The Last Customer (8 page)

Garth glanced at Winny.

He turned to the large man with the shotgun. The big man hadn’t noticed Garth’s hands moving beneath the register. Garth dropped the magazine he’d been reading earlier. As if on cue, the shotgun emerged from behind the bearded man’s back. It swooped forward—crisp and tight.

The young man, who recently entered, slowly moved toward the large man. For a quick moment, Winny thought he might be the police.

He shook the notion.

They couldn’t be cops. They’re too young.

The youthful man looked up, quickly. He turned away from the large man. He smiled at the black man. He cocked his head toward the good looking redhead, and then stopped at the blonde girl that he’d entered with.

“Man, it sure seems…tense in here.” He smiled big. “Did I walk into the middle of something naughty?”

Winny’s bowels felt like they were filled with ice.

2

Sammael’s laughter echoed through the liquor store. He’d walked into the middle of an armed robbery. His intention had simply been to cause noise, create some sort of racket. All he wanted was for the liquor store clerk to scream. Merely institute enough noise that Father Leslie Gardner would run down from his little house on the hill. But this was fine. He enjoyed the violence. Walking into a robbery was amusing. The look upon everyone’s face was priceless. The folly of human expression was comical and he enjoyed it. The more uncomfortable these people became, the more pleasure Sammael received. For centuries, Sammael had psychologically tormented the human race. It was so easy.

           
Sammael looked to the muscular fellow standing in the corner near the restrooms and asked, “Can I ask why you’re crouched over there in the corner of the store like that? You look
mighty
suspicious. If you can’t afford something, my lady friend and I would be more than happy to buy it for you. We’ll require that you pay us back with your life, but hey, is a deal ever as good as it sounds?”

Sammael turned toward the wine rack. Jezebeth held up two bottles of wine; one white, one red.

           
“Do you really think we should offer money to strangers?” Jezebeth asked, smiling, almost laughing.

           
Again, Sammael looked to the muscular man in the corner. A smile stretched across his mouth. He locked eyes with him. Sammael watched dark blood pump through the large man’s chest. He could see beneath his skin. Below the large man’s racing heart, Sammael saw the man’s thoughts. This man was a criminal. Sammael could see into his past, and all the bad things he’d done. He wasn’t as bad as Rod or Patty, oh no, they liked to kill people. The couple was as evil as evil could get. Sammael looked even deeper. He saw the beginning. He saw a name.

Timmy Sutter.

Timmy Sutter was thirty-two years old and bad. Bad, but wished to be good, and what was this? He loved the red haired girl standing near the entrance.

Sammael looked to the redhead standing at the doors. He read her thoughts.
Yes, Timmy and…what is her name…Cherri. He loves her, but she doesn’t love him back. But she’s loyal. With love in one’s heart, one cannot be completely evil.

Sammael began laughing again. He laughed at Timmy. Behind Timmy’s tough exterior, he was a romantic. The kind of guy that might give up his life of crime to settle with the woman he loved.

How cute.

“Timmy, why don’t you rob the place already?”

And as Sammael expected, Timmy became confused.

Sammael had been playing these little games for centuries. He’d gotten very good at them. Usually, when he called a complete stranger by name, they held a tendency to become perplexed.

“How do you know my name?” Timmy barked.

“I know everything about you, Timmy. I know about your mother’s suicide, your father’s incredibly limited intelligence…and yours…while we’re tackling that subject…”

“Shut up!” Timmy yelled. “Just shut the fuck up! Who are you?” Timmy continued. He jumped forward, shotgun raised.

Marching straight toward Sammael, Timmy held his shotgun at eye level. He stopped three feet in front of the demon, who then chuckled.

“Why are you getting so upset? We’re just getting to know each other. Do you want to know who I am?” Sammael asked calmly. “It would only be polite.”

A stack of bottled beer crashed on the floor from the back of the store. Terrance screamed, “What’s going on, boss?” His gun was exposed and raised. He didn’t notice—as Sammael had—that the cashier, Garth, had retrieved a gun.

“Garth, don’t!” Winny shouted.

Garth’s eyes shot toward Winny.

