THUGLIT Issue Eleven

by Matthew McBride

  He thought about his motto: "kill the way you would want to be killed." He would be violating it for the first and last time. He pulled the trigger and reached for the hand, but it disappeared. He heard a knock on the door and Vinnie's voice as he turned toward Sophia, who vanished too, and he plummeted out of the sky.

  Larry's Proposal

  by Michael Cebula

  Tammy had been gone for a month when Larry decided he should marry her. He made up his mind five beers deep into a Wednesday afternoon, sitting in a folding chair amongst the weeds outside his trailer, shooting a pellet gun at any birds that landed in his yard. In the three years he had lived with Tammy before she left, they had never gone more than two days without fighting and the idea of marrying her had not crossed his mind once. But living alone had changed Larry's perspective.

  He would never admit it, least of all to Tammy, but the fact was that life was not as fun without her in it. Plus—and this he would admit, especially to Tammy—the trailer was a mess, there was no food in the refrigerator, and he would have had no idea how to cook it if there had been. An engagement ring seemed like as good a way as any of getting her back.

  Larry took one last shot at a Blue Jay, missed, then went inside to get dressed, the first time that week he had worn something more than just boxer shorts. His options were limited but he did as best he could—ripped, oil-stained jeans, cowboy boots, and a short-sleeve shirt (left unbuttoned because it had shrunk too small to cover his potbelly).

  Then he drove into town.

  The first thing that struck Larry was how clean and quiet the jewelry store was, like the church he and his brother had broken into one night as kids, looking for the collection plate. The next thing he noticed was the security guard, a large man with a shaved head. Larry nodded in his direction but the man did not so much as blink, just continued to stare Larry down. He wanted to walk out right then, but Larry reminded himself that he had a right to be here, he was a customer like anybody else. And he remembered what his daddy had told him: you can get away with anything if you act like you know what you're doing.

  With that in mind, Larry swaggered up to the front counter and leaned on it like he was about to order a drink. He put his cup of tobacco juice on the counter and resisted the urge to knock on the glass, sensing that in a place like this you waited to be served. That was fine, Larry thought, he could be patient when he had to be. Down the counter to his left, a short bald man, who Larry assumed was the manager, was helping another customer—a well-dressed woman with large sunglasses perched on her head. The man saw Larry, grimaced, and turned away. Fuck it, Larry thought. He spit in his cup, then knocked on the counter and hollered, "Service."

  The manager and the customer looked at him with sour expressions, like he was some dog that had pissed on the floor. Larry gave them a little salute and in the process knocked over his cup, spilling tobacco juice onto the counter. A carefully put together blonde woman came out of the back office, stared at Larry as he tried to clean up the mess with the bottom of his shirt, then walked over to the manager. They whispered together, glancing from time to time towards Larry. Larry couldn't tell what they were saying, but he could guess. When the woman finally came over to Larry, she looked at him like she thought he must be lost.

  "Is there something we could help you with?" she asked.

  "I need a wedding ring," he said, relieved that so far she had ignored the spilled tobacco juice.

  The woman looked deflated to learn he was an actual customer. She mumbled something that might have been "Congratulations" and asked whether he had anything particular in mind.

  Larry scratched his belly and looked at her like she was the one who was lost. "Like I said, getting married is what we have in mind. We're deeply in love."

  "I mean, are there any particular rings you like?"

  Larry hadn't thought that far ahead. In fact, he had no idea what Tammy would like nor did he much care. He scanned the case under his arms and pointed through the smeared tobacco juice at a random ring.

  "How much for that one?"

  The woman looked at the small white tag attached to the ring and said: "$10,000."

  Larry leaned back from the case. "$10,000."

  "Yes, $10,000."

  "For that ring?"

  "That's what it says." Her look told him she knew he could never afford it.

  "$10,000 American?" Larry asked.

  She looked exhausted by the conversation. "We really need to be closing soon."

