Code of Silence: Living a Lie Comes With a Price

by Tim Shoemaker

  Cooper fought to control his breathing—keep it shallow. Afraid of making some kind of sound if he shifted his weight, he tried to ignore the cramping in his left calf. He stayed as still as the Frank ‘n Stein’s mascot grinning stupidly at him from the corner. God, make this be over.

  Hiro touched Cooper’s arm and nodded her head toward the window. In the deepening shadows at the base of the counter he could see himself and Hiro huddled like they were caught in the crossfire of a commando raid. If the crooks looked closely enough, they could see him and Hiro. Then it really would be over. A trickle of sweat broke free from his maze of blonde curls and crept down his forehead.

  “Now. The combination to your safe,” the DJ voice growled from behind the Elvis mask.

  “Safe?” Frank’s voice cracked.

  Elvis backhanded him across the face. Staggering backwards, Frank cried out and groped the top of the counter for support. The register tray slid and clattered over the edge, showering coins onto Hiro and Cooper like a silver waterfall.

  Hiro squeezed her eyes shut like she expected the coins to betray their fragile hiding spot.

  “We know about the safe, old man, and how you don’t trust banks.”

  Coins rolled across the checkered tile floor. Some circled, others spun, but within a few moments every coin lay still—exposed and powerless. Cooper knew the feeling.

  “The combination.” Elvis pressed in close.

  “Nobody outside this store knew about the safe.” Frank sounded confused. “Nobody.”

  “COMBINATION.”

  “Seventy-four.” Frank’s voice shook. “Ninety-three.” Cooper heard him suck in his breath and stop. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Careful, old man. Give me the last number.”

  “It has to be,” Frank said, as if it suddenly all made sense. “I gave him a chance.”

  “And this is your last chance.” The man raised a pistol in a gloved hand. “The number.” He pressed the muzzle against Frank’s forehead.

  Cooper heard a metallic click. Give it to them, Frank. Give it to them.

  Frank hesitated, his reflection in the front window ghostly in his white t-shirt and apron.

  Coop forced a dry swallow and silently begged Frank to cooperate. Give him the combination. Please. Play it safe.

  “Okay.” Frank nodded. “J-just put the gun down. P-please.”

  Elvis jabbed Frank in the forehead once with the gun. “That’s better.” He lowered the handgun and tucked it in his waistband. Holding empty hands up in front of Frank, Elvis leaned in close. “The number.”

  Suddenly Frank lunged—pushing the Elvis into the clown. The robbers stumbled backwards into the soda machine, and Frank reached for something under the counter.

  Elvis regained his balance and swung at Frank’s face. With a loud smack, Frank’s head jerked to one side and his glasses skittered across the counter and tumbled to the floor.

  Frank raised his hand over his head. A glint of steel flashed off the blade of a knife. Elvis caught his wrist in mid-air. The man with the clown mask slammed himself into Frank, pinning him against the counter. Frank grunted and gasped. The knife dropped from his hand. Elvis picked it up and jabbed the point under Frank’s jaw. Squealing, Frank lifted his chin high.

  “Last number.”

  Blood dripped down the front of Frank’s t-shirt. Every ounce of strength drained out of Cooper at the same time.

  “Eighteen.”

  Elvis lowered the knife and tossed it onto the counter. “Smart, hotdog man.”

  “Maybe a little too smart.” The raspy-voiced clown spoke up. “He knows.”

  Stomach swirling with dread, Cooper watched. If only he could do something. Help Frank somehow.

  Frank grabbed for the knife. Elvis blocked his reach with one smooth move and hammered him in the head with his fist. Frank’s head snapped backwards. The clown, moving quickly, twisted Frank’s arm behind his back.

  Cooper tried to look away, but couldn’t. Hiro buried her face in her sweatshirt. He prayed she wouldn’t cry out.

  With Frank unable to move, Elvis squared off and slugged him repeatedly in the gut. Cooper felt the force of it right through the counter and flinched with each blow, with each grunt from Frank. A raging growl came from under the Elvis mask that grew louder with each frenzied hit. With an inhuman roar, Elvis hauled back and delivered a crushing blow to Frank’s temple. Immediately the owner buckled, and the clown let him drop. Frank’s head whacked the open drawer of the register on the way down, and he crumpled to the floor with a dull thud that vibrated through the counter.

