Give Him the Money

[316 words]

The small convenience store sat at the end of a dark Chicago street.  Midnight swirled with the wind along the pavement, snatching at the crunchy leaves that lined up along the curb.  A scrap of paper flew by the neon signs that flickered now and then, hanging inside the store’s windows, advertising cigarettes.  One neon letter was dead.  

In a burst of sound and light, two police cars suddenly careened around the corner.  The screaming sirens ricocheted off the tunnel-like walls of the buildings lining the street and the light flooded through any crevices in curtains it could find.    

The clerk inside the store was moving too slow.  Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking.  The gunman squirmed as the sound of car doors slamming reached his ears.  

“Give me the money! NOW!”

The door of the store flew open and in flooded three uniformed men, also armed.  The gunman’s hands shook as he pointed the weapon at the clerk while clutching his burlap sack.

“I’ll shoot!” he warned, eyeing the open cash register.

“Give him the money,” said the foremost cop, gesturing with his head to the clerk.

“Yeah,” the gunman snarled sarcastically.  “Give me the money.”  He thrust forward the burlap sack.

The clerk filled it quickly.  The gunman held it to his chest while he backed up towards the employee’s door, gun still pointed at the clerk, eyes switching between her and the cops.

Suddenly, he fired his weapon at the clerk and the front cop, diving into a snack aisle as bullets, courtesy the other two cops, bit the air just behind his feet.  He tore down the row of potato chips and pretzels, making a sharp turn before the cops had a clear shot, and bolted towards the door.

“Cut!” the director uncrossed his arms and moved in to give additional directions to one of the surviving cops.  The other actors and the cameraman lined back up in their original spots.