  "You're not closing at 2:30 in the afternoon," Larry said. "Lemme see it."

  The woman looked at him doubtfully and did not give him the ring.

  "C'mon now, lemme see it," he said. "Not like it's your ring or something."

  She glanced at the manager, but he still was busy with the other customer. Larry watched her, curious what she would do, and was surprised when she gave him the ring. It was rare for someone to do what he told them and he let that small feeling of power wash over him. Then he examined the ring. In his hand, the ring looked small and felt weightless. It was a puzzle to him: so much money for a little rock, having value only because people decided it did.

  "I'll need that back," the saleswoman said. Larry shook his head, dazed, and handed over the ring. Just once he would like to meet someone who was not aggravating. While she put the ring away, Larry turned and looked around the store. There were cases everywhere, filled with jewelry that flashed bits of light like smiles from pretty, unattainable women.

  He turned back to the counter, buttoned his shirt as best he could, and said, "You got something more reasonable? I can't hardly afford $10,000 right now."

  Before she could answer, the manager walked over. He looked like a man who had just bitten into something unpleasant and had no choice but to keep chewing.

  Trying to take charge, the manager said, "I don't think we have anything for you."

  "We haven't settled that yet," Larry said.

  The saleswoman sighed and said, "I can show you some less expensive rings."

  Larry followed her to the other side of the store and peered into the last case on the end. Embarrassed and angry, the jewelry swam before his eyes, and he could not focus on any piece in particular. But he could feel the saleswoman and the manager staring at him, so he took his time, pretending to consider his options. Finally, he pointed to a ring at random: "That's it, that's the one."

  The saleswoman looked at the price tag and frowned. "$1,000," she said.

  Larry pondered this as he stuck another pinch of tobacco in his cheek. Fuck these two.

  "I will give you fifty dollars," he said at last.

  The manager shook his head, disgusted, and said, "It's time for you to leave."

  "I am willing to go as high as seventy-five," Larry said, but already the manager was looking past him, waving over the security guard.

  "This isn't how you should treat people," Larry said.

  The security guard was next to him now, a firm grip on Larry's arm. He allowed the security guard to walk him out the door and into the parking lot. When the security guard released him, Larry stumbled but then collected himself, smoothed his shirt, and spit tobacco juice onto the blacktop.

  "That's no way to treat a man," Larry said. "I was just trying to get a ring for my girlfriend."

  The security guard stared at him, unmoved. Larry thought, not for the first time, that he could never get the reaction he wanted from people.

  "Maybe I'll come back sometime," Larry said. "Me and some friends. Just take what we want. And if anyone talks rude to us like today, well, I can't be responsible for what happens."

  The security guard shrugged and walked back into the store.

  Later that afternoon, Larry sat on a picnic table in the woods behind his brother Clyde's house, watching Clyde skin a dozen grey squirrels. After being tossed out of the jewelry store, Larry first had gone to see his cousin Jaime but left when it became clear Jaime was only interested in talking about the m
oney Larry owed him. Larry next tried to call his buddy Eddie, whom he had not heard from in a month. Throughout the afternoon, he left Eddie an escalating series of unreturned messages, the first of which asked Eddie to be his best man and the last of which, a few hours later, was such a frustrated, ugly rant about Eddie's failures as a friend, a human being, and a man, that Larry now thought it best to avoid Eddie for a while.

  That left his brother, Clyde. Clyde was still mad at Larry for screwing up a job a week earlier, which had landed Clyde's partner in jail. But Larry figured Clyde at least would still allow him on his property, which was more than Larry could say of most people he knew these days.

