Chapter 2

Chapter 2

     John tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as music blared from his speakers. With his window slightly parted, he could feel the chill, but as the sun began to display itself between the buildings, he felt the warmth coming. He sung along with Syd Barrett one of the lead singers in the superstar group Pink Floyd. This attractive blonde and a five series beamer, flashed him a smile that was lustful, but innocent.  It didn’t take her long to suck John into fantasy land. After the imaginary kiss and a wink, the devils advocate sped off, switching lanes. At the same time, when John’s eyes met the road again, he had to swerve his Honda to avoid from hitting the back of this caddy who had suddenly hit brakes.
     John threw his hands up, “What the hell are you doing?”
     The Arab didn’t know what John said, but he knew it was something derogatory, so he just stuck up his middle finger and floored the taxicab. The passenger, a Hispanic, stared at John through the smudged windows, then leaned back into his seat and continued his journey. John sighed, gripping the warm steering wheel with both hands.  

     It was difficult, like usual, for John to find a parking space after he crammed his vehicle in between a Volkswagen Bug and a Cutlass. He exited his vehicle and brisk walked past the parking meter and headed towards “Sun House”, a local coffee spot. In his mind, what was the sense of paying when he would only be a few minutes. As he reached the front door, the morning breeze quickened, causing his tie to flop around loosely in the wind. The door chimed and the bells jingled as he snatched the door open.
     “Windy isn’t it,” Margaret the cashier asks John.
     “Yeah,” he responded, looking back as the trash tumbled along the sidewalk.
     “Usual?” she asks.
     “Yep.”
     The shop was empty and eerily quiet despite the morning rush and bystanders. The air was filled with the scents of coffee grinds and old stools.
Even though the shop was in a decent part of the city, the interior of the establishment resembled a mom and pops store.  Fly traps decorated the ceiling. In a picture frame above the sink marked the first sale. The business license was tapped crookedly against the wall besides the pictures of the owners in their early years.
     “Here you go,” she said pushing the cup of coffee towards John.
     The change that was equal to eighty nine cents was already counted out and placed onto the scuffed counter for Margaret to count. She grinned as she rapidly picked up the coins one by one with her fingertips.
     “How’s work,” she asks while she placed the coins into their proper slots, causing the other change to clatter.
     “Same thing. Hearing the clients fuss for nothing. You know how it goes when your dealing with folks that are in a higher income bracket.”
     “I know whatcha’ mean.”
     Steam emerged from the cup and smacked John in the face while he sipped his morning booster.
     “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot the paper,” John said putting the cup down.
     The bells from the door jingled, letting her know a customer was coming into the establishment.  She smiled at the man who came in and looked around curiously.
     “Can I help you?” she asks kindly to the man she never saw before.
     He didn’t respond.
     John was bent down at the other end of the store making sure he gets the latest edition of the Washington Post.  The front of his shoes produced a heavy crease, as he squatted down to look below the Baltimore Sun and the New York times.
     “Open the f*****g register,” the man growled, producing a gun with a duct taped handle.
     “No, please,” Margaret pleaded.
     John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked up into the upper corner and seen a man he thought he saw before in the mirror. The large rack obstructed the robbers view so he couldn’t see John.
     Margaret punched at the keys, eventually causing the money tray to eject.
     “Where is the rest of the money,” he yells as he snatches the dollar bills out of the tray.
     “This is all….”
     She was cut off, “B***h don’t play with me, where in the f**k is the cash,” he said pointing the gun to her head, stuffing the bills into his pocket.
     Margaret wept slowly cutting the corner of her eyes towards John.
     “Help!” she screams.
     “You dumb b***h.”
     The robber smacks her with the gun. The impact sent her tumbling backwards. Blood spurted out of the corner of her eyebrows as she fell out cold, leaning against the wall.
