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Spoiler! :
Chapter 1
It’s gotten to the point where you can’t trust anyone anymore.
I wasn’t always this jaded, but working night shift in a gas station tended to show me the real side of people. The nasty side. The side they kept from everyone but me.
Lucky me.
* * *
I stepped out of the storage room at the back of the store, skilfully balancing an armful of pop cans. In my shadow trailed Riley, the hundred-and-forty-pound dog assigned to me during the shift I worked. He was completely black except for a small patch of white on his chest, a quality I found endearing. Somehow, he seemed less fierce being two-toned that way. I just hoped my clients didn’t see it that way. To them, he had to be very fierce.
I nudged open the fridge door with my elbow and deftly filled the available space while glancing at the magnificent animal by my side. At the moment he was seated with his ears pricked and his head cocked as he surveyed the store. We both knew there was nothing lurking in here with us, but his job was to keep me safe and he did it well.
There was something different about Riley. Whenever I was around the beautiful animal, I had to struggle to keep from curling my fingers in his thick fur. It looked lustrous and everything in me demanded that I touch it. But I couldn’t; it simply wasn’t permitted. The dog was there for my protection, not to be coddled or fondled. As soon as our shift ended, I could touch him but Riley was out the door at seven o’clock on the dot.
If I was at all paranoid, I’d have to wonder if he was running away from me.
I suddenly realised that while I’d permitted my thoughts to wander, I’d been staring at Riley, the fridge door wide open. Funny thing was, Riley was actually holding my stare. Huh, weird.
I let the door close and caught sight of my weary-looking eyes. There were dark bags under my eyes; there was only so much my glasses could hide. I looked pale and sickly. Am I sun deprived? I wondered. This is what a vampire must feel like. I snorted at my own foolish thoughts before turning away from my reflection and rubbing my cold arms.
I caught movement, looked up and spotted Eric, one of my regulars, jumping out of his truck.
“Riley,” I said, warning him there was a customer. “It’s okay; it’s Eric.”
With what sounded like a very human sigh, Riley headed to the back of the store and entered the storage room. Eric was one of those lazy customers who needed to get a life. He was always here at night. For that matter, he was here for every shift. He didn’t want to drive to the super market (five minutes away) for his milk or bread, pop or even toilet paper. So he showed up often to pick up what he needed. He fancied himself our best customer. I didn’t have the heart to disagree. Besides, he was probably right. After a week of Riley standing guard whenever Eric arrived, he began to relax. Eric liked to talk and buy lottery tickets, stayed around, talked and scratched. Even the formidable Riley was allowed to get bored.
I went to the door and pushed the manual lock. “Hey Eric!” I called out and smiled, letting him in. He closed the door behind him –the only rule I had for the regulars I let in- and I made my way to the front of the store, behind the counter.
Eric didn’t approach the counter as I’d expected. Instead, he stayed at the door, fidgeting with his leather coat. Why in the world was he wearing such a heavy coat in the middle of July? I frowned at him but he didn’t seem to notice. “Eric, you alright?”
His head snapped up and he met my eyes. “Yeah, sorry. Just a bit cold tonight; can’t seem to warm up, you know?”
“You might be coming down with something. Is anyone sick at home?”
“No, not yet. Maybe it’s because of the air conditioning.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He browsed the store, walking between the aisles of chips and peanuts, passing in front of the pop cans, the juices, the energy drinks. He barely glanced at them. He headed for the milk, stopped, turned. Looked around.
“Can’t remember what you needed? Milk? Bread? Cigarettes?” I enumerated what he usually came to get.
He shook his head almost violently and my frown returned. There was something not right with him. Had he had a fight with his wife? Was there something wrong with his daughter?
He began walking decisively toward me but instead of coming to face me at the counter, he turned right. I stared in astonishment as Eric, one of my friendliest and most trusted customers, rounded the corner leading to my cash registers and said, “Where’s your dog?”
I wasn’t sure whether Riley was snoozing or marking his territory, but since I had reassured him that it was Eric I was letting in, he had disappeared into the back and hadn’t poked his nose out.
Normally, I would have told this to Eric but he had a weird look to him that was quite frankly freaking me out. Eric usually showed up several times a night. Tonight, though, was his first. Therefore, he did not know that Riley was lying in wait. Or doggy snoring. So, I shrugged. “He hasn’t come in yet. It’s weird too ‘cause that’s never happened before and his owner hasn’t called.”
Eric pushed through the little brown western-looking door and it swung back in its place with a squeak. Part of me was hoping he only wanted Aspirin or Tylenol displayed on the back wall. Maybe even a toothbrush or condoms. But when he set foot on the step leading to my cash registers –and to me- I knew two things: One, Eric was stepping into No Man’s Land. No customer was permitted behind the counter, ever. And two, I was in big trouble and my guard dog was nowhere to be found.
Lucky me.
I forced a laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. “Eric, what are you doing? You can’t get your cigarettes on your own; it’s my job.” I wasn’t stupid; I was pretty sure I knew what he wanted but I was hoping to shake him out of it.
“It’s not cigarettes I want, Shanna; it’s money.”
“You work three jobs, don’t you have enough money?”
He raked a hand through his grey-streaked brown hair. His desperate blue eyes held mine, beseeching me to understand. “It’s not enough, never enough! I work my ass off all day and at night. I work three jobs, Shanna, three! But there are always bills to pay, mortgage, cars. We need food on the table and clothes on our backs. My daughter, she’s only two years old and children that age grow so fast. It seems like every month we’re buying new clothes for her.”
