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“What the fuck are you doing?” the madman shouted. “No tricks! Give me my money. Now!” He shoved the gun toward me, but my body refused to move.
“All right!” Roxy screamed. “She’s getting it. It takes a second for the register to open. It reads our fingerprints!” The register opened and Roxy reached in to grab his money. “How much?”
My senses were starting to return, and even though she was young, Roxy was keeping her shit together. I wouldn’t have asked him how much, though. I would have just moved aside and let him take it all.
“Twenty-nine fifty.” He quoted the exact amount for the cover charge. “I had five beers. Oh, and my gas to get to this crappy joint! It was much better back in the day when it was the Hen House. Just make it a hundred and we’ll call it even.”
Roxy went to grab a hundred when Vinny showed up.
“What the fuck? That’s my money!” He went to charge the madman.
The madman threw the gun but swung the machete.
I watched as Vinny’s little finger disconnected and rolled along the floor, his pinky ring glinting underneath the lights.
“I didn’t want to do it, man!” the madman shouted. The blade of the machete was streaked with Vinny’s blood. “I just wanted my money back! I deserved it. You’re running a real shit show here.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Roxy making her way toward the gun. I was going to tell her to stop, to stay out of it, or just grab her by the wrist, but I wasn’t fast enough.
The madman caught her and set the machete against her neck. “I just wanted my money back! Why is this so hard to understand?”
“I—” She was so flustered that she couldn’t get the rest of whatever she was going to say out.
I was trying to judge the distance between the gun and them, but I couldn’t make it. And Vinny was no help. He was leaning against the wall, keeping his hand up, visibly ringing wet with sweat. His beady eyes were almost closed, but he was biting his lip in a pissed way. But I wasn’t sure if he was mad about the money or his finger. It was hard to tell with him. He could recoup the digit, but not the bill.
The madman slid the machete underneath Roxy’s throat, and I tried to firm my resolve—I was going to tackle him. But he was fast about it and only got Vinny’s blood on her before he turned to the register and started taking fistfuls of money, stuffing them in his pocket. I guess for all his trouble he decided to add on some bills.
Vinny growled at him, but he wasn’t getting close to him again. The madman would probably swing higher this time and slice his wrist straight off, the one with the old-ass Rolex.
“Next time—” the madman started, but then his eyes rolled up.
Sam had entered the scene and flung a sharp stiletto at his head. He hit him in the center of it, like a bullseye, and the madman crumpled to the floor. Sam kicked him a bit, like he was making sure he wasn’t going to pull something else, then bent over and started to collect the stolen cash.
Vinny nodded at me and then to the floor. I sighed and forced myself to move. I grabbed a napkin and a glass with half-melted ice from the tray Roxy had left on the counter. I used the napkin to grab Vinny’s finger from the floor. I stuck it in the glass of ice to preserve it. Maybe the dregs of whiskey left would help sterilize it.
I handed the glass to Sam, who told one of the girls to escort Vinny to the emergency room. I guess he was going to stay behind to deal with the madman on the floor. I shook my head, wrapping my arm around Roxy’s shoulder.
I was only twenty-eight, but I couldn’t help thinking, I’m getting too old for this shit.
2
LEONORA
It was only seven in the morning, but the sun was already burning through my windshield. The AC in my car was wimpy, and the air barely felt cool.
My mouth was parched, and my skin felt dry.
On the inside, it felt like I had hundreds of cracks, and they were only growing deeper. I wondered if the lines would make it to the outside one day, and I would start looking like an old painting. All the cracks game for everyone to see and interpret however they like.
I set my forehead against the steering wheel and wrapped my arms around it. I took a deep breath of hot air and let it flow out.
I really didn’t want to go in—my own apartment—but that wouldn’t be fair to everyone inside.
Everyone inside consisted of my mom, who was a recovering addict, and my two younger half-brothers, who were awarded to me by the state after my dad ended up in the penitentiary. My dad had been “raising” them, and their mom wasn’t in the picture.
It wasn’t something I planned on doing at twenty—raising two children who were a product of an affair my dad had—but I couldn’t see them in foster care. Life was tough enough without having to wonder if there would ever be anyone out there who loved you and would fight to see you safe.
That was how I felt. Like I’d been fighting all my life.