  “Crazy old fool!” Elvis panted and massaged his knuckles with his other hand. “Did he think we’d just trust him not to talk?”

  The clown bent down out of sight. “Looks like his neck is broken.”

  “Then he’s double-dead.” Elvis raised a lethal fist to his mouth and kissed it. “Sent him to the great hotdog stand in the sky.”

  The clown snickered, and Hiro’s whole body started shaking. Cooper held her tight.

  “I’ll get rid of the other stuff,” the clown said. “If someone looks in the window and sees the coins and money tray on the floor, the game’s over.”

  Cooper held his breath—and clenched his fists.

  CHAPTER 3

  Forget it.” Elvis grabbed the moneybag. “Mr. Lucky can do that job—and yank the surveillance tape. Let’s get the safe.”

  The two men hustled out of sight.

  The tapes! They’d be on them! Cooper could see one camera mounted on the ceiling in the dining area. It was recording all three of them. He heard the back door creak open.

  “Are they gone?” Hiro whispered. Her face was drained of any color except the wash from the red-orange neon lights.

  “Not for long,” Cooper said. “We have to hide.”

  Chalky-faced, Gordy poked his blonde head out from under the table. “The bathroom?” He mouthed the words and pointed to the far end of the eating area.

  Anyplace would be better than where they were now. Cooper nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Hiro clung tighter.

  “C’mon.” Cooper jostled her. “We gotta hurry.”

  Releasing her grip, she crawled ahead of Cooper toward Gordy.

  The back door slammed. Cooper and Hiro dropped flat on their stomachs. The hinged top overhead shielded them from immediate view, but Cooper still felt exposed. He inched backwards.

  Frank lay belly up, partially blocking the other side of the skinny opening leading into the kitchen. Thankfully, only his motionless torso was visible. Endless stains marked his white apron—the most recent made in his own blood. Dizziness swept through Cooper’s head.

  The burglars returned with a third man. Elvis thumped up the stairs, the other two headed through the kitchen toward Frank. Cooper caught a glimpse of their legs. One wore commando boots and gray-blue pants with a dark stripe running up his leg along the outside seam. Cop pants—it had to be the Clown. The other, Mr. Lucky, wore blue jeans and pointy cowboy boots with alligator skin stitched at the toes. He stepped close enough for Cooper to see the loopy stitching on his boots. He paused next to Frank and nudged him with one sharp toe.

  “Take a rag and wipe down this counter real good,” Mr. Clown said, sounding as calm and detached as if he were ordering at the drive-thru window. “Then come up and pull the surveillance stuff. I’ll hit the safe.” The sicko turned on his heel and left.

  Except for the ceiling creaking overhead, the room was eerily quiet. Cooper closed his mouth as if somehow that might muffle the noise of his heart drumming.

  Mr. Lucky moved quickly. Straining to hear, Cooper froze and held his breath. He steeled himself to pounce on Lucky if he stepped on their side of the counter.

  Cooper couldn’t rip his mind free from the surveillance tape. He ran through his options. If they hid in the bathroom, the robbers might leave without ever noticing them. But what if there were monitors in the office? If one of the men
caught a glimpse of them sneaking to the bathroom they’d be trapped. That left only one choice, but it was a long shot.

  A muffled whoop sounded from upstairs. Apparently the combination worked.

  “Bring a couple of bags up here.” It sounded like Elvis. “There must be good money in hotdogs.”

  Mr. Lucky jogged through the kitchen toward the stairs. Cooper stole a quick glance at him from behind, but the man wore a sweatshirt with the hood up.

  Hiro pulled out her phone and stabbed at the power button. She shook her head at Cooper. Dead. Like they all were going to be if they didn’t do something. Cooper could kick himself for leaving his cell at home. He would never, ever go anywhere without it again.

  “C’mon,” Gordy whispered. His color looked better, and he’d shaken off the temporary paralysis. He motioned for Cooper to hurry. “Now’s our chance.”

  Cooper shook his head. “The bathroom is no good.” He pointed at the camera. “They’ll see us in the monitors.”