Sammael smiled when he saw how annoyed Garth was. It had to be annoyance, as though he’d been told ‘don’t’ a million times by this person. Sammael dug into Winny’s thoughts.

What was this man’s name?

“Winny!” Sammael finally called. “You should let your brother shoot the black guy—he’s actually enjoying this. You’d be doing many other liquor store attendants a huge favor.” He turned to Garth. “Just pump a round straight into his face. We both know you can aim. You practice every-day, behind the store, before work. And…given the situation, you wouldn’t have any problems getting away with it. No one cares about him.”

Something sliced through the air. It sounded like the air had been cut in half. Terrance had fired a shot at Garth.

The tiny stack of breath mints wrapped in blue paper and aluminum foil exploded into a powdery mist. The powder sprayed across the counter, blinding Garth.

Winny jumped forward. He fell to his stomach, crawled to the cash register and then slid behind it.

“Are you having a good time?” Sammael called out to Jezebeth. She stood near Terrance. As Terrance grabbed Jezebeth she laughed.

“Oh please, Mr. Scary-black-robber-guy…please
don’t
hurt me,” she pouted her lips. “I’ll do anything. I’ll suck your big black dick and let you cum on my face.”

“What the…? Who the hell are you fucking people?” Terrance screamed. He dug his pistol into Jezebeth’s side, just above her love-handle.

Sammael’s laughter ended. He turned a quick inquisitive eye toward Terrance. “What did you say, sir? We are merely trying to diffuse this highly intense robbery and you have to ask ‘who are we’? You’re placing us in a box. I don’t think I like it. Look, I know that you want to hurry up and get this job over with…you and your pals can run off to Detroit and do…whatever it is you do. I’m just stating that if you kill everyone in this store, take all the money and then flee in Timmy’s truck, you will totally get away with everything.”

Terrance hung on every word expelled from Sammael’s mouth. He was considering this. Terrance gripped his pistol, tight. His eye-line traveled with Timmy.

Sammael turned to the left.

Timmy held the barrel of his shotgun to Sammael’s face.

“You and your girlfriend need to shut your damn mouths…and quick.” Timmy stated.

“If you shoot me…then Rod—the man who so
ungracefully
let me borrow his body—is going to be awfully upset. He’s a good looking fella. He doesn’t deserve to be disfigured. I have many people to tempt with this face. If you caved it in, you might ruin my charm.” Sammael spoke in a cheerful manner.

Frowning, Timmy stepped back and asked, “What in the hell are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m making so much sense…I’m making dollars. I just have a little more insight into, well, everything.”

3

Gunshots echoed through the store. Garth and Winny lay in the prone position behind the counter. Their ears rang. They were deaf from the gunshots. They stared at each other, hoping to communicate on a speechless, brotherly level. They knew what the other was thinking. Garth was scared and annoyed.
Winny had no balls.
He’d end up getting them both killed. He shouldn’t have interfered. Garth could have shot Terrance. Now they— and the robbers—were being held hostage by the strangest people he’d ever come across. The too good looking blonde and her bizarre boyfriend troubled his already exhausted thoughts. These people were psychic or something. Somehow, they knew everything about everyone in the store. Garth didn’t know how this was possible. Regardless, it was happening.

Winny motioned his head toward the back door. The door led into the back room, which led to the employee parking lot. If they could get through the second door, through the open parking lot and into the cornfield, they could get to Father Gardner’s house. From there they could call the police.

Garth whispered softly, “I’ll fire a shot at the glass door. When it shatters, they’ll turn their attention to it…run like hell out the back door.”

For the first time ever—Garth thought—Winny was agreeing with him. He bobbled his head
yes
. Garth crouched on his knees. Another bullet sliced through the air and the blonde woman screamed.

Garth hopped onto his feet. He raised his gun as he peeked over the counter and aimed at Terrance.

To his surprise, Terrance had shot the beautiful blonde woman. She was staggering backward. Her hands were moving fast near her stomach. Blood seeped through her fingers, trying to hold her guts in. She fell to the floor, collapsing near the base of the wine rack, her mouth gaped open in an O-shape. Blood pumped out from between her lips in thick eruptions. Oddly, she looked like she was laughing.

