HALF-TIME (24 MINUTES AND COUNTING)
A short story by
K. Sue Collins, author of Catharsis
Of all the rotten stinking luck in the world, Detective Jesse Sheldon muttered to himself with some notable exceptions in the vernacular. He drove high speed breaking five traffic laws to get to the convenient store two and a half miles from his place in a record 180 seconds. That dumb shit Barnie drank four cans of Bud by the first quarter and didn’t bother to bring anything to his little Super Bowl soirée beside his donut-scarfing ass. Jesse was pissed he was out of his home at half-time making a desperately needed booze run. It should be Barnie, but his blood alcohol was decidedly over the .10 state limit. In good conscience Jesse couldn’t turn him loose on the unsuspecting populace. Concern wasn’t that Barnie would find some way to wrap his dumb ass around a lamppost, but that some innocent civilian would be between that lamppost and Barnie’s 1983 yellow Camaro. So Jesse busted out of his apartment the moment the clock counted down to 00:00. The hell Jesse was going to miss one second of the best Super Bowl game in the history of Super Bowls. Two Florida teams for competing for the Lombardi Trophy for the first time. The score was tie five seconds before the half then Martin Grammatica scored a field goal. The Bucs over the Dolphins by three. Damn, what a game.
By the looks of the store, Jesse was beating the half-time rush. Three customers and one clerk. Jesse dashed to the cooler and snatched a twelve pack of Budweiser (to be on the safe side). He glanced at his watch. Shit, it looked like he was going to make it. He was the third person in line. The two guys up front seemed to be together. The woman in front of him was a good seven months pregnant, so the chances of her giving birth before 3rd Quarter kick-off was unlikely.
The Black Manand White Man pulled up to the store three minutes before Sheldon and filled up their tank. Even if they paid with coins, Sheldon still had plenty of time. The lady in front of him looked at her watch. She didn’t seem the type to be getting back to the game, but he was happy to see an impatient person ahead of him. It would make things go a hell of a lot quicker. Sheldon was wondering what the hold-up was. He happened to look up into the reflective mirror above the clerk. And God Damnit! If that don’t beat all. The two men were holding up the joint. As clear as the four dollar bottles of Pepsi on the shelves, Jesse saw the White Dude pointing a snub-nosed Glock at the scared as shit clerk. Jesse instinctively reached into his back jean pocket to where he normally kept his piece. Damnit, not there. He wasn’t on duty so he left his .44 on the dresser. Fuck, what to do? Reaching out with his left hand, he placed it on the woman. Startled she jumped around. She wasn’t watching the drama unfold in the reflection above her. Jesse pulled her close. She tried to pull away from his grasp.
"Get out of line, now," Jesse whispered the instructions.
Indignant as ever, she spat back at him. "I certainly will not." Thinking Sheldon the most positively rudest man that ever lived.
It had the opposite effect that Jesse had intended. The Black Man turned around. What Sheldon would have given to have shot Barnie on the gun range last week.
Jesse made one last attempt. "Lady, please, I’m not saying this to be rude, but get the fuck out of here now."
Her retort was cut short by the Black Robber’s sudden appearance. His movement freed vision, so the Woman saw the gun pointed at the Clerk whose nametag said Aaron. She wanted to scream her displeasure when the Black Man suggested otherwise. Hand in his denim jacket pocket stuck out at her.
"I wouldn’t if I were you, Miss."
Now Jesse Sheldon was a cop, a damn good one at that. He didn’t make it to the rank of Detective without not knowing how to think on his feet. He knew how to size up his perps and could guess their guilt and intelligence. And if there was one thing Jesse was able to deduce was if there was one brain among these morons there was only one gun. Dollars to donuts, the only thing elongated in numbnut’s pocket was his nose-picking finger. What to do with this information was a horse of a different color.
By this time, Idiot number two saw the distraction. His attention divided between his partner and prey.
Right off the bat, Jesse could see he was not dealing with John Nash and Stephen Hawkings. No masks. Surveillance catching all on videotape even Sheldon’s arrival. If Sheldon didn’t do something, his stock in the department would plummet. Just how stupid were these yahoos? Were they smart enough not to leave any witnesses to testify against them?
"Evan," the White Robber said. "This dude," indicating Jesse with a show of his gun. "Giving you problems?"
Aaron looked at Jesse. He recognized him as a policeman. Jesse gave him a slight shake of the head, telling him do nothing.
Evan, the Black Robber, responded. "Naw, I’ve got it taken care of, Boomer?"
Jeez, were these guys morons? Using their names in the presence of witnesses. Apparently, Evan believed Boomer because he stuck the gun back in Aaron’s face. He spoke up louder. The need for whispering had passed. "All the money and whatever’s in the safe behind ya."
Jesse read the safe sign. "Manager does not have combination to the safe."
Aaron didn’t know quite what to say to them. "I don’t have the combination to the safe."
Boomer wasn’t buying. "Yeah, right, I wasn’t born yesterday."
Aaron insisted on his stance. "But I really don’t have the combination."
Boomer moved the barrel of the gun to Aaron’s forehead. "Are you the manager?"
Shaking his head vigorously back and forth. "No."
"It says that the Manager doesn’t have the combination to the safe, so that means that you do." At least they knew how to read, Jesse thought. It will come in handy when they are in the prison library filling for appeals. "Open the safe, or I’ll put a hole in your head."
Aaron gave an audible gulp. He was a nervous. He wished that cop would stop dicking around and make his move. This could turn South in a real hurry. Jesse had to act quickly. Boomer was not the most stable of criminals. And it had already been determined that intelligence was not one of his stronger attributes.