  “We can’t stay here.” Gordy’s words spilled out fast. “We’ll end up like Frank.”

  Cooper looked over his shoulder toward the front door. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Gordy crawled closer. “How? The door is locked.”

  Cooper looked over the still form of Frank and through the kitchen. “Back door.”

  “Impossible.” Gordy pressed in close. “The stairway to the office is right there. They’ll hear the door opening and see one of us for sure.”

  Cooper knew it was way beyond risky. But to do nothing? Suicide.

  “What about the front door keys?” Gordy whispered. “Check Frank’s pockets.”

  The thought made Cooper’s stomach crawl up his throat. Hiro stiffened beside him.

  “One of us has to try,” Gordy whispered. “And fast.”

  Cooper knew he had to do it. He crawled behind the counter, into the kitchen’s entrance, and he reached for the closest pocket. Trembling, he slid his fingers inside. Part of him expected Frank to grab his hand and demand an explanation. He touched Frank’s leg and recoiled slightly, but he pressed on until he reached the bottom of the pocket. Nothing—except the 4” x 6” photo. Pulling his hand out quickly, he looked at Gordy and shook his head.

  “The other side!” Gordy hissed. Hurry!”

  Cooper reached over Frank’s belly and stretched for the pocket. Too far. Taking a deep breath and clenching his teeth, he climbed over, trying not to put weight on the man—as if it would matter. He buried his hand in Frank’s pocket. Coins. Papers. No keys.

  Hiro and Gordy watched. Cooper saw their anxious faces, softly lit by the neon light.

  “No choice,” Cooper shook his head. “The back door. All of us.”

  “I don’t think I can do it.” Hiro hugged herself and rocked. Tears flowed down her cheeks and clung to her chin. “They’ll catch us.”

  It was a long shot at best. Even if they could sneak through the kitchen without a sound, the back door would definitely make enough noise for the men to hear upstairs. What if he made it out alive, but Gordy or Hiro got caught? Cooper couldn’t live with that. He glanced at the back door—then stared. The keys hung from the lock.

  Cooper whirled around to face his friends. “The keys are in the door.” He motioned frantically. “I’ll—I’ll grab them and we’ll all go out the front, OK?”

  Both nodded, but their faces mirrored the doom Cooper felt.

  “Wait for me at the front door.” Cooper stood on rubbery legs. “And pray.” He was an easy target out in the open. He wanted to run. Hide. But he had to do this. God, help him, he had to get those keys. “Grab the stool from the video game. If I get caught, bust your way out and get help.”

  Fighting his survival instincts, he took a step. Then another. Past the steel tables. He could smell the Italian beef even through the closed bins. The scent of onion rings hung in the air.

  The flat-topped grill still radiated a last bit of warmth as he passed. Pausing at the fryer, he glanced at the dual vats of oil and listened. The voices overhead sounded confident, celebrating. Cooper wanted to scream or cry. Frank lay dead in his own diner, and the robbers were upstairs pawing through everything he’d worked for and saved.

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Cooper grabbed a knife from the counter and dropped out of sight behind a walk-in freezer. He pressed himself against the wall and firmly gripped the wooden handle. His hands were slick, and his arms felt like cement had replaced the blood in his veins.

  The footsteps raced back up the stairs again, two at a time.

  Over halfway there. Faster, Cooper. Half crouching, he moved past boxes of napkins, straws, and cups.

  The stairway leading up to the office lurked to his right. The keys … dead ahead. One key was fully inserted in the lock, four similar keys dangled from a plain silver ring below it.

  “All right, pack it up.” Clearly Elvis. “You got the security camera stuff?”

  “It’s all on an external hard drive,” a muffled voice said. “Already down by the door.”

  Switching the knife to his left hand, Cooper gently pulled the key out of the lock. The quartet of keys below jangled a bit. For an instant, he froze. His pulse pounded high alert warnings in his ears. The keys settled, and he tucked them in his hand. A small auxiliary hard drive not much bigger than a cell phone sat on the floor just inside the door, wires poking out the backend. Something inside him told him to take it.

  “All right, boys. Let’s grab it and we’re outta here.”

