull my hand away so I don't knock his head clean off.

  The boy falls to the ground, unconscious.

  I look at the other boys in his group. They look like babies. Their faces are a mix of shock, horror, and surprise.

  "You're all done too," I say, pointing at them. They drop what they're holding and put their hands up in surrender.

  Here I am, a basement-bound newspaper researcher, and I've just ended a hostage stand-off.

  Weirdest year ever.

  Giant arms wrap around my body. I almost swing my fists to hit whoever is suddenly holding me until I realize it is one of the customers, back up on his feet, hugging me.

  "You saved my life! All of us!" He yells into my ear. It is so loud it almost deafens me. Pure joy. I relax a little bit and allow myself a smile.

  The other hostages are standing too, and they are either crying in relief or putting a hand on my shoulder mouthing quiet "thanks." They aren't as effusive as the man with me in the bear hug, but their emotions are just as sincere.

  I hear police sirens in the far-off distance getting closer. Who knows what these obviously on-edge teens could have done before they got here? Things could have gone south, quickly.

  I feel good and I let myself experience the emotions around me for the first in what feels like a long time.

  This isn't how things have been for many years now. This isn't the life I'm used to. Things are extremely different, and I have no idea what's coming.

  It feels good though.

  Chapter 54

  Four Days Later

  Routines start going back to normal, people get back into their routines despite brushes with the fantastical.

  They go to the bank.

  Inside First American Bank, things are quiet. The young woman behind the counter has curly blonde hair and a pleasant demeanor. She nods as she greets each customer and makes the financial transactions they need. Nothing too out of the ordinary, too difficult, or complex.

  "Next," she says, waving her next customer toward her.

  It is a tall man, muscular build. He's not handsome, but he has his merits. He looks like a lot of their usual clientele, just another working class stiff here to deposit a check or transfer funds or something he couldn't get done on his computer.

  The clerk idly checks the crossword puzzle on her desk as the man approaches. When the customers slow down, she plans to address the clue for 18 down that has befuddled her all morning.

  "How can I help you, sir?"

  He nods but says nothing in reply.

  He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a three-by-five-inch note card. It reminds the clerk of high school days and using cards like that to memorize her lessons.

  The man puts the card down on the counter and shoves it through the slot underneath the bulletproof glass that divides them. The clerk smiles, giving him the same pleasant but relatively insincere look she has used for weeks.

  Everyone has a quirk, she thinks, pulling at the card with her hand.

  "This is a robbery," reads the card. "Do as I say or I'll set off this bomb."

  She looks up at him and he still has the pleasant look on his face. He zips down the front of his jacket and she sees it. Strapped to his chest are what appears to be sticks of dynamite, in red casing with wires connecting each device to the one next to it.

  The clerk's heart begins to race and she thinks about going home and her little girl and what the poor child would feel like to have a police officer sit her down and relay the worst possible news.

  No. She thinks, immediately rejecting the scenario in her head.

  She nods to the man and opens her till. She begins taking out the bills, her hands shaking in fear.

  I'm going home tonight. I'm going to see my little girl and I won't let some psychopath prevent that from happening.

  The man stands passively watching her, his expression unchanging and uncaring. He might as well be watching grass grow. Maybe that would be more stimulating for him.

  ###

  Tandy is sad to see her lunch break end as she walks into the bank. She stretched her break time as long as possible, based on the supervisor on duty. She has worked at this branch for a few weeks and is aware of which bosses she can get away with the most under.

  Today is a day where she can tack on an extra ten minutes and she exploited that option fully.

  But now that's over.

  She sighs as she steps inside the building, ready to take her place behind the counter. There's that other clerk with a customer. She hasn't learned her name yet. Tandy is bad with names.

  Tandy watches as the customer hands the clerk a note. She doesn't know the woman well but she has seen that look on her face before. It is fleeting and nearly as quickly as she noticed it, it is gone.

  But she saw it.

  Something's wrong, she thinks.

  Tandy usually second guesses herself. Throughout her life this hasn't worked out. Cheating boyfriends, untrustworthy friends, disingenuous sales people.

  Now, based on just a few "off" things she saw on the clerk's face, Tandy has made a decision.

  Instead of heading to her desk and checking in, ending her lunch break, Tandy steps back.

  She holds her head straight, as if to make any move would give up her presence.

  She can't afford to lose her job. Logically she should walk in, sit down, and shut up.

  But something's not right.

  Tandy takes a few more steps back, down the walkway. She turns to her left and sees it.

  She presses the button labeled "silent alarm," then finally turns around and runs out the entrance.

  She'll go home and live to see another day. Whatever happens after remains to be seen. Maybe she's paranoid and being stupid.

  But she'll survive this day, no matter what.

  ###

  The cops pull up to the bank, sirens wailing. The response time is excellent. Unlike other neighborhoods in the city with poorer residents, the precinct in this sector of D.C. is prone to quick responses.

  Rich people expect a certain quality of service from their local police department, and while officially on paper the departments don't differ, everyone understands that sometimes you don't hustle to the scene, and sometimes you do.

  Today is the latter.

  The cops emerge from the car, guns drawn. Backup has already been called in but they choose to go in now to check on the alarm.

  Maybe it's nothing. Maybe someone just accidentally pressed it (it
happens). Or maybe—

  They push the doors open.

  Bullets immediately begin flying. One cop hits the floor. The other throws himself down to the ground. He reaches for his radio and looks across the room to his partner, convulsing in pain. He sees blood already dripping from his lips.

  "Shots fired, shots fired," he yells into his radio. "Officer down, shots fired."

  ###

  The bank robber didn’t know how the cops had been alerted. He had watched the clerks, making sure that he pounced when there was only one woman on duty.

  He was no great strategist, but he knew that intimidating the woman with his note and his bomb would prompt her to act. He would get his money and then get out of there.

  Now there was a cop bleeding out thanks to a gun that he fired. He. Fired.

  He turns his attention to the other cop, the one yelling out to his radio. Other cops would be here soon, and he didn't have his money yet.

  Damn it.

  He readies his hand to shoot. He didn't want to kill anyone, but they brought this on themselves, right?

  They got in the way.

  Ready. Aim.

  The gun flies out of his hands, as if some invisible string pulled them right out of his grip. The man doesn't even have time to hold the weapon tighter to react to the sudden disarming.

  It's just gone.

  Chapter 55

  I crush the gun in my hand as I take it from the would-be shooter. I'm still not used to something as strong and solid as a handgun looking like a sheet of loose-leafed paper as it sits in a ball in the palm of my hand.

  Taylor's gloating will be insufferable since she's the reason I'm here. We've spent days listening to police band radio, most of the time being bored about the mundane conversations sent over the air.

  But today I heard "officer down" and I didn't even think. Within seconds I was in the air and headed to the bank.

  The flying is still a work in progress though I have learned that flying over the city, between two points, beats the pants off of the best GPS unit.

  I come to a complete stop and give the guy a once-over.