right, you fucking sheep. Run.
Mary shoved Daryl off the register, smirking as he slid down the half wall, leaving an ironic trail of red to mar a shiny poster of the pretty tomatoes he so inadequately tempted her to buy. She reached out and gathered the cash from each slot, unperturbed by the sticky fluids clinging to the smaller bills while stuffing them inside her bag.
On a calm, casual stroll around the counter, Mary brandished the gun at the next register, cluing the freaked-out emo chick with thick, kohl-lined eyes the quick squat down next to it hadn’t improved her situation in the least. She stuffed the pristine cash into her Louise while leveling the Glock’s sights on the girl’s silver brow piercing, betting this was the most animated emotion those big, blue orbs had displayed since hitting puberty.
Blam!
Sweet. Split her like a grape.
Pleased to find the other cashiers kind enough to leave their register drawers open as they fled like cowards to the back of the store, Mary gathered her hard-earned cash, pausing long enough to bust a cap into several people lying prone on the main aisle.
Did acting like part of the tile save your sorry asses? Nope. Idiots.
Two Almond Joys sticking out from the last candy rack begged for a ride in the side pouch of her purse and got their wish. Satisfied with the prolific haul, she stood center on the black plastic door runner, tilted her head back, and enjoyed the breeze rushing through the parting glass panels to tease her hair.
Glock stuffed under an armpit, she reached inside the bag and pulled out a cigarette and her trusty lighter, cupping a hand to keep the newly struck flame burning bright. This had always been her favorite part—seeing the tip glow a bright orange and hearing the distinctive hissing sound followed by a familiar, comforting scent of prime tobacco striking her nostrils.
A deep drag of the only vice she kept since high school filled her lungs. She let the plume of smoke snake from her nostrils for a bit and then clicked her jaw to release a perfect ring into the air.
Oh yeah, I still got it. Beautiful.
Firm grip back on the weapon and cigarette dangling with ease from her lips, Mary popped loose the empty magazine and shoved in another. Turned to the left, she smirked at the Bagwell store manager. He remained plastered against the pantyhose display with hands lifted from the moment the first round spun out of the chamber and got to know Daryl up close and personal. Rivulets of sweat ran from under the cheap toupee and patterned his light-purple dress shirt.
Head shaking in disgust, Mary wondered why some always froze like this. Freedom lay five feet away, yet he stayed glued to the floor, as if his inaction made him invisible.
Well, thank you for sticking around, mister.
She lifted the gun, reveling in the whimpering sounds issuing from between mustached quivering lips. Seven, well-placed rounds struck his upper torso, bounced him off the display, and sat him on his ass below the exit sign.
“So long, buddy.”
Without a backward glance, Mary strolled out of the store and across the lot. The sun felt good against her uplifted face, the sound of trilling birds soothing to her ears, and a sense of freedom owning her soul.
After an easy hop up into the minivan, she latched the seat belt, caught the cigarette filter between her front teeth, and enjoyed the sound of her long-forgotten laughter while squealing tires out of the parking lot. Mary flipped the channels on the radio until finding a blast of hard rock to drown out the distant sound of sirens filling the morning air.
* * * * *
“Oh, crap! Will you look at this shit?”
Officer Cory Winston glanced over at Sargent Brian Douglas’s wide, green eyes and realized they both headed deep into some serious top-level law enforcement activity if whatever was going down had this seasoned dude freaking.
Hell, yeah!
Three weeks on the Oklahoma City police force and finally his heart thumped as it had when stepping on the high school football field as fans chanted his name. This is what he’d been missing—massive adrenaline dumps and chills zipping across his flesh. He scrubbed the top of his new buzz cut, muscles quivering with anticipation.
“Damn, Cory. We need to take control of this shit. Quick.”
“For sure.” Eyes tearing away from the thin line of sweat forming on Brian’s upper lip, he tried to assess the scene. Body after body continued spilling through Bagwell’s front doors. There had to be at least sixty of them. Shrill screams blasted his ears even though the patrol car’s windows were still up. None hazarded a glance back, so he didn’t think anything chased them. They just wanted the hell out of the building.
Brian grabbed the radio and flipped a switch to turn it into a high-powered megaphone.
“Calm down, everyone. Move to your left and gather on the other side of the ice machines. Flat against the wall. Do not. I repeat. Do not enter your vehicles and leave the premises, or you’ll be arrested.”
Mesmerized, Cory observed the scattering bodies merge into a tight pile and shift to the left as if a big dog herded them toward a warm barn.
Damn, that was some righteous shit.
“Watch their hands,” Brian barked. “Scan for weapons while I try to straighten this mess out.”
“Got it.”
The car swerved at an angle in front of the trembling mass, and Brian threw it into park. “Round the rear of the unit and stay on my left, five feet back.”
“Yes, sir.” It felt good to crawl out of the vehicle and pull his weapon. He trained for this, craved the opportunity. Cory wasn’t looking forward to blasting a hole in anyone, but hesitation be damned if any of the freaked-out bunch made a hostile move.
“Where’s the shooter?” Brian shouted in a voice so beastly even his own flesh pebbled.
Every head shifted in the sergeant’s direction. Despite his tall, lanky build, the deep rumble combined with a gun drawn and lowered in their collective direction commanded immediate attention.
Numerous arms pointed out toward the far, right side of the parking lot.
“How many?”
“One,” they all screamed, or whimpered, in unison.
Cory eyeballed everyone’s hands yet kept his peripheral on the door, overlooked accomplices trying to fire their way to freedom the last thing on his wish list.
After a round of head swiveling to assess the surroundings, Brian gestured for a sturdy older man in a camouflage T-shirt and work-worn jeans to step forward. He appeared to be the only one with his shit somewhat together. Brian frisked him down. Satisfied, he motioned for the calm man to stand at the front of the patrol car.
“You see anything?”
“Sure did. Slight, heavyset build with short brown hair, green T-shirt, and black shorts falling right above the knees. White, early thirties, maybe. Tell you the color of her eyes or what type shoes she wore, but my mind keeps jumping back to the handgun she was rocking like a pro. Glock. Not sure of the model.”
Cory’s gut clenched. She? As soon as the call came for shots fired, the perp formed in his mind as a drunk male shooting a few cans in his backyard and scaring the patrons. Brian appeared just as disturbed, yet his voice remained even and steady.
“A female?”
“Yep. Calm. Like she done it a thousand times. First shot and my ass skedaddled through the side door of the meat market. Locked myself inside the manager’s office and saw the whole goddamn thing through the two-way mirror.”
“Did she take off on foot?” Brian pressed.
“No, blue minivan. Dark. Took the far exit and hauled ass up the I-40 ramp. A Dodge, I think. Didn’t run outside in time for the license, but