     John bit his lip, looking around for an escape hoping the robber doesn’t notice him. He just sat in the corner, head down between his legs, waiting for the moment.
     After a minute or so of ransacking the establishment, she wasn’t lying after all.  Little did he know, the safe was in the wall behind the fake Mona Lisa portrait. Margaret groaned as she was trying to come to. Out of frustration, the man raised his gun and shot Margaret in the temple. John squeaked.
     “Damn,” John said to himself.
     The man had on a dirty hoody that was obviously a Redskins vintage. Something he probably stole years ago. Holey blue jeans and black Caterpillar boots that were well worn. Sharp facial features along with his oily skin made him look intimidating. With no mask on, he was either high on drugs and didn’t give a damn or he had already cased the place.
     The robber darted his eyes towards the back of the store where the squeal had come from. John looked into the mirror and seen the man creeping in the direction, gun in hand.
     “F**k, f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k,” John said lowly.
     “Who’s there,” the man had groaned, sweating, eyes bulging out of his head.
     The crook was twenty feet away.
     John looked around to see if there was anything he could use to defend himself with. Knowing Margaret was dead, he wanted to do what he had to do to survive. Cindy and Michael flashed in his mind.
     Two potential customers tried to open the door, but the weren’t successful. The attempts didn’t phase the robber one bit. His hands shook rapidly odor from his dingy clothes polluted the air.
     Ten feet away.
     Now John was scared to death at this point. He regretted not going to church with his wife and son on Sunday mornings. To him success, money, and status was his God sad to say. He went one time when he was younger and he didn’t like it. The Catholic priest sounded as if he was dead as his creepy voice echoed throughout the church.
     “Mom, I don’t want to go to church anymore. It’s scary!” he said when he was seven years old.
     With no luck finding a weapon, John placed his hands in front of his face and silently said a prayer.
     Five feet away.
     Images of his childhood and adult life flashed before his eyes. Within twenty seconds he replayed his entire life mentally. Will God answer the prayers he whispers? He hopes so, quickly answering his own question.
     As John looks up at the mirror to see the mans position, he felt a blunt object rap across his face.
     “Arrrggghh,” John moaned.
     His wallet was taken from out of his slacks while he held his head.
     “Ah, f**k,” he cried.
     The robber used one hand and went through the contents of his wallet. After seeing that cash was present, he shoved the leather into his front pocket.
     John’s body rippled, as the robber kicked him in his ribs.
     “Turn over,” the man commanded.
     With his eyes big, John immediately had a flashback of a recent episode. The man, who is now a killer raised his gun.
     John looked into the mans eyes, “Hey, I seen you….”
     Before he could finish what he had to say, two shots entered his chest, one piercing his heart. Death engulfed him. His prayers weren’t answered.
     The killer ran towards the door, unlocked it and ran out into the streets. Bystanders screamed and ran for cover as they seen the killer shoving individuals with his gun brandished. He bent the corner, then quickly disappeared.
     An older lady entered the premises, noticing the body of Margaret sprawled out across the floor. Panic suddenly struck her.
     “Somebody call the police!”
     
     True life had left John’s body. 

Reviews

[ganymeder]

Wow. This is a very gripping story! I can't wait to see where this goes.

I did notice a few grammatical errors, missing commas, and some slight wording. Nothing big, here goes...

>> This attractive blonde and a five series beamer, flashed him a smile that was lustful, but innocent.> At the same time, when John's eyes met the road again, he had to swerve his Honda to avoid from hitting the back of this caddy who had suddenly hit brakes.> The Arab didn't know what John said, but he knew it was something derogatory, so he just stuck up his middle finger and floored the taxicab. The passenger, a Hispanic, stared at John through the smudged windows, then leaned back into his seat and continued his journey. > The change that was equal to eighty nine cents was already counted out and placed onto the scuffed counter for Margaret to count. She grinned as she rapidly picked up the coins one by one with her fingertips.

[JC Fox]

another chilling chapter (oh this is pretty much as helpful as my reviews get sorry)