I make a quick little stop on my way to work. I’m thirsty and in dire need of refreshment. I usually stop here because it is on my way to my job, and they are probably the only store that carries Super Crazy Caffine Infused Cola.

Great, I think, that creepy guy is working today. I try to ignore his lingering gaze and walk down the aisle to the back of the store where my drink is kept. It’s weird how all the Super Crazy Caffine Infused Cola is on the bottom shelf now, but as I’m probably the only one who buys it, they probably figured it would be more beneficial to have the major cola brands within easy reach.

After grabbing the 20 oz bottle, I walk towards the counter at the front of the store. His eyes stare at my chest the whole way. I’m really self conscious about how big they are, and it really pisses me off when people stare. He licks his lips a little as he stares them down. God, does he creep me out.

I put the cola on the counter and he rings it up.

“We should go out some time,” He says. My jaw drops and my eyes bulge. I don’t even know what to say to that at first, so I just stare at him silently for a few moments before replying.

“I don’t even know you,” I tell him as bluntly as I can.

At long last, he hands the bottle to me. I take it and turn around, heading for the car. “I’ll see you next time,” He says hopefully.

I ignore him. I swear I can feel his eyes on me as I open the door. I glance back over my shoulder to confirm my suspicions. My eyes meet his and he smiles. At least he’s looking me in the eyes this time, I think.

I walk out the door and into the parking lot, heading for my car. I really wish someone else would start carrying Super Crazy Caffine Infused Cola so I don’t have to deal with that guy anymore.

God, he’s creepy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - -

She walks into the store with the sun at her back, forming a radiant glow in her hair. God, she’s beautiful.

My eyes follow her every step as she walks to the cooler in the back. She bends low to grab a drink from the bottom shelf as I lean forward over the counter to get a good view. Her drinks used to be on the top shelf before the genius of my new arrangement hit me.

After grabbing her drink she walks towards the counter, towards me. Her breasts bounce with every step and I can’t help but gaze longingly on the hard nipples which poke through her shirt. I was hoping to get just such an effect when I turned the chillers up.

She puts her cola on the counter and I ring it up.

“We should go out some time,” I suggest. Her eyes widen in obvious arousal and she does not reply for a few moments.

“I don’t even know you,” She says.

I hand her the plastic bottle. “I’ll see you next time,” I say to her as she turns around and walks towards the door, my eyes settling on the sway of her ass. I glance up at her head as she passes through the doorway. The tape next to her head reads 5’8.

She glances back at me over her shoulder and I catch the longing in her eyes. She’ll be back, and we’ll talk more, and when we do she will know me better. Then we can go out.

God, she’s beautiful.

Ellen hummed softly to herself as she made her way up the stairs to their apartment, sifting through the mail as she fumbled with her keys. She stopped when she came to a pink envelope addressed to her husband in a flowery handwriting full of swirls, flourishes, and, worst of all, little hearts dotting all the i’s. Her own heart skipped a beat as she caught the smell of cheap perfume wafting from the envelope.

Tim had been working late at night lately. And he’d mysteriously cancelled their plans for several weekends. Her attempts to discuss major issues had been rebuffed time and time again. She’d begun to suspect an affair, and this envelope cinched it. Tim was involved with another woman.

Ellen rushed into the house and steamed open the envelope. She pulled out pale pink stationary, covered in the same loopy, adolescent handwriting.

Dear Tim,

Love and kisses,
Emily

Ellen was still staring at the letter, the words blurring on the page through her tears and rage, when Tim walked in. She spun around and started yelling before he could finish saying hello.

“What do you think you’re doing, screwing around on me! And then to give this, this, Emily our address! This is MY home too! You make me sick!”

Tim blinked in confusion. “What girlfriend?”

“Don’t give me that ‘what girlfriend’ crap! You know what girlfriend! The girlfriend that’s sending you perfumed letters with hearts over the i’s!”

Tim shook his head. “I’m not taking this b.s. right now. Calm down and--”

“I AM CALM!”

“YOU ARE NOT CALM!” Tim started towards the door.

“If you leave without talking about this, you’d better be calling your lawyer!”

“I told you if you’d just calm down I can explain--”

Ellen’s face turned even redder. “Explain what? How much thinner and prettier she is than me? Is that it?”

