Ok now. This is the uh, third editing I believe. I really wanted to thank everyone profusely for their help. I'm thrilled that this story is getting such great reviews. Thanks everyone!!
Tanya
It’s gotten to the point where you can’t trust anyone anymore.
I wasn’t always this jaded but working nightshift in a gas station tended to show you 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 night shift I worked. 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 knew there was nothing lurking in here with us but his job was to keep me safe and he did it well. Riley 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.
When I’d started night shift in the gas station, it hadn’t been necessary to have a guard dog. Because it also served as a corner store, I often got clients at night. It hadn’t been a problem until a year ago. I was locked in and they were locked out. Period. I served them by a little magnetised bulletproof window that the clients hated but it kept me safe. I could get for them anything in the store and they had to pay their gas in advance. Everything was going perfectly, for me anyway. Then things got a little more serious. A furious customer grabbed an outside garbage can and began slamming it against the door; the glass shattered. Another managed to get a hold of our store keys (don’t ask me how, we’re still trying to figure that out) and made a copy. I was in the back store that night when it happened. I heard a noise, went out to investigate and saw a scrawny teenager in my store, looking around greedily. I backed up three steps, slammed and locked the bathroom door. Thankfully, I always carried the wireless phone clipped to my belt.
These occasions –and many more- made me rather popular with the cops. My boss had pleaded with his bosses to reinforce the security of the store to protect his employee and they had refused. When the cops had insisted the measures of protection weren’t adequate and they would need to strengthen them, they had refused. Finally, the cops had called the director of Shelco and said that from then on they would be posting a cop car on the property and would send their fees to the director to pay. If he wouldn’t protect his employees, they would, but at a price.
That night, I got my first guard dog.
His name was Quinn and he was a big German shepherd. I had him for eleven months and things went smoothly. A month ago, Casey, Quinn’s owner called my boss and said his dog was getting too old to work five days a week and he’d prefer being transferred to nights on the weekend. The switch was made and the following Sunday night, I had Riley. Now, don’t get me wrong, Quinn and I had a good thing going but with Riley . . . There was just something different about Riley. Whenever I was around the beautiful animal, I had to struggle with myself to not curl my fingers in his thick fur. It looked lustrous and everything in me demanded that I touch. But I couldn’t; it simply wasn’t permitted. The dogs were 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.
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 rubbed my chilled arms and turned to head back to the back for more cans when movement outside caught my eye. I looked up and spotted Eric, one of my regulars.
“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 permitted to get bored.
I went to the door and pushed the manual lock to let Eric in. “Hey, Eric!” I called out and smiled. He closed the door behind him –the only rule I had for the regulars I let in- and I made my way back behind the counter, certain he would ask for his usual, cigarettes and lotteries.
But he didn’t approach the counter. 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 back there and hadn’t come back 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 normally showed up several times a night. Tonight, though, was his first. Therefore, he did not know I was lying and 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 Mr. Porter hasn’t called.” Travis Porter was Riley’s owner.
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; that’s my job.” I wasn’t stupid; I was pretty sure 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 brown-grey 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. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement 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, away from the panic button that would alert the cops of my situation, away also from the small pocket knife I kept at hand. Instead of panicking about my movements, Eric heaved a sigh of relief. I realised he was keeping an eye on my hands, in case they strayed toward the little red button I’d sometimes used to call for the authorities. Not this time, buster, my dog will take care of you, I thought.
I’ve 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 make off with. That was true; I did value my life more than the store’s money but what held me back was the hope that Eric would see reason. If I just opened the register and poured the 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 daughter; they often came to gas up in the morning. I felt like giving him the money would be giving up on him and I just couldn’t do that. I had to try.
I noticed Riley peek 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 couldn’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 narrowed and his lips pulled back in a silent snarl.
“Eric, I don’t judge you. 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? I wasn’t very good with that, but surely something in his system had prompted him to act so out of character? I simply could not 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 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 problem,” 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 he was flat on his back. But as he went down, he jerked his knife arm backward and his blade plunged into my left arm, cutting across it before pulling free and falling to the floor.
My scream jerked Riley’s head up and when he saw the blood pouring out of my arm, he opened his wide jaws 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. 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 on his wrist. He screamed but held on. I brought my foot up and down again, then I put my full weight on his arm and leaned forward to press the tiny red button. This time, he let go. I stooped and snagged the knife on the floor, throwing it aside.
I wrenched the first aid kit out of its hiding place under the counter and managed to open it up. With my teeth I tore open the gauze bandage and managed to crudely wrap my arm with it. It wasn’t perfect or even pretty but it should staunch the flow of blood.
As usual, the cops were quick to arrive and I buzzed them in with the tiny button under my cash. They came in to find me slumped on a stool, the blood seeping through my gauze. One of the two cops was Natalie Sanders, a friendly cop who often stopped by to check up on me. The other was her partner Tate Channing. The cops scanned the store quickly, right hands holding their guns. They knew I meant business if I had pressed the button; otherwise I would have called.
“Shanna, what is it?” Natalie’s voice was tight, professional but I could detect a small note of worry. Then again, maybe the blood-loss had me hallucinating.
I jerked my head to the left, struggling to hold on to consciousness. Sanders and Channing approached the counter warily, pushed the little door out of the way and stopped, shocked, when they found Eric, sobbing on the floor, Riley growling and drooling non-stop, and me bleeding like a stuck pig.
In no time flat, Tate had called the ambulance and another police car, Natalie had convinced Riley to relinquish his hold on Eric, had cuffed him and set him in the back of their car. They had me call my boss, David, who arrived within thirty minutes, confused and worried about me. The other car showed up and Tate transferred Eric to their car before gently guiding me to his and Natalie’s. Twelve minutes later, we were at the hospital emergency and I was still struggling to remain conscious. But when the doctor removed the brown paper covering my wound and I saw the extent of the damage, I gave up and all went black.
anyway, keep up the good work!