Again, he ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He pulled a long knife out of his pants and for just one second I paused, wondering how he’d managed to not nick anything in there with that wicked-looking blade. Then he flashed his knife in front of my eyes and I yelped, finally afraid.
I stood facing Eric, my eyes wide with shock, my heart hammering to the beat of a wild tango. I caught movement from the corner of my eye and realised that my guard dog had finally woken up. Riley! I thought with relief. I worried for a second that Eric might be carrying a gun but I could see no obvious bulges in his clothes.
Still with my peripheral vision, I noticed Riley slink behind the peanut rack, then the chip one. Because the racks were placed diagonally, with the rows facing me, Eric could not see the dog. But once Riley made it to the end of the racks and turned left toward us, Eric would be able to see him if he simply turned his head. I needed to distract the man.
Ever so slowly, I eased to the left, forcing my paralysed body to lean against the other counter. It screamed in protest; I was stepping away from the mace can I kept beside my cash register, away from the panic button that would alert the cops of my situation. Instead of panicking about my movements, Eric heaved a sigh of relief that nearly parted my hair. I realised he was keeping an eye on my hands, in case they strayed a little too close to the red button I’d sometimes used to call the authorities. Not this time, buster, my dog will take care of you, I thought.
I’d been held up before and never had I made such a fuss. The rule was simple; just give the robber the money. My life was more important than the few hundreds he might take off with. That was true; I did value my life above the stores’ money, but what held me back was the hope that Eric would see reason. If I just opened the register and poured money in a bag, the theft was a done deal. But I knew this man; he had helped me out with frustrated customers in the past. He was one of the few I actually trusted in my store at night. I knew his wife and his daughter. I felt that giving him the money would be giving up on him and I just couldn’t do that. I had to try.
I noticed Riley peer around the corner, then edge forward, keeping his eyes on me. I had to distract Eric from the huge black and white dog coming our way. “I don’t see how you can’t make ends meet, Eric. It’s not like you own a castle with fifty kids. Okay, your wife stays at home to take care of your daughter, but thousands of people do the same and they’re not here in the middle of the night . . . begging for money.” I wasn’t going to say ‘holding up the cashier for money’ because I was trying to steer him away from that thought.
Eric took a step closer to me, brandishing his knife menacingly. “You know why I need it; I gamble. It’s my passion, my hobby, the love of my life. My mistress.”
Uh, ew. We were talking about gambling, right?
“I’ve seen the way you look at me; you judge me like everyone else does.” His eyes were narrowed and his lips pulled back in a silent snarl.
“Eric, I don’t judge you.” I began talking fast, sensing he was pushing the limits of his patience. “I just wish I had known before what a problem your gambling was; I could have gotten you some help.” My eyes were pleading with his. I didn’t want him to do this; he had a little girl and a wife waiting for him at home. So far, he hadn’t threatened me except for flashing the knife around, but he himself seemed to hesitate. I studied his eyes carefully and suddenly noticed his pupils were hugely dilated. Oh my god, he was on something! What kind of drugs had he taken? Had something in his system prompted him to act so out of character? Because I simply couldn’t believe that Eric, the same handsome, friendly client I’d served for the past five years would turn on me. Not so suddenly.
My lie was apparently convincing because he paused, his knife held in mid-air. Then he narrowed his eyes again. “Gambling isn’t a problem, Shanna, it’s my life! The only problem is that Lady Luck hasn’t been on my side lately, but she is bound to. She cannot have abandoned me this way.”
"If it isn’t a lie,” I said softly, “then what are you doing here?”
His mouth opened but he did not get the chance to speak. A low, threatening growl sounded behind him and he whirled, startled. The turn was probably too fast on him because he swayed dangerously, gripping the counter to steady himself. Riley pounced on him and a second later, Eric was flat on his back. But as he went down, he jerked his knife arm backward and his knife nicked my left arm.
My scream of surprise jerked Riley’s head up and when he saw the blood pouring out of my arm, he opened his jaws wide and bit on Eric’s throat. Gently, not to hurt him, but enough to show Eric he meant business. In the meantime he growled, a truly threatening sound coming from his open mouth. Forgetting my pain, only thinking of protecting my dog, I knelt and tried pulling the knife from Eric’s grip; he refused to relinquish it. “Come on, Eric! Give it to me.”
"You can’t have it, it’s mine!” he yelled, sobbing.
My eyes flicked over to his face and I held on to a desperate laugh: he sounded like a child who didn’t want to share his toy. I once again tried to pry his fingers, but to no avail. Disgruntled, I sighed, rose, lifted my foot –wishing I’d worn stilettos instead of sneakers- and slammed my foot down on his wrist. He screamed, but held on. I brought my foot up and down again, and then I put on my full weight on his arm and leaned forward to press the tiny red button. This time, he let go. I stooped and snatched the knife from the floor, throwing it aside.
I wrenched the first aid kit out of its hiding place under the counter and keeping a wary eye on Eric, I edged around him and Riley and made my way to the bathroom. I stuck my arm under the tap and winced as the cold water washed away the blood seeping from my wound. I was reassured to realise it was only a tiny nick that a band-aid or two could cover up.
When the cops arrived, a few minutes later, I was relieved to see Natalie Sanders, my friend and roommate, and her partner Tate Channing. They walked in, looking tense and professional, hands on their holsters. They knew if I’d pressed the button instead of calling, I meant business.
“Shanna, are you okay?” Natalie asked.
“Thanks to Riley.”
With my chin, I indicated the cash registers, which they warily made their way to. Then stopped in surprise. They knew Eric, and it was obvious they weren’t expecting to see him, sobbing underneath my growling guard dog.
You and me both, friends.
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