“We need him to tell us where the money is.” She couldn’t put tape across their mouths. She couldn’t hurt them. She wouldn’t. She got to her feet.
Simon flipped the light switch, and they were plunged into darkness, except for a dim emergency lighting in the kitchen. He came around the back side of the counter and yanked a phone out of the wall, dropping it with a clatter.
“How do I open the register?” he said.
The kid who wasn’t crying said, “The red button at the top.”
“Get the money,” Simon told Alice, who pressed the button and began pulling money out of the register. On the floor, the kids were a blob of dark shadows and weeping sounds.
“Where’s the safe?” Simon demanded.
“In the office.” Again the braver kid spoke. “But we don’t have the code.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Our boss is the only one.”
“Bullshit.” Simon stepped forward and kicked the bigger kid’s body with a loud thud. Alice gasped and spun around from thetill. The kid was wheezing and gagging. The smaller one had let out a scream and was trying to wiggle forward on his stomach. Simon grabbed the tape from Alice.
“Please,” she said. “Not with tape over their mouths. They could choke.” But Simon ignored her and stalked toward the small kid. He grabbed him by the back of his arms and flipped him over. The kid was twisting and flailing and crying.
Alice was so terrified she couldn’t move and just stood in front of the open cash register with bills clutched in her hand. The sound of tape tearing off the roll, a struggle, a slap, then muffled screams. Simon turned to look over his shoulder at Alice.
“Get the money!”
She continued emptying the till but kept an eye on what was happening. Simon was dragging the older boy up, his arms looped through the kid’s arms, and spinning him around.
Alice was now looking into the kid’s flushed face, his cheeks shiny with lemon cleaner and grime from the floor. His bangs were a blunt fringe above his panicked eyes.
The boy was trying to wrench himself free, but Simon was taller, stronger, and had the advantage. He marched him past Alice and stopped in front of the deep fryer.
Oh no.
The kid struggled harder, pulling, squirming, and kicking Simon’s legs with his heels. Simon grabbed the back of his hair with one hand and pushed his face toward the grease.
“What’s the combination?”
“Screw you,” the kid said, and Alice was beginning to think he was more stupid than brave. Simon pushed his face closer to the grease. The kid was doing a good job of resisting, and his neck was corded as he fought back. Simon removed his hand from the boy’s hair and pulled the gun out of his waistband, then smacked it against the back of the boy’s head.
Simon was yelling at him. “What are the numbers?”
“He doesn’t know!” Alice shouted. “Let’s get out of here.”
“He knows.” Simon shifted his weight so that he was able to press his body down on the kid’s back. The boy’s face was inches from the grease.
“You want to be shot or have your face burned off?”
“It’s a key!” he finally cried out. “Under the tray in the cash register!”
“You were willing to die for some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about you?”
“My dad owns this place,” the kid yelled back, still somehow full of a bravado that maybe only a boss’s son could have.
“I should kill you for being stupid.”
“My dad’s going to find you and killyou,” the kid said, and Alice wanted to hit him herself. Why was he daring Simon? Did he have no sense of self-preservation?
Simon looked at her. “Don’t just stand there. Look for the key.”