Garth tried to remain calm. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. It felt like it would burst through his rib cage. He placed the index finger of his right hand on the trigger.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Garth screamed.

The redhead screamed. Her hand landed on the door handle. She flung the door open and ran outside.

Another shot rang out. Timmy shot at Sammael.

“Shit!” Sammael barked.

Garth watched as Sammael fell to the ground. Timmy’s bullet shredded a crater through Sammael’s chest. The wound spewed blood, painting the floor and merchandise racks with beads of crimson.

Timmy sprinted behind the counter. He raised his shotgun like a soldier entering a terrorist infested combat zone. His aim dropped to Winny.

“Drop it or your brother has no more than two seconds left on this earth,” Timmy shouted at Garth.

Garth was furious and scared. He should have taken his shot. He had the chance, but he let it go. He was too slow. He jeopardized his brother’s life.

Trying to hold it together, but shaking badly, Garth set his gun on the counter and stepped back.

“Get the money,” Timmy screamed.

Garth went to the cash register. There was no sense in doing anything heroic at this point. Timmy and Terrance had already killed two people. Garth’s opportunity was over. He’d blown it.

Garth hit the ‘sale’ button. The bell rang and the register drawer flung open. Once the black plastic drawer slid to a halt, Garth scraped the cash out with both hands and handed it to Timmy. Timmy stuffed the green bills into his pockets.

“Thank you. Now lay down with your brother and we’ll be on our way.”

“Okay.” Garth said as he lowered himself to the ground.

Timmy dropped his shotgun to the side, leaned forward and grabbed Garth’s gun
off of
the counter.

“We good?” Terrance called out.

“We’re good. Grab some snacks and let’s get the hell outta here,” Timmy shouted as he ran around to the back of the counter.

4

Timmy jogged down aisle two. His feet squeaked across the clean tile, leaving black streaks from the soles of his shoes. He stopped at the spot where he’d shot the crazy guy. He slowed down and looked side to side, halting his movement.

There should be a body lying in the aisle in front of him, the crazy guy’s body.

           
For the first time in a long time, Timmy felt real fear. A puddle of blood settled on the white tile floor. The smeared red liquid seeped into the slim creases between the square tiles. Looking down the aisle, he saw more blood. It was peppered across the top row of motor oil, on the right. Still, there was no
dead-psychic-lunatic
, or whatever the hell he was.

Timmy turned to Terrance and yelled, “Where’d he go?”

Looking around, shakily, Terrance knelt down to peer beneath the row of shelves. A moment later, he bobbed up, shoulders elevated in an
I-have-no-idea
shrug.

“I didn’t see a damn thing. He must have crawled away.”

“He crawled pretty damn fast for a dead guy,” Timmy explained softly. He was frantically searching aisle two with wild eyes.

A few seconds later his eyes scanned the restroom doors.

“Watch those kids.” Timmy called.

Terrance ran behind the counter, aiming his pistol downward.

Heart racing in his chest, Timmy thought of Cherri. He looked out the window. To the side of the building, he saw her standing next to a light-post, smoking a cigarette. Ribbons of smoke billowed up into the frothy night.

Focus.

Timmy lifted his shotgun. He put his eye to the rear site. Whatever he saw, he would shoot it. Thoughts of Sammael raced through Timmy’s mind.
What was that guy? Why did he choose to show up at this liquor store at the exact same time that they robbed the place?
And how had he known so much about them?
He knew everything. For a paranoid moment, he thought they might be the family members of someone he’d harmed. It was true that he’d created enemies. He had a checkered past. Maybe one of his victims had followed him. Maybe, somehow, they’d picked this place to take their revenge.
That would take a lot of planning.
Plus, he’d never killed anyone. He’d hurt people, caused financial problems for some, but was that enough to take it this far? He guessed there were a few stores that had closed shop because of the financial loss they’d taken because of his robberies. Not everyone carried insurance. Maybe one of the store owners had somehow tracked him down. Maybe they wanted revenge. The authorities never handled robberies very well. He shook his head. His paranoia was on idle. For now, he needed to be rid of the current problem, whatever it may be.