The last of the burner cell phones was in a dumpster behind Valley Sporting Goods.
The final phone call on it, Kelly, sweet Kelly, had told him the cops had been there twice, and his picture had been on TV.
Not the artist’s sketch they had seen for weeks- a photo, taken two years ago at Marky’s wedding.
Gio told Kelly to be a good girl, that cosmetology school was a damn good idea. He hung up before he could tell his niece he loved her. He always struggled with those words, that sentiment.
He was behind a Meijer now, cameras everywhere, hood up.
He could get some snacks for the run, but without the car, ditched and burning, it truly would be a run.
Kelly had wanted some software that showed what people looked like with different hairstyles. He couldn’t call her back to tell her to order it.
Gio started scrolling regrets through his head. There were many.
When he looked up he was in front of the store, where his Aunt Tikka used to give him quarters for little rubber trolls and 3D stickers out of the vending machines.
That was lifetimes ago.
He walked into the Meijer, passing a gray haired woman struggling to push a basket half full of groceries.
There were long lines to use the self checkout.
The wait wouldn’t be worth it, not for a Gatorade, a few protein bars.
Gio turned to leave. The woman could use his help. But what if they saw him and just opened fire? They might. He didn’t trust them.
How long could he wander a huge store before a security guard said “that might be the guy who…”
He looked again at the lines.
Normal people, buying groceries.
He walked to the self checkout. A woman was on bag three, with two more items in her cart.
“I’d like to buy these for you. Ummm…it’s part of a new program through my church.”
“You gonna make me go to your church?”
Gio shook his head.
“No strings. Umm, praise the Lord.”
He inserted the card. Entered the PIN Raybone had given him
. It approved. Of course it did. Raybone said the guy had 28 grand in the account.
He made another offer. The guy turned him down, swiped his own card.
Young woman with two babies. She praised the Lord with him, looked teary eyed.
Two dudes with a case of beer and a big bag of frozen shrimp. Told ‘em his old fraternity was having a contest. Have fun fellas.
Then an older woman, medications and cat food and incontinence undergarments.
Gio gave her the church pitch.
She put her hand to her heart and thanked him, asked the name of the Pastor.
Gio was thinking of a name when a security guard approached.
Gio was past his heart pounding. His whole life had been a heart pound, a nasty, chaotic cardiac run through flaming trouble, much of it his own creation.
Halfway through the security guard’s question he answered “I’m buying groceries for people through a program from my church fraternity.”
Church fraternity. Did those exist? Probably not.
The security guard’s face tightened.
“There are no outside sales, marketing, promotions, or other use of the property for the purposes of…”
He sounded like he was reciting a training manual.
“I’m just being nice, officer. Not causing no harm. I’m sure no one had complained.”
The security guard looked like he liked the officer part.
He nodded.
“Let’s keep it that way. No promotions or soliciting. First complaint I get, you’re-”
The security guard’s eyes widened.
Gio turned around.
Eight cops.
Guns drawn.
The security guard cut through the checkout aisle.
“Can I help you gentlemen-”
The cops ran around the security guard, Gio jammed the stolen card in the slot.
“Just press the button when you’re done, ma’am and…”
“Get down on the ground Summerdale, NOW. Down on the ground.”
People began to scream.
Gio complied. He hated it. He was also an expert.
***
His face had somehow missed the wide open cop car door and met metal.
A different cop slid in next to him, and with breath as hot as any human-produced heat Gio had ever felt, said “He was Godfather to my son, you worthless motherfucker.”
Gio put his head back.The cop slid out. Gio was shocked the cop didn’t hit him.
Gio realized he would probably hit himself under the same circumstances.
The cop car pulled away as the news vans were pulling up.
One camera ran alongside the car.
Nothing he did now was going to change a thing.
He smiled at the camera, hoping the last lady got her cat food, and hoping that the beer and shrimp guys would have a good story to tell.
***
The imaginary conversation with the author...
Me: “I wonder what the hell he did?”
Jimmy: “It doesn’t really matter.”
Me: “I know.... the story stands on its own. But dammit...ya got me thinking about it.”
The first one to the media wins the war of public support. Is he Robin Hood or Hannibal Lecter?
Gio’s got quite the back story, whatever it is.