“Why can’t I ever decide between the jalapeño and mustard flavors?” she whined.
“That means you need bo—”
“EVERYBODY DOWN ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES!”
With instincts honed since birth, I swung my arm around Cori and pulled us both to the sticky linoleum floor, covering her body with my own.
Turning her head to mine, I put my pointer finger over my lips in the universalbe quietgesture. She nodded.
“EMPTY THE FUCKING REGISTER! NOW! AND THE SAFE IN THE BACK!”
Cori and I were on the opposite side of the market from the front counter. From our vantage point on the floor, I saw the back of a man dressed in black sweats, with a black beanie and neck gaiter covering his hair and the lower half of his face. In his hand, he waved a coal-black pistol. A nine-millimeter double stack Glock, if I wasn’t mistaken.
“HURRY, MOTHERFUCKER. HURRY!”
Amos didn’t appear to move any faster as he pressed buttons on the register, and the drawer snapped open. The old-fashioned radio he had next to the cigarette case droned with sports news.
Next to me, Cori raised her head. Her eyes went wide as plates. Too quietly for Amos and the gunman to hear, she whispered, “Deck, that’s Jayden.”
“What?”
“It’s Jayden. You know, the kid from the Center. The fight last week.”
It took me a beat, then I remembered. His eyes. “How do you know?”
“I recognize his backpack, plus I just know. It’s him.”
I hadn’t even noticed the backpack. I recalled everything Marisol told me about Jayden, about him being drawn to his brother’s old crew. Stupid kid. He was no pro, and those guys weren’t doing him any favors with this job. Sending him in with a recognizable backpack to rob a store in his own neighborhood in broad daylight in a market covered with cameras. I shook myhead. This was it for Jayden. The choice that was going to change everything.
Cori shook my wrist.
“Deck, we need to do something.”
“Huh?”
She hitched her head toward the counter. “You know, stop him. He’s going to get picked up, and this will ruin the rest of his life. His poor mom will have two sons on the inside.”
I blanched. “What do you want me to do? That’s a serious piece he’s packing.”
Her eyes teared up.
Thedingsounded again. Amos’s and Jayden’s faces whipped to the door. Jayden’s gun hand twitched, and he lifted his arm to aim at the person who’d come in at the exact wrong moment. The customer, a middle-aged businessman-type, froze.
His hands slowly rose. “Please,” he squeaked.
Jayden’s gaze narrowed sinisterly above the gaiter. His index finger brushed over the trigger. With a click, his thumb clamped down on the safety, disengaging it.
The customer squeezed his eyes shut.
Seconds ticked by, but Jayden didn’t pull the trigger. He merely stood there, aiming at the terrified man as his arm shook. Monotone voices continued blaring from the staticky radio.
The customer sensed Jayden’s hesitation and opened his eyes. In a flash, the man bolted out the door. He jumped into his car and drove off on screeching tires.
Seconds later, another car peeled out of the parking lot.
“Hombre, I think your getaway driver just hung you out to dry,” Amos said to Jayden. “And thatgringoyou let escape is probably calling the cops right now.”
Jayden’s eyes went wild. He swung his gun arm, pointing it at Amos. I heard the harshness of his breathing through the thick fabric and could practically smell the sweat soaking his skin.
