by Greg Walker
Jon smiled sheepishly, figured it worth a shot, anyway.
The sun had come up by the time they had finished, Jon again falling into a near hypnotic state sustained only by the rhythm of motion. He thought he understood now why slaves had sung as they worked, the timing of the phrases providing something to focus on besides the task at hand. And to keep thoughts from straying into the territory of hope.
They slogged back to the vehicles. Brody said, “You both follow me again. We’re going to have to drive a little ways, to put some distance between us and this place. We’ll stop at a motel and get some sleep, and then I have one more thing planned before I send you home. I know you’re exhausted, but you need to stay awake until we get there. Wrecking on the highway now would raise too many suspicions, since you’re both so filthy. Plus you might die, and I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”
“Glad to know you’re looking out for us.” Jon said, not caring if the remark brought a rebuke in any form.
“No problem Jon. I’m not such a bad guy. You’ll see.”
Chapter 10
They drove to Altoona. Jon expected to fight sleep for the entire drive, but he instead felt wired and edgy, sure that a State Police cruiser would fall in behind with its lights flashing and siren screaming. At least his car wasn’t doubling as a hearse anymore. He tried to remain hopeful, believe that Brody would let them go. And why not? He had the pictures. He didn’t seem to care much about Chris. But why, then, were they heading to a motel instead of home?
Jon wished he could talk to Will. He thought of his cell phone packed in a duffel bag due to its uselessness at the camp and the surrounding area, figured he could get reception here. But if Brody turned and saw them talking, he didn’t think it would go well for them. He considered hitting the accelerator and ramming the motorcycle. But again, it came with no guarantees. Brody might see him coming and evade his car…too many what ifs. Better to wait, to see what he actually planned to do with them. Maybe.
In Altoona, Brody pulled into the lot of a Motel 8, then instructed Jon to park his car at a Burger King next door, and Will at a hardware store on the other side. He went inside the office, and then motioned them from their vehicles as he got back on the motorcycle and drove to a spot in front of the room. Jon waited for someone to point at him, narrow their eyes in suspicion at his filthy clothes and hair matted to his head in some places, and sticking up crazily in others, these things the equivalent to a sign stating "murderer" hung around his neck and printed in bold, block letters. A woman glanced at him and her gaze lingered, her mouth twitching in a smile, and then she looked away. He shambled on to the darkness of the open doorway, a zombie returning home to his grave.
Once inside, they both took showers, and Jon had never appreciated one more, wishing that the last day’s experience might wash down the drain with the soil. But he knew it to be impossible, that he would remember it forever. And they weren’t even done, yet.
When he came back out, he found Will tied by an arm to the head of one of the beds, already sleeping. Brody held another length of rope and smiled at him and Jon sighed in resignation and lay down, even placing his arm in position for Brody to secure.
“Good night, Jon,” he said, and settled into the second bed.
Jon decided to wait until Brody slept, and then wake up Will to discuss their situation, but then Brody was prodding him with his boot.
“Get up. Time to go.”
Brody rode in Jon’s car, and Will followed behind, the arrangement at Brody’s direction without any explanation. Jon’s stomach rumbled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday. They drove for about ten miles, the sprawl of Altoona giving way to rural roads with an occasional farm, trailer court, or a near palace built by the wealthy getting back to nature on their own terms. Jon kept his eyes on the road, and resisted Brody’s attempts to draw him into conversation. Eventually Brody gave up and stared out the window with a small smile fixed on his lips. Jon resisted the urge to strike him. They had only slept for about four hours, and he didn’t feel refreshed, possibly even worse than before. He had a headache and his body had stiffened so that moving was difficult. He dreaded the extreme soreness he would soon experience once his muscles discovered the full measure of the trauma they had experienced.
Brody instructed him to turn onto a side road, and Will followed. They headed down a winding country lane until Brody pointed at a bare, tire-rutted patch of dirt next to a stream; a fisherman's pull-off, vacant on this Monday morning. Here, they left Will’s car, Brody offering no explanation and neither of them daring to ask. But Jon’s stomach felt tight, afraid for what this meant. Leaving one of the cars signaled that someone wouldn’t be needed to drive it later on. Despite Brody’s assurances of letting them live, Jon didn’t trust him one bit. They would have to look for an opportunity to strike back soon. His glances at Will revealed nothing of his friend’s thoughts; he had withdrawn completely into himself.
Brody had Jon clear out half of the backseat and sat behind them now. After returning to the main road and driving about five more miles, they came to another small town. If it had a name, Jon didn’t catch the sign, nor would it have mattered; the chain stores and eateries strung out along the road did nothing to distinguish it from anyplace else.
Brody instructed Jon to turn into a fast food parking lot, and then park in one of the spaces. Jon was grateful that he could at least put something in his stomach and ease one of his discomforts and opened his door.