  Clyde had grunted in response to Larry's greeting, but otherwise acted as if Larry were not there. Larry always felt small and ridiculous around Clyde. He passed quickly over his decision to marry Tammy, fearing a mean joke, and then recounted his version of his failed trip to the jewelry store. He knew Clyde would not do anything that was Larry's idea, so he described in what he hoped was an offhand way how the store had cases of jewelry, protected by nothing more than thin glass and a dumb security guard, without specifically suggesting they should rob the place. He already regretted threatening the security guard, and did not mention it to Clyde. Through it all Clyde said nothing, just kept busy with his knife, each skinned squirrel looking to Larry like a screaming rat that had emerged from hell.

  His story over, Larry waited a few minutes in silence. He was tired of his own voice and felt foolish for speaking so long to someone who ignored him. Clyde must have been angrier about what happened last week than he had imagined.

  At last Larry asked, "You have anything to say?"

  Clyde wiped his bloody knife against his jeans but otherwise did not pause in his work. "Not really," Clyde said. "Just that the part about them not accepting the five hundred you was going to pay doesn't seem quite accurate. When you ever had five hundred dollars together at one time? And was willing to spend it on someone else?" That was Clyde, always with the insults.

  "I had that much together many times," Larry said. "That and more. You're not the only success story around here, contrary to popular opinion. I got things going on you don't even know about."

  Clyde laughed but still did not look up from skinning the squirrels. "I'm sure of that little brother. But maybe you should stick to selling weed to teenagers. That's the right level for you, as I think we can all agree now. I don't see successful armed robbery in your future. That's grown-up shit."

  "Maybe I've grown up and you didn't notice," Larry said. "Maybe I can do more than people seem to think. And I already told you what happened last week wasn't my fault, if that's what you're thinking about."

  "Why don't you get help from Eddie. I know you two's such good friends." Clyde chuckled again when he said that, but he still did not look up from the squirrels.

  "I can't get ahold of Eddie. Haven't even heard from him in about a month."

  "A month you say? Sounds about right. Well, I'm not going to join you, if that's why you're here. You're so grown up, then you can handle it. This is a battle you got to fight by yourself."

  It was the answer Larry expected, but it angered him nevertheless. "Well, I see how things are," he said. "Something comes up that might be a little dangerous, and Clyde gets scared." If nothing else, he was determined to at least get his brother to ignore the squirrels and look at him.

  "I am scared. Of ever doing another job where I got to rely on you."

  "You know, Clyde, you sure don't have much family pride."

  Clyde finally looked up. "Should I?"

  Clyde's grin told Larry he was enjoying every minute of this and had been from the start. Same game he had played since they were kids, doing and saying anything to keep Larry feeling small.

  "Them squirrels are out of season," he told Clyde. "And I know you don't got a license. Better hope the game warden don't find out."

  Clyde just laughed at him, bent over his work again, and dismissed Larry with a wave of his knife.

  When night fell, Larry parked his truck in the empty employee parking lot behind the jewelry store. Despite what he told Clyde, he was not sure he could rob the store on his own. But he did not see many other options. And he knew that if he pulled it off, people would look at him differently, and they would forget about him screwing up the last job.

  Larry was so deep in thought that when someone knocked on the passenger side window he dropped his gun and gave a startled cry. The door opened and the security guard slid in, as if he were a friend whom Larry had offered a ride.

  "Thought I might find you here," the security guard said. He glanced at Larry's gun, which was close to falling out of the rusted hole in the floor of the truck, and grinned. "Scared you, didn't I?"

  Larry stared straight ahead, unsure what to do. "No, I knew you was there."

  "No doubt, no doubt," the security guard said, fiddling with Larry's radio. "So, I guess you fixin' to rob this place, huh?"

  Larry wondered whether the security guard had a gun, whether he could get away before the police came. "No, just looking for a quiet place to think."

  The security guard went on, as if Larry had not said a word. "What's your plan? Just bust in the door, snatch what you can? You know anything about the alarm? How long the police take to get here? You think all the jewelry is still in those cases? You know which pieces to grab and which ones to ignore?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Yeah you do. You Clyde's brother, right? He's told me about you."

  Larry wasn't sure how to interpret that. "How you know Clyde?"

