John Gilstrap - At all costs

“Because he tried to shoot me,” Rivers answered coolly-gleefully almost.

Mae rolled her eyes. “If he’d tried to shoot you, you’d be dead now.”

Jake closed his eyes and sighed. “Um, Mrs. Hooper-”

“I’m serious,” the old woman persisted. “I haven’t shot a gun in fifty years, but at this range, even I couldn’t miss.”

Rivers glared at her. “Maybe your boss didn’t like what would happen after he shot me.” She nodded at a grim-faced, machine gun-bearing DEA agent standing a few feet away.

“Oh, come on, Rivers,” Jake objected. “Take a look at this neighborhood, will you? Wouldn’t you be a bit on edge if a thousand people rushed into your office with automatic weapons?” Without even thinking, he’d stumbled upon his defense.

Rivers measured him with a glare. “We identified ourselves.”

“And that’s why I didn’t shoot.” He winced a little, cursing himself for pushing too hard.

She chewed on her cheek and regarded him one more time. “I’d like to believe that, but you know what? You hung on to that weapon just a little longer than I liked.” She started to say something more, then stopped. She had more pressing matters to attend to. “Now, you just keep your butt planted while we do what we need to do. We’ll be transporting you and the others shortly.”

Alone there on the well-padded chair, amid the raucous noise of the body shop being turned upside down, Jake avoided eye contact, humiliated yet terrified. The decorations in the corner seemed to mock him: a monument to his naive belief that a man could truly move beyond his past. Obviously, the cops didn’t yet understand, but that was just a matter of time, wasn’t it? Jaywalking or murder-once they processed his fingerprints, it’d be over.

Calm down, he told himself. Panic will kill you faster than anything else.

His thoughts turned to his family, and as they did, fear gripped his stomach hard. Was there still time to get word to Carolyn? And Travis. God, how was he ever going to explain this to Travis?

“Mrs. Hooper, would you get my wife on the line, please?” He was surprised by the calmness in his voice.

“I can’t,” she said. Mae always squeaked when she was agitated, and right now her voice was shrill enough to shatter glass. “These bozos have cut off the phones.” She tossed her hands in the air, nudging her reading glasses even further down her pudgy nose. “You know, I could have told you those boys were trouble. From the very first day, they’ve never given you an honest day’s work.”

Oblivious to Mae’s yammering, Jake inventoried all that he was about to lose. Damn. He closed his eyes and sighed. I thought we’d made it.

As Rivers and her cohorts executed their search warrant with all the zeal of a demolition crew, he tried to anticipate the next step, wishing every second as he leaned forward to keep pressure off his hands that his captors had been gentler with the cuffs. He could count each beat of his heart by pinpoint throbs in the tips of his fingers.

Clearly, they didn’t recognize him yet. Amazing what a few years, a few pounds, and a full beard could do for you. He figured he had three hours-five at the most. No way would it take them any longer than that. When they finally got around to fingerprinting him, the fuse on his future would grow dangerously short.

He wondered if he and Carolyn still owned the top slots on the Ten Most Wanted list.

Crazy Pumpkin Days at Perkins’ Discount Department Store ran 120 hours straight, from Tuesday through Saturday, bringing wild-eyed bargain hunters into Phoenix from three states. They gathered at the front doors in a formless crowd, beginning around eight, waiting for the opportunity to trample store manager Phyllis Bly the instant she turned the dead bolt.

As Carolyn watched the tidal wave of humanity flood the aisles at precisely nine o’clock, she realized she was in hell. Like so many locusts, they swarmed every department. Within a half hour, clothes littered the floors and display racks as frantic shoppers unwrapped shirts and pants and shoes and sporting goods equipment, only to find that they didn’t fit, they didn’t look right, or they didn’t perform to expectations. With one mess made, they’d move on to make another.

After nearly two hours in the arena, Carolyn felt like she’d been playing linebacker. As a contingent, salaried employee, Carolyn spent her days moving from department to department, filling in for whoever might be missing in action. Because she hadn’t been with the store long enough to qualify for commissions, five percent of everything she sold was split among the tenured union employees in her department, making her presence a pain on a slow day and a boon on a busy one.

This morning she manned the Boys’ Department, where countless moms dragged their truant children around by their ears, hoping to fit them into one last bargain before the Christmas shopping season began. At the moment, she was leaning against the wall outside of the fitting room, trying to make herself comfortable as an enormous Italian woman negotiated with her eight-year-old over the purchase of a two-piece suit.

The poor little kid looked ridiculous in the triple-knit navy-blue monstrosity. “Do you think it fits okay?” the woman asked, mistaking Carolyn for an ally.

“Well, that depends.” Carolyn didn’t bother to suppress her smile. “Do you expect him to gain fifteen pounds before the weekend?” The suit was the last of its kind on sale for $39.95, and the family had a wedding to go to on Saturday. On a different day, Carolyn might have considered lying just to make the sale, but a morning of full-contact competitive shopping had soured her mood. Besides, he looked like he’d been eaten by a polyester gorilla. She just couldn’t do it to him.

The mother scowled. “It doesn’t look that bad, does it?”

Clearly, there was only one right answer, but Carolyn held her ground. “Ma’am, I wish I could say something positive, but I think it looks way too big.”

The kid saw his chance. “See? C’mon, Mom,” he whined. “I look like a dork in this. I don’t wanna go to the stinkin’ wedding, anyway.”

The mother shot a lethal glare at Carolyn but ultimately caved in. “Okay, then, try on the gray one.”

“Mom!”

“Michael, just do what you’re told,” she commanded. “And don’t back-talk me.”

The kid stomped his foot once, then yanked the charcoal-gray suit from the rack and dragged it and himself into the dressing room. “I hate weddings,” he fumed as he disappeared.

The woman folded her arms and glared down her nose at Carolyn. “It wouldn’t hurt if you could be a little helpful,” she snorted.

Carolyn smiled as politely as she could. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it would have been child abuse to send him outside in that suit. You asked for my opinion and I gave it. If that’s-”

“Is there a problem here?” Phyllis Bly had materialized out of nowhere.

“I don’t think so,” Carolyn said defensively.

“Let’s just say that your help is not being very helpful,” Michael’s mother tattled.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Phyllis said. As a manager, she seemed constantly at war with her employees, and the look she shot at Carolyn told her there’d be hell to pay later. “Well, I’ll be happy to take over.”

“I beg your pardon?” Carolyn was stunned-not that Phyllis was angered, but that she was actually going to work the floor.

“You have a phone call,” Phyllis explained. “It’s your husband, and he says it’s important.” Upon taking over control of the Phoenix store, one of Phyllis’s first efficiency improvements was to disconnect the register phones from the central switchboard. That way, all incoming calls went to the Customer Service Department, and all outgoing calls could be relegated to the three pay phones in the employees’ lounge.