The woman hesitated. “That’s okay. It’s for this Sunday, for a birthday party.” She looked over at the man next to her, who merely nodded.
Rios shook his head. “Take the top sirloin. It’s $3.98 a pound. It’ll work better.”
The man stared at Joe for a moment, his eyes hard and flat. Then he looked back at the woman. “I don’t know, babe. Maybe we should get the better meat?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to pay that much. Give me the chuck roast.”
Rios shrugged, moved behind the counter, and began cutting up the thick roast. Bryon looked on as Joe cut the meat. He directed his comments to the couple. “You marinate it and it will probably be okay, probably come out tender.”
The woman looked at Bryon and then back at Joe. “Oh, yeah, and I want a chicken.” Rios nodded as he wrapped the meat. He heard the couple talking about other things they wanted to get. It seemed to be idle conversation. As soon as they were done, he could lock up and go home. He wrapped the whole chicken and set both packages on the top of the counter. “Here you are.”
She turned around and looked at Joe. “Oh, I wanted a chicken too.”
Joe put his hand on the wrapped chicken. “It’s here.” The woman looked distracted, a little confused. Joe tilted his head to one side and stared at her, wondering if she was loaded on drugs.
The woman shook her head as if she wasn’t sure what she had been thinking. She stared at Joe for a moment. “Oh, yeah. I wanted some paper towels, too.”
Joe pointed toward the paper products. He watched the two of them walk down the aisle, but he could see that the woman’s purse seemed empty. He looked around for Bryon and Doug, thinking maybe they’re trying to steal stuff. He could hear her saying the same thing over and over about the party. She’s on something. The man kept pointing at different things, saying, “Let’s get this, babe.” Joe could hear the strange inflection to the man’s voice, different than he had heard before, like a white man with a Mexican accent. It didn’t fit, and it had a harsh edge to it, like someone who was used to talking to rough people.
The man said to the woman, “Let’s get this. Just hurry up, grab some things. These people, they want to go already and it’s a quarter after eight.” He looked over his shoulder toward Joe. “I thought you closed at nine.”
Joe shook his head. “No, eight. But we’ll wait.” The man nodded. Joe walked back to the dust mop and started pushing the dirt toward the back of the store where the stockroom door led to the side parking lot and the garbage bins. Doug, the tall, husky young man he worked with, was in the back stocking shelves near the walk-in cooler. Joe signaled to Doug to catch his attention. “That guy out front? Maybe I’m crazy, but he looks like he just came out of prison.”
Doug nodded, keeping his voice low. “Yeah, and that girl? She must be on drugs or something. I saw her grab for something, and she looked like she was freaking out.”
Joe pushed the dirt over toward the side door. “I know. I’m telling you, Doug, that guy just looks like he’s done time.” He walked over to the dustpan and reached down to fetch it.
“ALL RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS, DOWN ON THE FLOOR.”
Joe stopped abruptly as his eyes caught the expression on Doug’s face. The man’s voice grated against the shelves and walls of the small stock area. The harsh, clipped sound carried the snapping menace of a whip. Doug froze, staring at the open door from the stockroom into the store. Joe turned his head. The man in the bandanna and windbreaker was holding a short-barreled shotgun and standing behind Bryon and Josephine as he herded them into the stockroom. The woman was to his right, holding a silver pistol. She was looking around, her arms moving back and forth. The man stared straight ahead. There was nothing in his eyes except blackness. Joe looked at the gaping hole in the end of the shotgun; the rough-sawn end of the barrel glinted as the man slowly swung it across the space of the store room.
The man waited while Joe, Josephine, Doug, and Bryon got down on their knees. He pointed the shotgun at Doug. “You, big guy, open the freezer. Open the fucking safe.”
Doug looked at the gun pointed at him. “What are you talking about?”
“OPEN THE FREEZER.”
Douglas White got up from his knees and walked over to the walk-in cooler. He turned toward the man, who gestured with the shotgun for Doug to go in. As Doug walked in, a look of confusion clouded his face. The man followed and looked over his shoulder. “Where’s the safe?”
Joe barely moved, his eyes focused on the black barrel pointed at Doug. The silver pistol in the hands of the woman glinted in his peripheral vision. There’s no safe in there. What’s he talking about? Joe could see Josephine next to him, her big blue-gray eyes glistening, but she was quiet. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right. Maybe if we just do what they say. Ray had always said nothing in the store was worth getting killed for.
Doug lifted his hands. “There’s no safe in here.” Doug was starting to shake, his voice beginning to show the strain as he stared at the black hole at the end of the short barrel pointed at him, like a single, unblinking eye holding all his focus.
“I know there’s a safe in there.” The man brought the sawed-off up and thrust it out toward Doug. His voice carried both a tone of menace and a crack of uncertainty.
Doug’s raised his voice. “Honest, honest. There’s no safe in here.” He remained standing inside the walk-in cooler, looking around at the others, who he could see through the door.
The man gestured with the shotgun. “Get the fuck out, Bryon.” Doug’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
Bryon Schletewitz was kneeling on the floor. The woman had the pistol pointed at him, Joe, and Josephine. Bryon raised his voice so he could be heard. “I’m Bryon.”
The man stared at the thin, brown-haired young man still kneeling on the floor. He looked back at Doug, his face showing the realization that he had made a mistake. He pointed the shotgun at Bryon. “Get up. Where’s the safe?”
Bryon pointed toward the back of the storeroom, to an area hidden by several floor-to-ceiling shelves of food stock. “It’s way over there.”
The man gestured at Bryon with the shotgun. “Let’s go.” He waited until Bryon got up and walked behind him until they were in the back of the storeroom, concealed from the view of the others, who were watched over by the woman. Doug was back on the floor. Josephine was next to Joe. He could see her trembling out of the corner of his eye.
Joe raised his gaze to the woman holding the gun. Her hand was shaking. As the man marched Bryon to the back of the storeroom, she said, “Keep an eye on these guys.” Joe shifted his weight and the woman pointed the gun directly at him. A cold, tingling sensation of fear rippled up from his stomach. He was thinking about running into the bathroom. She stared at him. “I hate to do this.”
Joe looked around, afraid she was going to shoot. “I ain’t doing nothing. I ain’t doing nothing.”
The woman stared at him a moment longer. “You all just stay on the floor.”
Although Joe couldn’t see anything, he heard the sound of somebody being pushed around, thudding against the wall. He could hear the man’s voice, raised and angry. “I KNOW THERE’S ANOTHER SAFE. THERE’S ANOTHER SAFE, MOTHERFUCKER. A BIGGER ONE.”
Bryon stood with his back to the wall between the desk and a small safe up against the storage shelves. The entire area in the backroom was only five or six feet wide, with just enough room for the small desk and chair. A compact steel safe