Little Did You Know

July 17, 2018 - 4:04AM

Ray bites his lip to keep from shivering. He always gets like this before a bust. Dripping in sweat, head to toe, slacks and all. He spins a pillar display of glasses. His shaking hand knocks his preference, a Californian Ray-Ban variant, on the floor.

Ray-Ban. Ray. Ban. A nervous smile. I’m about to get banned from this convenience store.

“Sorry,” the cashier yells from the register, poking a handwritten sign. Ray jolts in his direction. “Air conditioner broken.”

As broken as your English. Ray offers a reassuring “OK” sign with his hand. The shaking persists so it comes off an incessant “OKOKOKOK” and the cashier raises both his hands slightly to back off.

Typical of any Ray bust is a fuzzy memory. As he continues spinning the display to stall, he can’t remember if it’s been five minutes or five hours since he stepped inside. The cashier knows he’s not here to stay out of the summer heat, so it’s only a matter of time before he becomes suspicious and has to make a move.

Little does Ray know, the cashier hit the panic button thirty seconds ago after he saw a family-size bag of Fritos slip into his jacket.

Little does the cashier know, along with the tanked air conditioner, the panic button stopped working last Thursday.

Ray makes small steps toward the pastry cabinet, keeping his head perfectly still despite beads of sweat partially obscuring his vision. He uses the cabinet door to hide himself taking a breather and a quick bite out of a doughnut, forcing the rest in with his thumb. Coconut sprinkles imbed themselves into the hairs of his thick moustache, a couple lose their grip as he chews, hitting the floor like emptied bullet casings.

Little does Ray know, he’s allergic to coconut.

The front door chimes and a customer greets the cashier. Ray uses that distraction to pace over to the row of coffee machines. He pours a steamy cup of Joe and glances at the new customer as he drinks: his gym teacher from junior high. Ray coughs up Joe partly due to the recognition, partly due to the half-swallowed donut, and partly due to his slowly swelling esophagus. The stifle only attracts more attention to himself.

Little does he know, that’s not his gym teacher from junior high.

He turns his back away from the indifferent customer when his phone goes off in his jacket pocket, scaring him enough to spill hot Joe on his hand. Ray groans through gritted teeth and slips out his BlueBerry, immediately recognizing the caller who he’d named “DON’T ANSWER.” A number of suspicious calls had come from this number over the past couple of days asking for him to comply. What Ray hated most of all was the voice on the other line, a robotic operator from the sounds of it, cheerful despite the threats to his life. But what the hell? He’s in public, what could go wrong? The call drops as soon as he’s decided to pick up.

He takes another sip of coffee and sets it down before putting on his new Ray-Bans, hoping to hide the fear in his eyes as he approaches the counter empty-handed. F**k. He grabs a Baby Ruth next to the magazine display.

“That all today?” asks the cashier, not wanting to force the bag of Fritos out of Ray’s pocket with the wooden bat to his left. Ray nods and the cashier playfully gives back an “OKOKOK” with his hand. Ray reaches out with the Baby Ruth, bar code up. A red beam hits the wrapper then a beep from the computer. When he bags it. “Bag, sir?” Put the money in the bag. Ray’s hand is still outstretched, violently moving side to side, sweaty fingers squishing the Baby Ruth, when a red dot appears on his thumb. You already scanned-a bullet rips through the window and blows Ray’s hand clean off.

Little did Ray know.