W. Griffin - Deadly Assets

He sent the text message “rock it” then looked back across the casino floor and, after a minute, picked out one, two, then three and four black males, all more or less dressed alike in black jeans, high-top boots, and heavy coats. They moved at a quick pace-coming from different directions and converging on the entrance to the miniature mall.

Tyrone knew they had obviously received his group text. He also knew that, concealed under their coats, two of them had short-handled ten-pound sledgehammers and the other two had black nylon bags. And, while he didn’t know it for sure, he would quickly wager against any casino odds that all were packing pistols.

That bet I know I win, he thought.

He turned to take the next escalator up to the third floor just as the first of the teenagers entered the revolving doors.

–

Mrs. Gladys Schnabel, a somewhat pudgy grandmother with curly, blue-tinged white hair, a deeply wrinkled pale face, and large round eyeglasses that hung from her neck by a chain of tiny fake pearls, stood at a chromed clothing rack at the back of Medusa’s Secret Closet. She was holding up a red velvet hanger emblazoned with the logotype FLEUR OF ENGLAND . Dangling from the hanger was a light tan silk satin undergarment set that consisted of an impossibly thin plunge bra and an even tinier thong panty.

Mrs. Schnabel seemed to be staring at the ensemble in stark disbelief.

She had arrived at the casino that morning with her daughter, forty-five-year-old Anna Cottrell, and her twenty-six-year-old granddaughter, Marie Cottrell. The two elder women had come down from Durham, a picturesque village that was a two-hour drive north. Marie lived in Philly. It was Mrs. Schnabel’s seventieth birthday, and having a “girls’ celebration” in the big city had been Anna’s idea. A little gambling fun, some shopping, a nice meal and a show, then back to the peace and tranquillity of the rolling hills of northern Bucks County.

“You have an eye for quality-that set is one of our best sellers,” the saleswoman, an olive-skinned brunette, said as she approached. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, and wore a tight black dress that accentuated her athletic body. Her small golden badge read SAMANTHA. “It’s our finest silk, in the color that is called ‘nude.’”

Mrs. Schnabel’s skeptical gray eyes went from Samantha to the hanger, where she tugged the hidden price tag into view.

“My goodness!” she blurted. “How times have changed. I’m going to have to get really lucky at those one-arm bandits. Two hundred dollars?”

Samantha reached out and softly stroked the fabric of the bra. “But just feel this luxurious silk! And note that the ring and slides are of eighteen-karat gold.”

The look on Mrs. Schnabel’s face suggested that she was neither impressed nor sold.

But she then said, with obvious pride, “Well, even if I were to be so lucky today, it would be a gift for my wonderful granddaughter. Marie and my daughter are off powdering their noses. It’s our girls’ day-we’re celebrating my birthday.”

She looked past her, to the entrance, then put on her eyeglasses.

“Here comes my beautiful granddaughter now.”

“Well then, let me wish you happy birthday!” Samantha said, smiling. Then she looked toward the entrance and saw an attractive bright-faced brunette about her age approaching. Then Samantha’s eyes darted beyond Marie-and became suddenly huge.

“Oh no!” she said.

“What?” Mrs. Schnabel said, and then her head swiveled when she noticed that there suddenly was a loud commotion, the sound getting louder by the second.

The source was in the casino, coming from near the revolving front doors. She focused in that direction and saw that a huge pack of young kids, mostly teenagers, was flooding in through both revolving doors. They were laughing, shouting, whistling-and knocking over chairs and pushing people out of their way as they went.

“What hoodlums!” Mrs. Gladys Schnabel said, her voice almost a hiss.

“A flash mob,” Samantha said.

“A what?” Mrs. Schnabel said, not taking her eyes off the crowd.

“Bored teens get together, cause trouble, then scatter,” Samantha said. “They call it a flash mob.”

“No fooling? We don’t have those up in Bucks County.”

They watched as terrified patrons fled the mob’s path. At least those patrons who could. One older man, struggling with a walker made of aluminum tubing, rushed to move to the side but slipped and was knocked to his knees.

Security guards, and then a couple of uniformed policemen from the nearby Twenty-sixth District, gave chase. They tackled a pair of kids, then a third, at the back of the pack. But they were vastly outnumbered-and it was clear that they would remain unable to contain the rampage until backup help arrived.

There simply were too many kids to stop.

Mrs. Schnabel stood still, stunned by the sight as the mass pushed toward the retail mall. She made eye contact with one kid, then another, and suddenly became fearful that they not only could but likely would rush into the mall.

And why not? That other hoodlum almost knocked me over when I came here!

There then came from nearby the ear-shattering sound of heavy glass breaking. And then more glass breaking.

Mrs. Gladys Schnabel snapped her head to look.

“Robbers?” she whispered, not sure she believed her squinting eyes.

Working in pairs, young men in dark clothing had what looked like huge hammers, bigger than any she’d seen, and were smashing through the glass tops of display cases at opposite ends of the jewelry store. After two of the robbers cleared away the broken glass, their partners, wearing black gloves, quickly pulled jewelry and watches from the cases and stuffed it all in black sacks.

The store manager stood frozen, his hands covering his bald head.

“Grammy, get down!” Marie said, rushing up to her grandmother.

Then one of the robbers ran out of the jewelry store. He carried one of the stuffed sacks into the main casino and was swallowed by the marauding mass.

Then a second robber followed, and he also blended into the mob, and then a third.

They heard shouting from the jewelry store, and turned in time to see the chubby, balding store manager, who must have decided he had a chance against just one man, reach for the stuffed black bag that hung from the last robber’s shoulder.

As the manager yanked on the strap of the bag, the robber spun, pulled something from under his shirt, and then, off balance, pointed it in the direction of the manager’s chest.

A gun! Mrs. Schnabel thought just as Marie rapidly tugged on her arm.

And then there came a series of loud shots- Pop-Pop-Pop! Pop-Pop!

As one of the glass mannequins shattered, Mrs. Schnabel saw the chubby bald man let loose of the bag strap. He crumpled to the marble floor as the robber, bag still on his shoulder, ran out of the mall.

She then felt Marie’s grip ease and watched helplessly as her granddaughter collapsed at her feet.

And then she suddenly felt light-headed. Everything became a blur. She closed her eyes.

Samantha turned back to look at Mrs. Schnabel just as the elderly woman went limp, her knees buckling. She hit the floor first with her left shoulder, then rolled onto her chest, crushing her big round eyeglasses that had fallen from her face on impact. Her cheek came to rest on the bra and panties where a crimson pool of blood from her granddaughter had begun to form.

“Someone please help!” Samantha cried, kneeling beside them and starting to tremble.

Her plea was lost in the screams of patrons running out the emergency exit doors and in the blaring of alarms.