“Hey, sit tight, Jon. You can get something to eat later.”
Jon shut the door, his stomach in knots, wishing he didn’t have to hear what was coming, the reason Brody had brought them here.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You see that convenience store over there?”
“Yes,” they said in tandem.
“Well, you two are going to rob it.”
“The hell we are,” Jon said. Will kept silent, his eyes still on the store.
“Not a debate. If you don’t, the pictures get developed, and/or I do what I have to. I don’t want to hurt you guys. If you just go along with it, eventually you’ll have your lives back again. Just like in high school. You didn’t rock the boat, and when I graduated you were free men, right?”
“Not really,” Will said. “I’ve never been free of what happened.”
“It’s not my fault that people are made different. Some are made to lead, others are made to follow. Call it genetics, fate or whatever you like. Just the way it is. You guys just happened to end up in the lesser category. But don’t feel too bad. Most people are right there with you. You can look at this however you like, but if I were you, I’d put the best possible face on it. Look at it as an adventure. You’ve already killed a man. What’s taking a little bit of money? Lots more where that came from. You’re not doing this of your own free will, anyway. So you’re not responsible...sort of.”
“But what if we get caught?”
“All part of the bargain. Will, I just want you to remember that you’re the one that trashed my car, and brought me to the campground. I had no plans to come looking for you. Hell, I hadn’t thought about you guys for decades. You obviously didn’t think enough about potential consequences then, so it’s a little late to worry about it now. And I’m putting myself on the line, here, too.”
“Are you coming in there with us?” Jon asked, realizing that they would indeed rob this store, and he now needed details. He wondered if it had been someone else, some random thug instead of Brody Stape directing this obscene little play, if he would go along so easily, that because he had once taken orders from Brody that a part of him still held him in thrall. But it didn’t matter, the reasons. He would do it, just the same, to save his skin, God help him. God help us both.
“Nope. You two are going in together. I’m going to wait in the car, down low here in the backseat so nobody sees me. Once you come out, drive like hell back to the other car. Both of you will get
into that one, and I’ll drive this, and we’ll meet back at the motel. We’re going to have to hurry and put all of the camping gear in there as well, if it fits. If not, we throw it into the woods. If someone gets the make or description of the car, it will have one occupant instead of two that fits neither description, and no camping gear. And you two will be in a different car altogether, coming home or heading to a camping trip which isn't anything out of the ordinary. I should have thought to put your gear in the motel room before we left, but nothing to be done about that now. You'll keep the money in the trunk. They'll have no reason to search it if they do pull you over, which I doubt as they’ll be looking for someone else. This is all assuming we get ahead of the police. If not, you drive like hell and don’t stop.”
The explanation of the cars brought a wave of relief to Jon. More than he had a right to enjoy, he knew, faced with knocking over a convenience store. But better than being buried in the new cemetery in the woods. And suddenly he just wanted it to be done.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Not yet. I want to watch the place for a bit.”
They sat and stared across the street, and several customers came and went but mostly it was slow; a Monday afternoon and commuters long since gone with their coffee and gas and now tucked inside whatever place they went to. But after about ten minutes of watching, a police car pulled up to the front of the store and the officer, very tall, unfolded himself from the cruiser and went inside. Through the glass they could see him filling up a coffee cup, and then standing at the counter talking to the clerk while taking quick sips like little kisses. He didn’t put any money down, and Jon assumed the store supplied him and his colleagues, if he had any here in Noplace, Pennsylvania, with caffeine in exchange for good will and maybe a few extra drive-bys. Probably at night. Who robbed a convenience store in the middle of the day?
“See. If you guys had gone in, we might be riding in that car and you would have been calling your wives from the county jail. Let’s wait until he goes, and then wait another few minutes after that to be sure he ain't coming back.”
Pressure built up inside Jon's skull. He watched Will’s leg jumping up and down. Jon pinched his nose and closed his eyes, scratched at his shoulders and chest, at a furious itching that popped up under his shirt like the onset of a plague. Maybe he would have a heart attack, hopefully not fatal, that would force Brody to abort the mission and take him to a hospital, the cop leading the way with his siren blaring without the knowledge that the same siren would have been howling for their capture.
“Okay, there he goes. I’m going to give you your gun back, Will, minus the bullets. The sight of it alone should work. But here’s my advice. You go in fast and hard. Aggressive. You don’t give him a chance to think about anything other than the fact that you will kill him. Go in like the gun is loaded. Some people have a little hero inside them that they think wants to get out, and if you give him time, he might start to listen to that little hero. Make him understand right up front that the hero is just a wet dream, get the money and go. You shouldn’t be in there any more than a minute, less than if possible. You stay in too long, and I’ll leave without you.”
“What about our faces? He’ll see our faces.”
“You have any t-shirts in a bag back here?”
“Yes. Mine’s the red one.”
