We were in like flynn, and ready to sell the stuff we’d stolen and rake in some serious cash!

Of course, we didn’t know then what we do now.

#

“...So, there it is. Do we have a deal?”

I looked at the young fellah, dressed in his black tights and black turtleneck, covered in black plastic plates over his legs, chest and arms, his black helmet with tiny, red slit for him to see out of and his normal voice, the silly little amplifier turned off which usually made him sound like he was speaking into a tin-can full of water, which my best guess was he thought sounded so scary to all the purse-snatchers and juicers and kidfuckers he’d pounce on.

But me? I was an Indiana prairie girl, and a carny. I’d seen scarier things than him in my life afore my first womanly time.

And it was pissing him off like nobody’s business, which gave me no end of satisfaction in my soul and shiteating grins on my face.

“So,” says I, leaning back in my chair against a cardboard box, “Y’all say you are gonna give me a hundred-thousand dollars, in a nice little check, and all I hafta do is sign a piece of paper, and promise not to say nothin’ about this today?”

“Yes.”

“Well, y’see, that makes things a mite complicated. I’m gonna hafta get at least a cool million, in cash, get dropped off at the place you spirited me away from, and have it in writing you are never gonna bother me again, and you’re gonna fix up the place you blew a hole in, at your expense.”

He waited. I had him. And it felt good.

“Well, that’s-”

“One-million five. I hear another word, and it goes up to two mil. Cash, one hour. I know you people are good for it. And I don’t want those beady little zipperhead eyes of yours watchin’ me after today, waiting to see if I mess up, waiting t’see if you can put a bullet in my head for jaywalking. I never want you near me again. Now, g’wan back to your bosses and get my money. Git!”

He stood there for a few seconds. I could tell he wanted to throttle me. I don’t dislike Chinese folks; met jus' as many truly decent ones as any other kind o'folk in my time, truth-be-told.

But I was callin’ him the kinda names he’d hate and asking fer more money all for one, big reason:

I wanted to make him so mad at me, he’d either boil over and take a swing at me so’s I could triple the ask, or get even angrier that he couldn’t do anything, and understand how it feels sometimes to be a normal person havin’ to deal with one of today’s capes.

“Oh, an’ I want my guns back, too. Just like they were when I lost ‘em,” I shouted the last bit at him.

The little shit had already left. He waren’t quite so tall as they make ‘im out to be in the comics an’ the movies; maybe five-ten, if’n you stretch ‘im. I stretched out as good as I could on the box I was sitting on. Man, I musta pissed him off somethin’ fierce. Looks like they never dump people in jail on their own here; got no place to put ‘em. Well, no worry. It wasn’t too comfortable, but I found it t’be just fine as a place to wait while I got my . . .

There was an argument happenin’ upstairs. Guys yellin’, a gal yellin’, and then-

I got cold prickles inside, like I did when Momma and Daddy used to fight. I know’d I was safe, that no one was gonna hurt me. But kids who had parents what fought alla time know what I mean. It’s like the whole world’s gonna get turned upside-down, and there’s nothin’ you can hold onto hard enough to keep yourself from gettin’ hurt when everything flips.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

And it never flips. You’re there, waiting for hours, waitin’ for something that never comes, but always a-scairt of it.

Then there were thumps. Bumps upstairs. More yells. Something broke. A gal screamed, first angry, then scairt.

Then more thumps, more yells, an’ there was a loud bang, and I heard what sounded like a lot of stuff falling down, breaking.

There was a fight goin’ on up there, fit to beat the band. And then something happened, something every kid with fightin’ parents knows is worse than hearing fightin’.

It’s hearing fightin’, and then hearin’ it get real quiet, all of a sudden-like.

An’ it was real quiet up there.

And then it wasn’t.

‘Cause upstairs, far up enough it sounded real soft, I could hear a set of footsteps comin’ my way.

Shit.

#

“So, what’s the plan?”

Madre de dios, they’re asking me? Just because I own the place we’re hiding in doesn’t mean I know what we do next. Me, I wanted to sleep for about a hundred years. And here’s Jake, mister Scarlet Swami, who could make the president cluck like a chicken if he wanted, asking me what our next move should be?

“I dunno, Jake. Maybe get some sleep? We’ve been up all night, you know.”

“We can’t do that, Miguel. At least you can’t. When do you usually open this place? Ten? Noon? Cops’ll figure out that loot’s gone soon. And when they start lookin’ around, if they see anything different, they’ll get a warrant faster’n a roadrunner with a firecracker up his ass. And if this place is closed, with a van in the garage? And they search that van? We gotta ditch the goods, get our money and split. Got any blue rocks, still?”

Jake had a point. I didn’t have any. And I could feel age creeping up on me. I’d fall asleep standing up if I didn’t get the blue stuff to help me stay on my feet. Staying up all night, and then running the show all day like nothing happened? I couldn’t do it quite so easy at forty as I did when I was twenty, but I could do it at forty easier than I could at seventy.

“Nah, man. Jane was the source on that one. Okay, well,” Miguel stopped, stood, stretched. “Looks like I’m gonna hafta pretend I’m up an’ at ‘em. How’bout the rest of you? You gonna be seen as missing”

“I’m on vacation, officially,” Jake said. “Took my two weeks a little early. Rest of you?”

“Officially? I am on my weekend.” Monty again. Dear Lord in Heaven, sometimes when he opens his mouth it’s like hearing the world’s biggest clock pendulum swing back n’ forth.

“It’s Monday morning,” I says.

“Sunday and Monday are my weekends, Miguel. You get used to an odd weekly schedule when you’re a security guard, you know. Speaking of Mondays, Mitchell, ought you not be in school, teaching young people how to blow themselves up in chemistry class?”

“They wish. Me? I’m officially on leave for a week at a boring educational conference in bumble-duck, Kansas. A buddy of mine owes me big, so he’s signing me in as ‘present’ for every boring talk they can muster up on why little johnny can’t read, write, or stop votin’ for Reagan, and why it’s all mah fault.”

“Ok, gringos, let’s quit with the yapping. You won’t be missed, but I will. I’ll get out there, run in and out like I’ve got errand to run, the little vatos’ll come in like usual, I’ll put the toughest one in charge. You three head back to the storeroom, I’ve got a few cots in there for fighters who’re down on their luck and need a place to crash. You guys can get some sleep, and-”

Then the knock came at the door.

Big, loud, pounding.

“Whozzat?” Jake said.

“Think I know, poop-fer-brains?” I says back. “All I know is it’s not ten AM yet, and that I don’t have to-”

I heard the lock twist and click. Not like a key opening it, but something more like-

“Get in the back, epah! Now! Move, and quiet!”

I barked the orders best I could without yelling.

They were halfway into the back room before Russ and the big fellow behind him walked into the gym.

Damn.