Evan stopped pointing his pocketed finger at Jesse and the Pregnant Lady. Quickly, Jesse readjusted his grip on the beer twelve pack. Well-timed, he spontaneously started laughing.
The attention shifted to Sheldon. "What the fuck are you chuckling at, Retard?"
Jesse doubled over. He clutched his stomach with his left hand. Right hand still holding onto the Bud 12 pack. Bent over, he continued his laughing streak until he was certain that he had the duo’s undivided audience.
"You two fuckers have to be the dumbest shits I’ve ever seen."
Going on, Aaron uses this time to secure a spot of safely by ducking behind the counter. "I mean, Christ." Every second, Jesse laughs deeper and deeper, finding the situation more hilarious by the moment. "You fucking rob a convenient store Super Bowl Sunday. What inbred gene pool were you spawned from?" The last line was far too clever for Boomer or Evan.
For some reason, Boomer tries to justify his and Evan’s criminal act. "You ever consider ain’t nobody gonna be at the store now ‘cept you idiots?"
"Pal, it’s half-time. Thirty seconds from now half the male population in this town will be in here to drain this place clean of Doritos and Coors. You couldn’t have timed it worse if you tried." Collapsing completely to the floor, but keeping his bent knees under him.
"Get up," Boomer ordered.
Happy to oblige Boomer’s orders, Evan lowered himself. "Get up, shitbag!"
Jesse raised himself to Evan’s waistline. He swung his left fist into an uppercut. Evan blocked it with both hands leaving him vulnerable for a right hook full of twelve cans of beer. Contact made. Blood spewed. Motherfucker goes down. Jesse pushes Pregnant Lady to the ground. Jesse’s body cushions her fall. Evan’s face pounds the linoleum. Dripping blood puddles underneath him.
Boomer aimlessly fired his weapon. Jesse covers Pregoid so the debris doesn’t hit her and sue 7-11 corporation. Evan is out cold moaning from his injuries. Boomer trips over Jesse’s wrist on his ankle. Jesse dislodges himself from under the woman. Boomer does not care about his buddy being out of commission. He is more concerned with his own safety. Sheldon claws up for Boomer’s leg. Lashing out with power, he catches Sheldon’s shoulder. It’s enough for Jesse to let go. Boomer scrambles to his feet. He dashes out of the door. Pulling himself up to run after Boomer. He is caught by the Pregnant Lady’s hand tugging at him. Jesse tries to shake it loose as he watches Boomer run through the front door.
"Help me up," she pleads.
Jesse wrestles his foot free. "Aaron, help this lady up." He races to the door. He points to unconscious Evan. "Don’t let him come too. If he looks like he’s coming too smack him over the head with a bottle of Heineken." At the door, "Call the police and report a 10-71 and a Code 30."
"Where are you going?" Aaron called after him, knowing the answer full well.
Boomer had jumped into his car. He was turning the ignition over. Jesse caught up with him and reached through the open window. He grabbed Boomer’s shirt collar. Boomer hopped the car in gear. Jesse pried open the door. The car moved. Jesse held on. Boomer used his free hand. He pushed against Jesse. Sheldon was too strong. He grabbed his hand. He pulled himself onto the headrest of the driver’s seat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Boomer shouted in his face.
Sheldon maneuvered his arm so he was braced against the headrest, but his forearm was tightened around Boomer’s throat. Boomer gunned the engine. The car flew out into traffic. Cut across three lanes of highway. Car horns beeping. Miracle they missed the cement barrier. Boomer’s breath was heavied. Forcing himself to try to break free. Jesse reached his left arm over. He latched on to the steering wheel. He cut the wheel hard left. Boomer had his foot full on the gas.
Maintaining control of his prisoner and driving. He steadied the wheel. "Let go of the gas, you fucker."
Got to give to Boomer for trying his best to get the best out of the situation. He damned sure didn’t want to go back to the clink. Since Jesse was steering, Boomer had two hands to try to break free. He dug his nails into Jesse’s shirtsleeve. With every dig Jesse tightened his chokehold on Boomer. Watching out of the corner of his eye, Jesse was maintaining control of the wheel. He was swerving in and out of traffic. He ignored the fingers and swears from the other motorists. He heard a crash from behind. He was certain it was his doing that caused the accident. Worry is for later. If he was going to stop this maniac, he was to try a new approach. Sheldon dropped his hand from the steering wheel. Sliding his hand until he felt the seat latch.
Pop!
Seat flies forward. Foot slips off gas. Boomer’s head crushes against the steering wheel. Jesse’s shoulder dislocates. He stifles in the pain cry. The car slowing he directs the wheel to the median. It rolls over and slams into the side of a Taco Bell.
Jesse lets go and falls out of the car. Lands on the cement. Somehow, he doesn’t care. He closes his eyes. He hears the voices of the fast food patrons commenting on what a shitty driver he and his "friend" are. He mouths a "fuck you" at their comments.
Two hours, a sling for the shoulder, a statement to some dipshit Robbery Detective, and four stitches later, Sheldon stumbles into his apartment with a twelve pack of Budweiser. The five guys stare at him. A sobering Barnie announcing the score. "34-31." Not looking in Sheldon’s direction. "Christ man, what the fuck did you do? Go to Milwaukee for the beer?"
Sheldon could always reason it was the painkillers that made him cold cock Barnie in the mouth busting up his front teeth, but it was the one thing he needed for himself. Barnie was covering his mouth from the blood.
"Barnie, get the fuck out of my house and don’t you dare bled on my rug." Sheldon propped his feet up and reached for a can of room temperature beer and settled for the post game conversation with Gruden and Johnson.