Free Take the All-Mart! by J. I. Greco

isn’t it?”
    “Security’s over-rated, is it?” Shemp scowled down at him. The warehouse worker held a rusted P-90 in his hands. There was blood on the butt of the rifle. Trip’s own blood, Trip presumed. “Man, just how stupid you Canadians think we are?”
    Trip shrugged. “You’re in kinda early, eh?”
    “We were gonna catch you red-handed when you left the warehouse, but you weren’t coming out and morning shift is getting anxious to start the day. There’s a wagon coming in from Pittsburgh that’s gonna want filled, and those steel-heads don’t like waiting on beer.”
    “Sorry for the inconvenience.” Trip let his head roll to the side to see Rudy’s head was being pressed against the floor by another worker’s boot. Rudy’s eyes were wide with discomfort and panic, and his hand was desperately tweaking his nipple.
    Another pair of workers were pointing Uzis at Hunt-R’s head from a safe distance. Hunt-R saw Trip looking and shrugged, then swiveled his head around 180-degrees towards one of the workers holding a gun on him. “Just so we’re clear,” Hunt-R said, raising his arms in surrender, “I’m absolutely willing to turn State’s evidence. Looking forward to it, even.”
     

     
    “I told you we should have blown the vault.” Trip’s knees bounced nervously as he sat cross-legged on the concrete floor in a corner of the warehouse used as a break room. His arms were bound tightly behind his back with bailing twine and electrical tape. He glanced sideways at Rudy, sitting next to him, his arms just as tightly bound. “That’s the last time I listen to you.”
    “Yeah, all my fault,” Rudy said with a lazy smile, staring off into the depths of the warehouse where morning shift was prepping stacks of kegs for the day’s deliveries.
    “Easy for you to say. You’re stoned.”
    “Well, duh.”
    “Seriously... I was close this time.”
    “I know.”
    “Couple more minutes — hell, a couple more seconds — and we would have been golden.”
    “You know, we probably shouldn’t be talking about this right now.” Rudy tilted his head, gesturing behind them with his eyes.
    “What? You worried about the rube?” Trip twisted his body around to smirk at Shemp, sitting on a tattered couch a few feet behind them, smoking a cigarette and keeping his P90 trained casually but squarely on the back of their heads. “Shemp’s cool, right?”
    Shemp smiled back at him. “I told you, I’m not giving you a smoke.”
    Trip grunted. “You sir are an utter bastard. Look, what are we waiting for, anyway?”
    Shemp smiled. “For you to shut up.”
    “That might be a very long wait,” Hunt-R said. The robot was sitting on the floor on the other side of Rudy. He hadn’t lowered his arms since they’d been caught.
    “Stuff it, traitor,” Trip told the robot, then turned to Rudy. “You’re my attorney. Do something attorney-ish.”
    Rudy twisted around to grin at Shemp. “Can I trouble you to reach under my shirt and give my nipple a twist? My buzz is wearing off.”
    Trip sighed. “That’s it, I’m representing myself from here on in.”
    Rudy nodded. “That’s probably a wise decision.”
    Trip swung his legs around to sit facing Shemp. “Seriously... either give me a smoke, shoot us, or let us go.”
    Rudy interjected. “For the record, he doesn’t speak for me — I’m open to many other options. For instance, I’m up for Ping-Pong.”
    Trip shot Rudy a glance to shut up, then turned back to Shemp. “You’re gonna kill us, right?”
    Shemp shrugged. “That’s up to Morty.”
    “Who’s Morty?” Rudy asked.
    “He’s sorta our king.”
    “And he’s almost certainly gonna have us shot, right?” Trip asked.
    “I wouldn’t bet against it,” Shemp said.
    “Then,” Trip said, “for the love of Shatner can you at least give me a last smoke?”
    “Too gods-damn early in the morning for this shit,” a new voice said, echoing through the warehouse. Gruff, with a hint