“Where the fuck are the police?! I called them like, half an hour ago,” Ricky said as he scrambled around the counter for something to clean up the blood with.
It happened so fast that no one really knew what to do or even think. A man walked into the gas station, and it wasn’t like he looked suspicious like robbers do on television; he looked like just your average customer coming to fill his gullet with some kind of exotic mixture of frozen drinks. Of course, he was not your average Joe, as he pulled a Glock out of his waistband and quickly pointed it straight at Hideyoshi’s nose while he was giving his best fake smile.
“Give me whatever you have in that raggedy ass cash register, and make it fast,” the robber said as he threw a makeshift bag made of different colors of felt onto the counter. The duality of man; one minute he was knitting a fancy looking bag, the next he was threatening to blow Hideyoshi’s brains out in a gas station.
“Whoa, buddy, no need to act rash, it’s not like I make under minimum wage,” Hideyoshi said. He slowly punched his ID into the register to open it up; I swear this dude was not afraid of anything. This robber was pointing a gun at his noggin’ and he was TAKING HIS TIME OPENING THE REGISTER! “I tend not to lie with a gun pointed at my head, so please send someone from the Labor Bureau or something to look into the wages they are paying us.”
With a quick swipe of the hand, the robber sent the steel of the Glock’s craftsmanship into direct contact with Hideyoshi’s nose with enough force to incapacitate a baby rhinoceros. I guess Hideyoshi is secretly an adult rhinoceros, because the bastard didn’t even fall over like a human made of flesh and blood would have. His nose, however, did not seem as tough because blood started flowing from it like the Rio, all over the now open register and onto most of the bills situated in their little abode of secure steel.
“Shut the fuck up and put the damned money in the bag, or I’ll shoot you in the face,” the robber said as he yanked open the bag and pushed it into Hideyoshi’s hands covered in his own blood.
“Alright, alright, sheesh, Rambo, I get the picture,” said Hideyoshi. He began to quickly shove as much of the money as he could into the beautifully stitched robbery bag (like seriously, did this guy knit this bag just for this robbery?). The robber’s head was on a swivel as he looked around to make sure the cops weren’t coming and that no one left in the store was planning any funny business. “Man, whoever came up with the term ‘blood money’ was not a very metaphorical person.”
“You’re a fucking idiot, dude,” the robber said as he grabbed the almost full bag of money from Hideyoshi’s willing grasp and sprinted towards the exit making exaggerated hand motions for the two other people in the store (who were nowhere near the exit) to move out of the way.
“Hideyoshi, are you okay, man? I’ve called the police, but it seems that they did not get the memo,” Rick said. He finally found a towel that is used to clean the frozen drink machines under the counter and threw it at Hideyoshi, who dodged it as it fell flat on the floor.
“I would rather bleed to death than wipe my nose on that towel, respectfully,” Hideyoshi said when Rick gave him a look that was colder than the frozen drinks themselves.
“You are utterly hopeless. Respectfully.”
“I prefer ‘utterly AMAZING’, bossman!”
“I would prefer that you please clean up your fucking nose, alright?”
Hideyoshi pulled his shirt up to attempt to stop the flowing of his blood onto the counter, register, and pretty much everything within a 10 mile radius of the goofball. Ricky jogged over to the door and pushed it open and kept looking left and right for the police that were supposed to be here by now.
“Will you please just send someone here, for fuck’s sake?” Ricky said into his phone. “I called about an hour ago for some help and no one showed up!” He was fuming with rage and looked like he was about to put on a ski mask and go rob another store himself.
“Sir, we sent a pair of officers to the scene, you must be mistaken or gave the wrong address,” the operator said. It was painfully obvious that she gets a bunch of dumbasses who make mistakes like that all the time, which explains her curt response.
“Yeah, maybe I gave you the wrong address to my own damn store! Please check to make sure these officers you sent are actually coming here.”
“I will check up on Officer Dumas and Officer Duntz to see if they received the message. I will call you back when we have received word on them. In the meantime, we have sent a replacement officer to your store to assist you.”
Ricky displayed his best impression of speed walking as if he was aiming to win a gold medal in the upcoming Summer Olympics. He sat Hideyoshi down at one of the break tables in the back and then opted to go check the register. He played Operation with the money that had not been covered in blood, trying to determine how much was left and how much was lying in the bottom of that infamous stitched felt bag.
The door swung open and a mountain of a man squeezed through with a gun drawn. It was a good thing that he was in a police officer’s uniform, otherwise Ricky might have had a heart attack (preceded by a heart full of lead).
“Are you the manager here? Is the suspect still here? Is anyone hurt?” the officer barked each question like a drill sergeant in the army.
“No, he left about half an hour ago, when the original officers were supposed to be here,” Ricky said.
“Are you the witness to the crime, smartass?”
“No, my employee is, he is in the back. He is injured, but I think he will be fine for now.”
“I’m going to go take a statement from him, and then we’ll determine the damage.”
Ricky’s phone began to ring and he picked it up and fumbled with it before answering with his customer service voice that I hear a million times each day. It was the responder lady who called him again.
“Are you the man I spoke to on the phone earlier? Mr. Rick Spindex?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your other officer has arrived, but I want to know what happened to the original officers. My employee could have bled out!”
“I understand, sir. We have received some primary information on the activities of Officer Dumas and Officer Duntz. We apologize profusely for their actions today, Mr. Spindex.”
“Apologize for what? What did they do?”
“Officers Dumas and Duntz answered the call for your robbery, but were..distracted..by the wildly popular mobile game Pokémon Go and obviously did not end up reporting to the scene of the crime.”
“Well that explains their names, Officers Dumas and Duntz! I don’t need your apologies; I’m done with this bullshit,” Ricky said and then he immediately hung up on the operator before he slammed his fist onto the counter.
The juiced officer, like once before, squeezed through the door that led to the breakroom where Hideyoshi was being held hostage. He was huffing and puffing like he actually had to butter himself through the door and walked over to Ricky, who noticed the officer’s face was as red as the blood stained on the cash in the register.
“My preliminary report is done. Some of the crime scene nerds will stick around to help with the blood and all that boring shit. See ya,” Juicemaster said as he barely registered that Ricky was there and walked out of the store in a hurry. There was no doubt Hideyoshi must have ruffled his steroid-lined feathers, as he was pissed.
“Hey bossman, what did they say about the police pulling a no-show?” Hideyoshi said as he walked out of the break room with a smirk on his face.
“They said their moronic officers were out playing Pokémon Go instead of answering the call I made about the robbery.”
“No shit? I wonder if it was a Snorlax. Did they happen to mention where these officers were dicking around at by any chance?” Hideyoshi said as he slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Ricky was staring daggers into this man’s soul and Hideyoshi didn’t have a shield, so he walked back to the cash register with his head down in shame. Or was he on the prowl for that Snorlax?
Luke Anderson is a senior majoring in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing who will be graduating in the Spring. When he is not reading or writing, you can find him either playing video games or hanging out with his family. Someday his motivation will allow him to write about all the ideas he has stuffed in his head! For now, however, he will just settle with jotting down whatever he can.
Arrow Rock Literary Journal 