Brody tossed the bag over the seat at Will.
“Tie one around your face. Like a train robber in those old westerns. Wait until we get over there. See those parking spaces on the side of the store? Go there so he won’t notice the car. Go.”
Will handed Jon a shirt, and they placed them on their laps as Jon backed out of the spot.
“Go around the block first.”
Jon complied, taking the car through an alleyway and back around to approach from the side that Brody had indicated. He was now grateful that he hadn't eaten; his stomach, churning in anticipation and fear, would have purged anything he had put inside.
He steered into the spot, noting a man pumping gas. His eyes flicked over Jon’s car and then moved on, scanning the plaza across the road with the same idle indifference. Jon waited until he had placed the nozzle back in its cradle and screwed in his gas cap, pulled his receipt from the pump and got in his car and drove away. There were no other vehicles, except for a maroon beater car two spots down from theirs that he assumed belonged to the kid inside.
“Okay. Showtime, boys. In and out, like you mean it.”
They tied the t-shirts around their faces, and Jon pulled his tight so that it pressed against his nose and pushed it uncomfortably to the side, then double knotted it in the back. He didn’t want to allow any chance he could lose it. He smelled his stale breath inside the makeshift mask, and several days' stubble scraped against the cotton material when he moved.
“Now. Before someone else comes.”
Jon steeled himself and put his hand on the door handle, then heard the passenger side slam shut and looked up. Will was already moving fast towards the entrance. Jon got out and raced around the car, swiveling his head, looking for the police car or a customer coming into the lot. So far so good. Inside of his terror, he felt ridiculous, like a kid playing bank robber with his friend, the convenience store clerk in on it as well, all just a big joke. But it wasn’t a joke. He could end up in jail for this. He moved faster, getting inside just as the door started to shut on its hydraulic hinge following Will’s entrance.
Will raced across the store, the gun pointed at an overweight young man sipping a large soda through a straw behind the counter. He appeared to be in his early twenties. His eyes glazed over in fear and soda ran from the corner of his mouth and dribbled a dark stain onto his shirt.
“Please don’t kill me. Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
He wanted to tell the clerk that this wasn’t really a hold up, that they weren’t really criminals, that he could relax and just hand over the money because they did have to take it, but no reason there should be any hard feelings.
Will let the gun rest on the counter, and said, “Put whatever money you have in a bag. Do that, and you won’t get hurt.” His voice came out muffled behind his makeshift mask, and Jon almost giggled. He turned around and watched the doors and the pumps, still no one out there that he could see.
Hurry up, Will.
The clerk fumbled with the buttons on the register and finally the drawer popped open. He plucked a plastic grocery bag from under the counter, and Jon said, “Please hurry.”
Please hurry? Should I say thank you when he hands it over?
He noticed a slight change in the clerk’s demeanor. Sullen. Stalling. The Little Hero struggling to the surface. Jon contemplated that the boy likely had a dozen different fantasies about this exact situation, each one putting him on top, the robbers bleeding and unconscious or dead on the floor when the cops arrived. He put the money in the bag but not fast enough. He dropped a stack of bills and bent over to get them, and Jon had a vision of him standing up holding a huge .44 magnum in both hands and wearing an idiot grin.
Jon sensed Will stiffen, aware of the change too, and he lifted the gun from the counter and leaned over, pointing the barrel at the back of the kid’s head.
“Get it in there now! You want to die fatso?”
Will pushed the gun into his curly blond hair, the muzzle disappearing in the thick waves. The clerk sobbed and his hands scrabbled across the floor, the bag crinkling as he stuffed money inside. He stood slowly, his hands up and the bag dangling from his fingers.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Here. Take it.” Jon couldn’t help but feel pity, but also some contempt as the pungent odor of fresh urine rose with the boy. He pushed it away, putting himself in the boy’s shoes…and underpants. Didn’t he find himself overpowered and owned by another at one time in his life? And look how that had turned out.
“Let’s go,” Will said, and turned around. Jon backed out, still looking at the clerk to be sure he didn’
t pull a weapon or pick up a phone. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed a map from a rack near the door, not even sure why but maybe because this had felt like Will’s show and not his, and why that should matter to him he didn’t know. How easy it all seemed surprised him.
He pushed open the door with his butt, pausing for one more second, maintaining eye contact with the clerk and tracing the trail of his tears sliding down his chubby face, and then went outside.
As he turned around the boom of a gunshot caused him to instinctively fall into a crouch and lean against the brick façade of the store, feeling the heat it radiated against his already flushed skin. He imagined the police officer had returned, and that the first bullet had taken Will and second would find him. Jon opened his eyes and saw a man lying on the pavement with his hands behind his head, his car door hanging open, his whole body shaking as he muttered over and over in a chant, “Please don’t kill me please don’t kill me please don’t kill me…”