“Well, now that you mention it, Emily is quite pretty, but --”

His words were cut off by the sound of shattering glass as Ellen picked up a vase off the coffee table and hurled it at him. She felt her entire world falling apart as he walked out the door without a single word of explanation or apology.

_______________________________________

Tim had been planning the surprise for weeks. His sister had just gotten a new job in Hawaii, and was buying a house near the beach. She’d also recently married and had acquired a sixteen year old step-daughter. From what his sister had told him, Emily was a very sweet girl. She’d been born with spinal bifida, and was hungry for love. Tim had sent her flowers welcoming her to the family, and told her of his plans to visit.

He had decided that tonight would be a good night to tell Ellen about his sister’s offer for them to stay with her over the summer, and about their new niece. Apparently he’d waited too long.

Before he could even greet his wife and tell her he had good news, she’d started in on him, waving around some flowery stationary that any idiot could tell came from a teenager. Or a pre-teen. But obviously someone way too young for him, that was for sure. Ellen was screaming so loud he couldn’t make out much of what she was saying. He heard Emily’s name, and “pretty”. Maybe she was mad that he’d never mentioned they had a niece. And why on Earth would she ever think he’d have an affair with a teenager? Now that new secretary his boss had just hired, maybe... What was he thinking?! He’d never cheat on his wife!

Not that she felt that way about it.

He tried calming Ellen down. Ha. Calm and Ellen were in no way synonymous at this point. She just shouted louder. Tim watched with interest as a vein in her forehead twitched. He was trying to decide if it was a good idea or a bad idea to tell her that she was probably getting her blood pressure way too high. He was also debating if it was wrong to laugh at his wife’s ridiculous notions about how he’d carry on an affair. Like he’d let another woman know where they lived. Or get involved with someone who sent pink scented stationary.

The longer he took trying to decide what an appropriate response would be, the angrier she got. The last thing he heard as he walked out the door was, “I want a divorce, you lying cheating...” He didn’t stick around to hear the rest.

11:18 AM - Bobby
Bobby took a deep breath, flicked the butt of his cigarette into a puddle and entered a club called ‘The End of the Road’.

The package guy was already there. He was sitting at a table at the back of the dimly lit room, drinking a glass of red wine. There was a backpack at his feet. Bobby put his hands in his pockets, walked nonchalantly past the bar and sat down.

“Deliver it to 128 Merchant Street,” the guy said in a business-like tone. He was wearing a suit and tie and even a white felt hat and a pair of sunglasses. Bobby couldn’t help but smile.

He probably thinks he’s Al Capone.

“It’s a hotel. Drop it off at the front desk. Tell them your name is Hardy and that you’ll be back later to check in the rest of your luggage.”

Bobby nodded.

“Sure thing man. Just leave the money on the table and take a walk.”

Al Capone took a sip of his wine.

“There’s two hundred in the side pocket of the bag. Meet me here at exactly five minutes to three and I’ll give you the other two.”

“Five to three?! I can make it back here in an hour!”

“Five to three.” The guy sounded almost bored and never even looked up from his glass.

I need to get me another job. There’s gotta be better ways to make a living than running drugs for shitbags like this.

“All right. Whatever floats your boat. See ya then.”

Capone finished his wine and got up.

“Be on time.”

11:18 AM - Mr. Henry
The delivery man was three minutes late, but on the bright side: he was only a kid. He wore jeans that were torn at the knees, a shirt that said ‘You Can’t Prove I’m Smoking Pot’ and a Red Sox baseball cap.

This is going to be easy.

“Deliver it to 128 Merchant Street,” he said as soon as the boy had sat down.

Now he’s smiling. If he keeps this up I’ll almost feel sorry him.

“It’s a hotel. Drop it off at the front desk. Tell them your name is Hardy and you’ll be back later to check in the rest of your luggage.”

The kid nodded.

“Sure thing man. Just leave the money on the table and take a walk.”

It’s not that easy son. I need to know that you delivered it and didn’t open it to see if there’s anything of your liking in there.

“There’s two hundred in the side pocket of the bag. Meet me here at exactly five minutes to three and I’ll give you the other two.”

“Five to three?! I can make it back here in an hour!”

I know that, but we need to wait a little while.

“Five to three.”

The boy rolled his eyes.

“All right. Whatever floats your boat. See ya then.”

