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One heard sirens now, the cruisers and unmarkeds heading over toward Sixteenth. It was time to go.
“Yeah. Good idea. That’ll work.”
One and Three got out of the car with their SFPD Windbreakers zipped up, masks in their pockets, and guns tucked down in their belts. It took only seconds to cross the street. When they stood in the deeply shadowed doorway of the little grocery store, they pulled on their masks.
One adjusted the bill of his cap and knocked on the door, looking down so that the girl would see the SFPD on his Windbreaker but not his masked face.
Three stood with his back to the store and looked at his feet while he waited for the locks to open. The locks clattered and the bell above the door rang as the girl opened the door.
The two men rushed the doorway. The girl screamed. One grabbed her arm and pushed her inside while showing her his gun. Three threw the locks and flipped the switches at the left of the doorway, dousing the lights in the entrance and front section of the store.
The girl shouted, “Get out of here, get out!” She wrenched her arm free, spun around, and broke for the back door.
One shouted, “Stop or I’ll shoot! I mean it!”
The girl stopped and cried out, “Don’t hurt me! Please!”
One said to her, “No one wants to hurt you, miss. That’s the truth. Now, hands up. Turn around. That’s it. Now go to the cash drawer and open it. Do that and everything will be fine. Just do exactly what I say.”
The girl put her hands in the air and said, “I’ll give you the money, no problem.” She walked to the counter, edged behind it, and faced the gunmen with her back to the wall of cigarettes and mouthwash and deodorant.
One spoke soothingly.
“That’s good. Very smart. Now you can put your hands down and open the drawer. A minute from now we’ll be out of your life forever.”
The girl hit a couple of keys.
The cash register pinged and the drawer shot open.
“Way to go,” said Three. He leaned over the counter and reached for the money in the drawer. He wasn’t ready for the gun the girl pulled out of the pocket of her baggy brown dress.
CHAPTER 20
MAYA PEREZ HAD two babies. One was growing inside her body, fourteen weeks old now, and very precious to her. The other baby was this market. It had been her father’s, and he had poured everything he owned and earned into keeping the shop open, to put food on their table and because he wanted her to have something of value when he died.
Then, a month ago, his cancer had killed him.
Ricardo Perez hadn’t lived to see his grandchild, but he had felt the baby was a blessing and he had left Maya the deed to the store that had been named Mercado de Maya for her.
And she loved this place: every hand-lettered sign, the shelves her father and uncle had made from scrap lumber. She knew where every box, bottle, and tin belonged. Now that she was pregnant and on her own, the store meant survival.
She had moved upstairs to her father’s flat and intended to run this place and bring up her baby right here.
There was no way she would let anyone steal from her. It was just not happening.
Besides, there was something else.
When the men in the police jackets came to the store, she thought they were looking for information on the chec
k-cashing-store holdup on Tuesday a few blocks away. But when she saw the masks and the guns, she knew that as soon as they got the money, they would shoot her.
Like they had done to José Díaz.
Maya was having physical sensations she’d never had before. Tingling, light-headedness, her blood pounding almost audibly. She knew that this was her body reacting to the fear of imminent death. There was no way to run or to hide, but she was thinking clearly and she was determined. She thought, No way they’re killing my baby.
She kept her father’s little Colt in her pocket. And when the man reached over the counter to get his hands on her money, she saw her chance.
She had the gun pointing at his heart, her finger on the trigger, and she said very clearly and firmly, “Drop your gun.”
