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| (visual by dreamsjung via this license) |
dispatch fifteen
Sucker Fuckers by Benjamin Parris
debuted 1 November 2009 | kept 505 times | click to keep
I thought about this. Heather’s family were squatters in an abandoned building on a dirt road. Her and her older brother Bobby fended for themselves. Bobby was as tall as Heather was short. Probably different unknown fathers. Common. My parents weren’t squatters and they both stuck around but they were too proud for welfare. Neither of us had ever seen new clothes. The neighborhood was a junkyard. Money was a problem.
“I’ve never done anything like this.” I paused to see if she would say she had. Hearing nothing, “For something big like this you better have a real solid plan.” That was like saying yes, so she smiled.
“My plan? My plan is double distraction.”
“Two fake-outs in a row?”
“Freddy Fuckface is so stupid it’ll work.”
All my nervousness on our way to the grocery evaporated when Freddy said to me, “Hey, you little piece of shit. You’re back. Want me to take your money again?”
I bit back a reply. It was all good because he had the register open and that was Heather’s signal. Things were moving sooner than we thought, but you had to be ready for stuff like that. She didn’t miss the opportunity. Heather heaved every ounce of momentum and wiry strength in her little body into the middle aisle shelving and Freddy watched in horror as it progressively tipped over. Then my girl shouted to me, “Go, go, go!”
I grabbed two cans of root beer–which I didn’t even drink–and booked it. Predictably, Heather’s shout got Freddy to notice and follow. He gave the cash drawer a quick reflexive push against the springs. I watched it fail to close all the way then focused on hauling ass. As the patrons watched Freddy chase me, Heather dipped into the till and she was out of there.
When I thought Heather had enough time to do her thing and get away, I turned and gave the cans back to Freddy by pitching them at his ankles. Two perfect shots. He cried for his mother.
We met up in a our usual hideaway. Heather said, “I’m sorry.”
“What about?”
“I thought I was reaching into the tens on that side of the drawer. What I got was a pile of ones.”
“How many?”
“Nineteen.”
“You’re the best!” Nineteen dollars, for us in those days, was still more money than we’d ever seen at one time.
“Are you sure?” she said sadly.
“Hey, that’s not all we got. I got your favorite candy bar.”
It was her first real smile all day.