He emptied his glass of wine. It tasted like piss.

“Be on time.”

2:58 PM - Mr. Henry
He checked his watch. Three minutes late again, but the kid was there and he was still smiling. He simply held out his hand this time and didn’t sit down.

“That’ll be two hundred bucks, sir! The bag’s in the hotel.”

Good boy.

He took two hundred dollar bills from his wallet.

“Good job. Walk with me - I’m not handing you money in here for everyone to see.”

They walked outside. It had started to rain again.

Any moment now.

He checked his watch again: 2:59 PM now and forty-seven seconds.

12...11...10..9..8..7..6..5..4..

“You waiting for something?” the kid asked.

Mr. Henry smiled.

2:58 PM - Bobby
Mister Capone was sitting in the same chair. He didn’t have any wine this time though and he seemed more nervous, glancing at his watch.

Are you scared, mister fancy felt hat?

The guy already had his wallet ready.

“That’ll be two hundred bucks, sir! The bag’s in the hotel.”

Two Benjamins appeared from the wallet while Al Capone got up from his chair.

“Good job. Walk with me - I’m not handing you money in here for everyone to see.”

They walked outside into the rain. The guy was checking his watch again.

What's going on? Why doesn't he just give me the money and get out of here?

“You waiting for something?”

Mr. Capone smiled.

3:00 PM
There was a deafening bang.

Bobby instinctively ducked to the ground. Around them, people on the street started screaming. A lady with a poodle pointed at the sky north of them. Towards Merchant Street.

There was smoke there. A lot of smoke.

Mr. Henry's smile widened.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, son. I hope you didn't look straight into the security cameras. Have a nice day."

Impact. Severe. Like a Mack truck t-boning a Honda Civic. And hot. Burning, searing pain. Mental image: leaning out of a speeding car and catching my shoulder against a mailbox - a mailbox made of molten lava. At that point everything fractures, a mirror hitting the tiled bathroom floor, shattering into a shower of shivery slivers of consciousness. Over here I see my knees begin to buckle as I so slowly spin away and simultaneously slump towards the sidewalk. Over there I see my car keys tracing a slow, lazy arc through the damp evening air towards their secret destination under the blue mailbox. Another shows two shadowy figures; the first, who (from my imminently superior viewpoint hovering above the commotion) I dub “nervous tag-along guy”, was looking behind the scene to keep a lookout and was consequently startled by the sudden report, his head spinning back towards the action. The second, more menacing, more deliberate, more frighteningly detached, I name “triggerman” as he barely flinches at the gunshot and is already moving towards me before I have come to a full rest in the modified “bellyflop with a half-twist” position I’ve assumed on the suddenly darkening concrete. Skillfully rifing through my pockets, he quickly inventories my wallet, expertly ignoring the ATM card that’s useless without the PIN number that I obviously won’t be providing. Finally extracting a few sweaty, crumpled-up bills from my front pocket, he looks at “nervous tag-along guy” angrily and silently screams what I imagine to be sublimely choice invectives about my lineage and probable sexual tendencies. Then, slowly and oh-so-deliberately, he levels the weapon directly at my chest and squeezes off three more shots. I watch as my body absorbs the intrusions and wonder at the rapidly expanding pool of blackness expanding around it. And as the blackness surrounds my body laying farther and farther below me, the lights about me become blindingly brighter…

“Shut the fugg up, biatch.”
“Look, whatever you want, just… just be cool, OK?”
“I’m ‘onna ‘be cool’ you b***h, now gimme the cash!”
“Hurry up, man, let’s roll!”
“Gimme the cash or I cap ya now, cracker!”
“Dude, you got it, man, just take it…”

BAM

“Oh man, whatcha shoot him for? He was gonna give it up!”
“Ain’t got time for that yack, wit his punk-ass!”
“Hurry up man, I think I hear five-oh for real!”
“SHUT UP, DAYUMM!”

“Oh no you don’t… this broke-ass piece o’ shat ain’t got twenty… seventeen dollars??? DAYUMM!”
“Whatevah, let’s GO, man!”
“I’mma go soon as I give his punk ass some change…”
“C’mon, man, don’t shoot him aga –“

BAM-BAM-BAM

“C’mon, let’s ride.”
“Damn, man – that don’t make no sense…”
“Shut up, let’s go.”