I don’t want to startle him, but I also don’t want the gun pointed at my barista. She makes the best mocha I’ve ever had.
Before I’ve made a decision, I hear the one everyone calls Jordan sarcastically yell, “Sure, why not motherfucker. Here’s everything. Take it all. You’re just robbing an innocent mom andpop shop, all for what? Oh, let me count it out for you…” She flips through the bills like she doesn’t have a gun in her face. “One hundred dollars.” She throws the money at him, making him bend down to pick it up off the floor. “Maybe you want my phone too? It has some great dick pics on it. Well, one of them I’m pretty sure has herpes. But take it! I don’t care anymore because this morning can’t get any worse.”
Her breathing is heavy as she finishes her rant. The person, probably a teenager by the way his voice felt small despite demanding money with a loaded gun, scratch that, an airsoft gun, isn’t paying attention to his surroundings as his free hand picks the money up off the floor.
This gives me the perfect opportunity to rip the fake weapon from his grip and haul him up from his crouched position by the scruff of his neck.
“Hey, man! Get off me!” he yells as he tries to turn out of my grasp.
“You know that armed robbery is a felony, right kid? Fake gun or not. That’s five years in a state prison, assuming you’re over the age of eighteen, where if you bend over like you did just now, you’ll become someone's bitch,” I warn, trying to instill a little fear in him.
He squirms even more. “Let me go! I’ll leave the money. I promise I won’t do it again.”
I rip his stupid ski mask off to see who this wannabe thug is.
A gasp comes from my barista. “Are you fucking kidding me. Kyle?” Anger is radiating off of her in spades.
The kid, Kyle, is about six feet tall and one hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. His shaggy dark hair falls over his brown eyes and he looks exactly like I thought he would: like a punk.
I drag him back from the register, so Jordan doesn’t do anything stupid like hit the little shit. She looks like she’s ready to explode but I can’t blame her.
“You know this kid?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, I know him.” She swings her gaze from mine to his. “Why don’t you tell him how I know you, Kyle?” she spits his name out like a curse word.
I tighten my hold on his neck, urging him to respond. It takes him a moment, but he eventually says, “My mom, sister, and I live in the apartment above hers.”
“Why the fuck are you pointing a gun at me, trying to rob my best friend’s business? I thought you were going to shoot me in the face. This isn’t like you.” Jordan’s eyes are wide, and she’s gone from angry to hurt.
He bows his head in what I can only hope is shame and whispers, “We need the money.”
Her gaze softens and she shakes her head. “This is so fucked up.”
It’s my turn to chime in. “Am I calling the cops so you can press charges? Or am I letting him go?”
She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just let him go.”
I hesitate before I take my hands off him. He doesn’t deserve her kindness. If I were her, I would send his ass to jail. Before he can get away, I whisper in his ear so only he hears, “If I ever get wind of you pulling a stunt like this again, I promise I will send you to jail for the rest of your life. Do you understand me? I don’t want to see you in here ever again.”
He nods his head, defeat evident on his face.
“Good, now get out of here.”
He drops the couple of bills that he managed to grab off the floor and hustles his way out of the shop.
After the door shuts behind him, I put all my attention on Jordan. “You should have pressed charges. He’s just going to do it again.”
“He’s not going to do it again.” She shakes her head. “He’s just a kid with a sick mom who can’t always pay the bills and eat at the same time. Like most of us in this economy.”
“I hope you’re right. Most kids are repeat offenders who don’t learn their lesson the first time. It’s a good thing he only had an airsoft gun.”
“Just let it go,” she sighs, her trembling hands reaching to tighten her messy bun.
Instinct takes over and before she can tell me no, I’m behind the counter pulling her over to an empty chair to take a seat. “Let me get you some water,” I say as I return behind the counter to fill a to-go cup under the tap.
“I’m fine,” she argues. “I honestly thought he had a real gun though.” She rubs her hands on the tops of her thighs repeating the action over and over.
I hand her the cup, my retreating fingers brushing hers, and she takes a sip. “Your adrenaline is wearing off. That’s why you’re shaking. It’s a normal reaction to a situation like this. I’m impressed you had the balls to talk back to him. Next time just hand over the money though. Can’t risk you actually being shot in the face.”
