​

     Taylor pushed the squeaky front door open and tumbled into the grey living room. Taylor resembled an upside-down mop. His whitewashed jeans and dirty white t-shirt hung loose off his fence post shaped body. His string cheese hair hung down to his shoulders and his five o’clock shadow looked overdue for a trim. 

​

     The pale late morning sun peaked in through the closed blinds, revealing a coffee table covered with empty beer cans, two full ashtrays, and a half-eaten cheeseburger. Taylor’s gaze panned into the kitchen. Day old dishes towered out of the sink. One more full ashtray lay on the counter. The kitchen table was messy beyond saving. A years’ worth of bills, magazines, letters, and other mail covered a quarter of the scrub wood table. A few dime bags of weed and a scale sat on table. Two revolvers and a cleaning kit laid in the middle of the table. Another quarter of the table was designated to holding empty beer cans. It goes without saying that there was another ashtray on the table, with a cigarette still throwing up ribbons of smoke.  

​

     Taylor heard a toilet flush and then a grunt. 

​

“Chuck?” Taylor called down the hallway. 

​

Chuck’s gravel voice croaked back “give me a sec.”

​

The bathroom door swung open, and Chuck appeared. He was short and stocky with fiery red hair. His arms were covered fingertip to shoulder in bad tattoos, which clashed violently with his ghostly pale arms. The knuckles on his left hand read “life” and the knuckles on his right hand read “sucks.” 

​

“What’s going on?” Chuck mumbled, pushing the sleep out of his eyes and fishing in his pockets for a cigarette and lighter. 

​

“What’s going on?” Taylor shot back in annoyance. “I just got fired from Martin’s.”

​

Chuck paused in his search and looked up. “Fired?”

​

“F I R E D, fired!”

​

Taylor walked to the window. Chuck finally found a cigarette and loaded it into his mouth. The lighter snapped and he watched Taylor pace back and forth. 

​

“What happened?” Chuck asked through a puff of smoke. 

​

“I don’t know, some shit about being late every day. Being on my phone too much. Not being ‘polite to the customers.” 

​

Taylor snapped his fingers. “Give me one of those.” 

​

Chuck tossed him the pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “What are we gonna do about paying Jimmy?” Chuck asked.

​

Taylor growled through his own respective cloud of smoke, “Well, that’s the big fucking problem, isn’t it Chuck. You certainly aren’t helping, spending a hundred dollars at the bar last night.”

​

“Hey man,” Chuck said defensively. “My hamster died.”

​

“Who gives a shit about your hamster?!” Chuck said, his voice getting higher and higher like a runaway balloon. “We need two thousand dollars in two days, otherwise we’re screwed.”

​

Chuck stood there with his cigarette dangling precariously out of his mouth. He walked over to the kitchen table, sat down, and burst into tears. 

​

Taylor groaned. “It’s a hamster man… and it was a MONTH ago!” 

​

Chuck looked up, tears streaking down his face. “Nothings been the same since Harrys been gone. I just can’t seem get over it.”

​

Taylor walked over and stamped his cigarette out. Chuck regained his composure and looked up at the ceiling. Taylor opened the pack of cigarettes and passed one to Chuck. The lighter snapped twice and then silence. Both men sat blowing smoke. Chuck reached for an empty beer can and started fidgeting with the pop tab. It was uncomfortably quiet. 

​

Taylor suddenly jumped to his feet. 

​

“Let’s rob Martin’s!”

​

Chuck took a long drag from his cigarette and looked up at Taylor. 

​

“You want to rob the bar you just got fired from?” Chuck asked, his thin eyebrows flying upwards.

​

“Hear me out,” Taylor said energetically. “They already hired a new closing bartender. The side door is broken, all you have to do is push hard. We rush in, grab the money, run out. Jimmy gets his money, and we may have some extra spending money. And do you want to know the icing on the cake? They’re getting their camera system replaced this week so the cameras will be down!”
Chuck leaned back in his chair.

​

“It might work,” Chuck grumbled. “Robbing a bar that we’re regulars at doesn’t seem like the best idea. I don’t see any other options so it better work.”

​

Taylor started pacing again. “This is going to work, I know it. You even got bullets already, perfect.” 

​

“Those are blanks,” Chuck said quietly.

​

Taylor stopped and stared death rays at Chuck.

​

“Why the fuck would you buy blanks?” Taylor stammered. 

​

Chuck protested, “That’s all they had for my model. I thought it was better than nothing.”

​

“You really are a terrible criminal,” Taylor said, returning to his pacing. “We probably won’t need to use them, so it’ll be fine.”

​

Taylor stopped pacing and looked at Chuck, who had remained motionless throughout Taylor’s breakthrough. 

​

“We need to do it tonight,” Taylor said.” I’ll get masks and anything else we may need. I’ll be back here at midnight. Don’t get too drunk before then, we need to do this job right.”

 

Chuck looked sullenly at the table. He wrang his hands in his lap and shook his head.

​

He mumbled, “I don’t feel too good about this, it doesn't seem like a good idea.”

​

Taylor pulled the door open. “You’ll get over it once we have the money.” The door slammed and silence filled the room again. 

 

   

     Martin’s was on a quiet corner sandwiched between a hardware store and insurance agency. Most people would never have noticed the dull brown brick building, but it had a certain small-town charm to it. A flickering Pabst Blue Ribbon neon sign lay in the window. A crescent moon hung in the sky, curtained by clouds. Humidity flooded the streets and clung to the skin. The last two customers walked out and the melody to “Honky Tonk Women” drifted out of the door. A beat-up grey Camry drove past the bar and parked half a block down the street. Taylor put the car in park and turned off the engine. He looked over at Chuck, whose glazed over expression gave the impression someone could have hit the car and he would not have noticed. 

