“The man makes his money harming other people.”
“It doesn’t sound like that. It sounds like an amazing love story. Can you imagine, being an out of work meteorologist, working as a bartender, and falling in love with one of the countries billionaires?”
“Again, where did those billions come from?”
“It says something about the internet.”
“Yes. According to my father that’s where it started. Anthony Rawlings has managed to take that start and feed off of the unfortunate circumstances of others. He’s personally unemployed enough people to fill these factories.”
“He also employs enough people to fill these factories.” Sarah peered at the barren landscape. “I think people are just jealous. I mean, I could be. What woman wouldn’t love to suddenly have Claire Rawlings’ life?”
The sound of their son’s voice refocused the couple’s thoughts. Instead of dwelling on urban decay and the nation’s economy, Rich saw the blond hair of hope in the backseat. “Dad, I need to pee.” Ryan pleaded wide eyed at his dad in the rearview mirror.
“Ryan, we’ll be home in a few minutes. You can wait.”
“No, Dad, I can’t. I gots to pee now!”
Rich’s eyes met his wife’s. Her expression said everything he already knew; this wasn’t the neighborhood to stop. If they could just drive a little further. However, Ryan’s voice whined and his little legs fidgeted with need. “I see a gas station. Stop, pl-ea-se.” The last word elongated into three extended syllables.
Against his better judgment Richard Bosley II, turned the Equinox into a parking space outside of a Speedway. He turned to his wife, “I’ll go in with him. Besides, it’s the middle of the day, and it doesn’t look busy.”
Sarah smiled and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Okay guys, let’s get this over with and back on the road. We have a baseball game to watch. I recorded the whole thing. Ryan, wait until you see yourself get that great hit!”
A film of smudge and finger prints plastered the heavy glass doors. Rich scanned the interior looking for the sign indicating a restroom. The odor of hot dogs cooked to the firmness of rubber permeated their senses. Merchandise sat sparsely upon shelves that packed the room, leaving no discernible path. The dirt and scuffs upon the cracked linoleum were the true indicators of foot traffic. Looking to the cashier, Rich noticed the small unsecured cubical. He scanned the glass square for help, but saw only empty chairs. Then he noticed the open drawer of the cash register.
“Dad, I see the sign.” Ryan’s voice cut the thick silent air.
Suddenly, a commotion of racket resonated from the hallway containing the bathrooms. Some moments hang suspended in time as if the electrons slow, protons release their pull, and atoms no longer cement into matter; for example, the second a newborn baby releases its first cry. Some instants occur in a flash; like lightening refusing capture upon film. Others are an amalgamation.
A thick man moved toward them, his face concealed behind a black ski mask. Rich’s first thought, it’s July, why would you wear a ski mask? was only a blimp before the realization of their situation, “Run! Back to the car!” The words cascaded from his lips with alarm and authority.
Preoccupied with the search of her purse, Sarah’s husband’s tone propelled her to flight. She seized her son’s small hand and spun toward the smudged glass door. The echoing pop of gunfire erupted so abruptly she never saw her husband fall and thankfully neither did Ryan. The last thing either of them saw was the shower of red as their blood added another dimension to the filth on the floor and windows.
Months earlier and miles away a business executive chose to close a stamping plant no longer showing profits. That one decision resulted in thousands of unemployed workers. One of which was a father with a sick child and no wife. In a moment of desperation the out of work father decided his only option to pay the mounting medical bills and save his son, was crime. A few robberies later, with money too attractive and too easy, he had a new profession…
There is no limit to what a man can do, or where he can go,
if he does not mind who gets the credit.
- Charles Edward Montague
Chapter 1