  Fueled by high octane fear, Cooper scooped up the hard drive and ran on tip-toe for the front door. Gordy and Hiro stood beside it, frantically motioning him to hurry.

  Crawling over Frank again wasn’t an option. Instead, Cooper vaulted over the counter. He caught a glimpse of something on the floor, but couldn’t avoid it now. His right foot landed on the edge of the change tray, shooting it across the coin-littered floor like a loose skateboard. It ricocheted off the metal stool and clattered against the front wall.

  Scrambling to his feet, Cooper dropped the knife and tightened his grip on the hard drive.

  “The keys!” Gordy hissed.

  Cooper stormed the door and stabbed at the lock with the key. It wouldn’t go in.

  Hand shaking, Cooper tried another key. Wrong again.

  Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

  “Please, God, please!” Hiro’s prayer rose from just behind him.

  The third key slid home. Gordy threw his body against the glass, pushing even while Cooper twisted the key in the lock.

  The door burst open and the three tumbled out. Gordy and Hiro scrambled for their bikes. Cooper spun around, reached inside, and pulled the key from the lock. He needed to buy them more time.

  “Stop that kid!” A voice roared from the kitchen.

  Shouldering the door closed, he jammed the key in the outside lock and barely managed a full turn before the man on the other side slammed into the door.

  “You’re dead!” The clown growled, his mask pressed against the glass. “I promise we’ll find you!”

  Too stunned to move, Cooper caught a glimpse of the crook’s eyes through the openings in the mask. Dark, bottomless, and cold. Like twin cigarette burns in a faded blanket. Shaking, Cooper jammed Frank’s keys in his pocket and stepped back, stumbling over the curb and tumbling to the pavement.

  The man tapped on the glass with the muzzle of the gun. “Drop the hard drive!”

  Cooper was going to heave. Still clutching the hard drive, Cooper rose on unsteady legs and looked toward the street.

  Hiro flew across Kirchoff Road on her bike, pedaling like mad. Gordy rode right behind her—gaining.

  The window crashed behind him. Shards of glass strafed Cooper’s back. Another crash. Sprinting for his bike, he jammed the hard drive into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He yanked his mountain bike off the ground and mounted it on the run. A third crash. Cooper glanced back to see the metal stool tumble into the p
arking lot and the man barrel toward him—ripping off his clown mask as he ran. He stood on the pedals, straining to build speed—fearing at any second he’d feel a hand pulling him off the bike or a bullet ripping through his back. Not slowing to check traffic, Cooper bolted out of Frank ‘n Stein’s lot.

  His friends had a huge lead on him. Slicing through the Dunkin’ Donuts entrance on the other side of Kirchoff, Gordy sped the wrong way through the drive-thru lane with Hiro only a half-length behind.

  Cooper figured Gordy would stay on the pavement past the post office before ducking into the park. He pumped hard to catch up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a startled face at the pick-up window as he passed. A car wheeled around the rear corner of the donut shop, headlights boring right into Cooper’s eyes. Swerving, he slammed into the curb—and vaulted over the handlebars.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dark blurs and flashes of lights raced past his eyes as his feet swung over his head. Cooper slapped to the ground directly on his back and skidded to a skin-burning stop. The sky continued moving. He couldn’t breathe. Rocking side to side, Cooper gasped for air.

  The driver jumped from the car and ran toward him, his face twisted in concern. “Are you all right?”

  Rolling onto his stomach, Cooper propped himself up on his hands and knees. With a gasp, he sucked in fresh air. His stomach lurched and a light-headedness swept over him. Cooper gagged once—and his stomach squeezed out his monster shake.

  “Are you hurt bad?” The driver’s voice again.

  The fog in Cooper’s head started to clear. He raised his head and looked across the street. A shadowed SUV with one headlight out rounded the back corner of Frank ‘n Stein’s. The high beams blinked on, pinpointing his escape like a pair of prison tower searchlights. A silhouetted form appeared from the same direction—running directly towards him. The clown just wouldn’t quit. Cooper struggled to get up.

  The driver stepped up and held him in place. “Hold on there, son. I don’t think you should be moving.”

  Cooper had to get out of there. Now. “Let me go—I’m okay.”