 

“Ready?” Taylor asked inquisitively.

​

Chuck jumped out of his trance. “Yeah man, let’s do this.”

​

“How much did you drink?”

​

“Oh, you know, just a few beers.” Chuck mumbled, looking out the window.

​

Taylor stared incredulously at his partner, then reached in his bag.

 

“Put this on,” Taylor said.

​

He tossed Chuck a neon green ski mask. Chuck stared down at it.

​

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Taylor grumbled. “I looked at five damn stores and that’s all I could find. Now hand me my gun.” 

​

He pulled on his own neon pink ski mask and Chuck handed over a revolver and tucked one in his waistband. Taylor jumped out of the car and jogged down the sidewalk. Chuck heaved himself out of the car then proceeded to trip and fall on his face. Taylor turned around and hissed at him to get up.

​

“I told you not to drink too much,” he whisper-yelled at Chuck. 

​

Chuck moved unsteadily forward, and they arrived at the side door. Chuck was heaving from the thirty-foot journey from the car to the door. 

​

“Please don’t have a heart attack till after the job.” Taylor said to Chuck.

​

“Let’s just get this over with,” Chuck panted back. 

 

     Both men pulled out their guns. Taylor lowered his shoulder and rammed the door. It budged a few inches. He hit it again and it burst open. Taylor stumbled inside and Chuck followed. The side door took them into the kitchen. It smelled of grease and stale beer. A pile of dishes lay in the sink. The clock on a cabinet read 2:03 AM. A doorway led to behind the bar. Dim red light poured in from the barroom. Somebody was whistling the tune to “Honky Tonk Women.” Chuck and Taylor crept to the doorway and peeked inside. A girl was at the register counting the drawer. She had silver-blond short hair and wore a black tank top and black jeans. She was bobbing her head to the rhythm of the song. Taylor tip toed behind her.

​

He screamed, “DON’T MOVE AND STEP AWAY FROM THE REGISTER.” 

​

The girl screamed and whirled around. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. 

​

BANG!

​

Smoke plumed around the trio. The girl fell to the ground with a dull thud. Taylor turned around to see Chuck holding his gun with a trembling hand. 

​

Taylor screamed, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? I THOUGHT YOU SAID THOSE WERE BLANKS.”

​

Chuck’s expression changed from shock to confusion.

​

“They are blanks,” he said with his brow furrowed. 

​

Chuck walked to the girl and checked her for injuries. There was not a drop of blood on her. He tried to find a pulse on the girl’s neck. He looked up slowly at Taylor. 

​

“She’s dead,” Chuck whispered. “I don’t know how, but she’s dead.” 

​

Taylor looked down at the girl in utter confusion. 

​

“Come on, let's just get the money and go,” said Tyler. 

​

Taylor grabbed the money out of the register and chucked it in his bag. He stepped over the girl and ran past Chuck. Unable to move, Chuck stood next to the girl, staring in horror.

​

“We’ve got to leave right now,” Taylor hissed.

​

Chuck slowly started to back away, unable to turn away from the girl. They ran out the side door and down the cracked sidewalk to Taylor’s car. Taylor and Chuck threw themselves into the car and Taylor cranked the engine and took off into the night. 

​

The Camry flew down the road, not a soul in sight. The two men sat in silence, afraid to speak. Chuck was staring at his hands. He read Life Sucks. Words came to Chuck first.

​

“I didn’t mean to do anything.”

​

Taylor pried his eyes away from the road to glance at Chuck. 

​

“No one is blaming you man,” he stuttered. “What’s important is that we got the money and we can finally put this behind us. We definitely got over two thousand so Jimmy has his money then we split the rest.” 

​

Chuck turned to Taylor.

​

“Put this behind us? I killed someone! All I want to do with my life is sell weed to high schoolers, but now I’ve killed someone. I’m a murderer! What would Harry think if he could see me?”

​

“SHUT UP ABOUT THE HAMSTER!” 

​

Silence filled the car again. Taylor pulled in front of Chuck’s apartment. 

​

“I’ll get rid of everything,” said Taylor. “I’m sorry for yelling.” 

​

     Chuck got out of the car and stood under the streetlamp. He watched as Taylor’s Camry zipped up his dirty side street. He stood there transfixed. 

 

​

     A few weeks later, Chuck walked down the sidewalk. He had some song in his head, but he couldn't remember the name of it. Something about girls and bars. He wasn’t paying attention and looked up. He was standing in front of Martin’s. The owner and manager, Martin, was sitting at a black metal table out front. He had his head in his hands. He looked up and smiled weakly at Chuck.

​

“Hey Chuck,” Martin said hoarsely. “You alright?”

​

Chuck stared, dumbfounded. “Um, yeah I guess.”

​

“I guess you haven’t heard. Got robbed last month. Terrible. It was this new girl’s first shift. I had to go home early that night. Funny thing is she didn’t have any injuries. No sign of a struggle. Heart attack, dead on the spot. I mean who can rob someone without leaving any evidence? Harry fucking Potter? The real icing on the cake is that the cameras were out so I got no chance of ever finding out who did it.”

​

He paused, looking at Chuck. 

​

“Were you with Taylor that night by chance?”