1. Anna #3
Sarah can’t see any of the men from where she is in the hallway, but she sure as hell spots her boss and me with our arms raised. Thankfully, she already has her cell in her hands and immediately slinks back into the supply room, no doubt calling the police.
But it won’t do any good.
These aren’t some brain-dead teenagers looking to make a quick score.
They’re methodical, proficient, and obviously working off a plan.
A large block of some kind is on the ground, preventing the front door from closing and thereby triggering the automatic lock function as the alarm goes off.
They bypass the watches completely, likely knowing they’re the most easily traceable pieces, in favor of only the big-ticket items. From what I’ve learned from my grandmother, a common but capable thief will usually stick to the jewelry that contains the most gold, silver, and platinum, since a place like this will undoubtedly have their diamonds certified.
Despite how difficult it is to resell the gemstones back into the market, at least the pure metals can be melted.
But again, they will lose value. These thieves, however, are solely interested in the very distinguishable antiques this shop is notorious for, which likely means they already have a buyer set up.
Unfortunately, that brings one of the hammer-wielding men my way, seeing as how I’m standing behind the display filled with Victorian and Art Deco pieces.
“I’d back up there a bit, doll. Wouldn’t want to cut that pretty face of yours,” he says, allowing me to sidestep closer to Devin before he obliterates the glass from the case.
Some survivalist instinct has me taking in every detail I can about him, but it’s not much to go off of.
Like his friends, he isn’t wearing any clothes with discernible brands or labels on them, and the articles are just loose enough to not get a clear depiction of his body type.
Taking his tactical boots into account, I estimate his height without to be about six-two, but the mask conceals his head and even the back of his neck entirely, so I can’t see what color his hair may be.
The gloves on his hands come up high enough on his wrists so that he doesn’t have any skin showing between them and his sleeves, either.
The only area on his body where I can see anything discernible is the rectangular hole in his mask where his eyes are, and even that doesn’t help to determine his skin color.
It looks as if someone took black spray paint to the entire area around his eyes, like he’s Batman.
There’s an inky, almost metallic look to the black makeup, and it’s even applied to his waterline.
The only distinguishing characteristic I can see is his eyes, but that alone might be enough to make an ID if I’m shown a suspect photo later.
Between their shape and the irises’ vibrant shade of pale blue, he’d be easy to pick out of a lineup.
But that would also mean he’d have to be arrested, which I seriously doubt will happen. His crew has been in the store for no more than a minute before the gun wielder’s watch starts beeping, and the second it does, Mr. Blue Eyes and the other hammerer stop their ransacking.
Again, they know not to get too greedy and overstay their welcome. They’re not going to try their hands at the safe, and they have no interest in us. They’re heading for the door.
Thank God.
The breath I finally release has my whole chest shuddering in relief, but it’s preemptive.
Mr. Blue Eyes only gets halfway across the shop when the front door is yanked open the rest of the way from the outside. It’s done with too much force to be a customer, and sure enough, dear old Keith comes barreling inside, his gun at the ready.
He’s huffing like he’s just attempted to run a marathon, looking almost disoriented. That doesn’t stop him from shooting, however, because he immediately pulls the trigger, presumably at the other gun wielder.
I say presumably because the shot misses Twitchy by several feet, striking the glass sculpture against the wall between Mia and me. We both scream and drop to the floor, followed by Devin as another shot is fired. I’m not sure if anyone’s been hit, but by the sounds of it, a fight ensues.
There’s scuffling and what I can only assume are punches being thrown before something smashes. And then something else. There’s grunting and cursing and…
Everything goes silent, save for the generic pop music still playing, before several pairs of footsteps come over to the counter.
Shit!
All I can imagine is Keith’s broken body laying on one of the shattered display cases as the robbers finally say, “To hell with it. Leave no witnesses.”
“ Hey.”
I don’t want to look up, no doubt to find a gun in my face, but I cling to the minuscule hope that maybe I can plead my way out of this.
To my surprise, there is a gun above me, but it’s not aimed my way. Mr. Blue Eyes has the barrel pressed against the side of Keith’s skull as he holds him in a headlock. “Everybody okay?”
I almost laugh, because he can’t possibly be serious.
No, I ’ m about the farthest fucking thing from it. And I was already there before I even came into the store. I don’t even know how to classify myself now .
But Mr. Blue Eyes is actually checking with us to ensure no one was hit, and he’s moving Keith towards the other side of the counter, his hold loosening.
He looks like he’s about to push the guard down onto the floor, probably to give himself and his buddies enough time to leave, when the tallest of the trio who’s still wielding a hammer calls out, “We’ve got a problem here, hoss! ”
He’s not kidding.
I look through the shattered remnants of the display case to see red and blue lights flashing outside just as a cop car screeches to a halt right in front of the shop.