  "I've been knowing Clyde forever."

  "Never seen you around."

  "I was gone for a while. Now I'm back, keeping a low profile with this bullshit job. But I think I'm ready to jump back in the game." The security guard stopped fiddling with the radio and the humor dropped from his voice. "What about you, Larry? You trying to get paid? 'Cause if you are, I got some ideas."

  "Does Clyde know about this?"

  "Nothing happens around here without Clyde's say-so. You know that."

  Maybe Clyde had forgiven him for last week after all. Larry shrugged with what he hoped looked like bravado and said, "I'm down for whatever."

  "I can see that you are. Clyde didn't tell no lies about you."

  Then the security guard explained how they were going to rob the jewelry store.

  Three days later, Larry sat in a stolen Trans Am fifty yards away from the jewelry store, feeling more optimistic than he could ever remember. He already had decided what he would do after the robbery. First he would take a fishing vacation, laying low while the jewelry was fenced. When he returned and got his share of the money, he would go straight to Tammy's parents' house with a bag of cash and a diamond ring he planned to keep from the robbery. He'd propose, she'd accept, then they would spread the cash over the bed and have sex on top of it. After that he'd go over to Clyde's, in a new truck and with his girl on his arm, and they'd talk business. Clyde would forget about his recent screw-ups and be ready to cut him in on all kinds of deals. He knew this was his destiny.

  All he had to do was execute Frankie the security guard's plan. It was simple. Each night at closing, Frankie helped the saleswoman gather up the most expensive items and store them in a safe in the back office. This night, like many other nights, Frankie would take a piss in the employee bathroom before he began to help close up, and leave his gun in the back. Not good security protocol, of course, but there would be several employees who would say Frankie did that most nights. Let them fire me for being an idiot, he told Larry, as long as they don't tie me to the robbery.

  Larry's job was to burst in exactly fifteen minutes after closing, no more and no less. Frankie would make sure that he and the saleswoman were still collecting the jewelry. The saleswoman tonight would not be the same woman Larry had met earlier that week. According to Frankie, this woman was young, not bright, and would be easy to scare.
All Larry needed to do was talk loud, wave his gun around, and order her to fill his bag with all the jewelry they had gathered on the counter and everything else in the four cases near the register. Just get that and we're golden, he told Larry, don't waste time on anything else. Then Larry was to take off, dump the car in a designated spot where Frankie's buddy would scoop him up, and get out of town. Meanwhile, Frankie would be comforting the scared saleswoman, stalling as long as he could before triggering the alarm that would alert the police.

  And that is how it happened.

  Fifteen minutes after closing, Larry walked into the jewelry store wearing a mask and carrying his gun and an empty duffel bag. He felt more powerful than he ever had in his life.

  "Let's do this quick and I won't have to hurt anyone," Larry announced. Frankie and the saleswoman were at the register just as Frankie had said they would be, surrounded by piles of jewelry they were preparing to take back to the safe. Larry pointed his gun at them and the saleswoman screamed, an awful high-pitched sound that thrilled him.

  "Yes, that's right, it's the big bad man, with the big bad gun," Larry said. "And nobody better hit the alarm unless you want to see the big bad bullet." Frankie smirked, looking bored more than anything, but the saleswoman cowered next to him, like a dog that was used to being hit.

  "Put all of that jewelry in the bag," Larry said, pointing to the rings, watches, and necklaces on the counter, repeating the lines Frankie had told him to say. "And everything in these four cases." The saleswoman was frozen, waiting to die, but Frankie nudged her with his elbow and she began to load jewelry into the duffle bag.

  "While she does that, you just stand there, big boy," he told Frankie, ad-libbing his lines now as he watched the saleswoman fill the bag. "I like you right where you are." Frankie didn't enjoy being ordered around like that, Larry could tell, and that's why it hadn't been part of the script. But so fucking what? Larry was the one with the gun, after all.