Now that I’ve gone through the story and made quite a few changes, it’s time to look at the story

…

Those fractions of seconds passed differently for Annalisa.

There was a moment when she had made up her mind to let the customer go.  It was a distraction, and she had decided to ‘deal’ with the shopkeeper, not only for his contribution to Simmo’s problems but a lot of others too.

She’d been down the dark path, and what she’d seen was more than any young child should see, or know about, and, yes, she was prepared to admit she was still ‘just a child’.

The customer sidled towards the door, one eye on her and the gun and one eye on the prize.  She could see he honestly believed she might shoot him in the back if he turned around and ran.

With her gun hand shaking as much as it was, he might be right. The gun was ready to shoot the first person who made a wrong move.

Or so she told herself.

It was getting heavy in her hand, she was shaking almost uncontrollably now, and she was getting more and more frightened of the consequences.  She didn’t think, if she aimed, she could hit the side of a barn let alone a person standing ten feet away from her.

She was not a killer.

She was not motivated like Simmo had been.

Another quick glance at Simmo, on the floor, showed he had stopped moving, and the blood was forming a small puddle under his chin.

Was he dead?

She wasn’t going to take the chance of kneeling down to find out.

She knew exactly what the shopkeeper would do if he was given a chance.

The customer reached the door, reached out for the handle, and had his hand on it.  In that same fraction of a second, she realized another person was pushing, trying to make their way in.

With force.

She saw the blue cap, what appeared to be a policewoman, though she hadn’t heard a siren, but also thought the shopkeeper might have a silent alarm, one Simmo’s ‘friend’ obviously hadn’t told him about.

Damn.

It was decision time; take action or be killed.  This was an armed robbery, and with lives at risk, the cops would shoot first and ask questions later.  The gun was in her hand, and that’s who they would be shooting at.

The gun was aimed at the shopkeeper.  A quick sideways glance, a squeeze of the trigger, and that job was done.  Hopefully, he would get the message.  No more drugs for young people.

Virtually the same action, her gun arm swung around and pointed towards the door, slightly down, and she squeezed the trigger again.

The two on the floor, the policewoman and the customer seemed to be wrestling, but more importantly, the policeman’s gun hand was trapped under them both.

The glass door started to disintegrate the very moment she started moving towards it.  A standing start to the fastest race she’d ever run, heading for the door, trading on one of the two on the floor as she braced her shoulder and busted through what remained of the glass door, and out into the street.

The hell with Simmo.  He’d dragged her down the rabbit hole far enough.  Simmo knew her first name, and that she had parents with money, but nothing else.  Besides, he was in such bad shape she didn’t think he’d recover.

The shopkeeper had no idea who she was, it was the first time she’d been to his shop, and now, after a few months with Simmo, not ever her mother would recognize her.

In the distance she could hear a police car coming, siren blaring.

It was a warning if there was ever one to run harder, up the road, down an alley, out into another street, then down into the subway.

Gone.

…

© Charles Heath 2016-2024