Free Run For the Money by Eric Beetner Page B

telephone pole like a lamprey on a shark. No phone. Just a silver shell, an archeological artifact of a world before cell phones.
    In the strip mall, a donut shop caught his eye. Slick headed there.
    “Two glazed and a coffee,” Slick said to the skinny kid working the counter. He held a wire mesh bin of newly opened donuts, made two states over and shipped there wrapped in plastic and still offered as “fresh.” There were no other customers. Slick drew the gun, “And whatever you got in the register.”
    The skinny kid dropped the donuts. He froze. Fuzzy images of a long forgotten training manual flashed in his head.
    “Today fucko.” Slick gestured to the cash register with the gun. The kid stepped forward. “Wait.” Like a kindergarten game of red light / green light the kid stopped on command. “Don’t forget the glazed. And new ones please. Lord fucking knows what’s on the floor back there.”
    The skinny kid obeyed orders and did so in silence. His eyes were so fixed on the gun Slick doubted he noticed the vestments yet. “Hey, can I use your phone?”
    Slick wasn’t quite sure why he asked. Habit. Criminals can have manners too. The kid nodded, “I guess so.”
    Slick reached across the counter and dialed Emma’s number. He watched the skinny kid reach in to get two donuts from the front of the case. He brought the two glazed over to the register, stacked them one on top of the other, sugars blending, looking like a nature film on the mating ritual of donuts.
    No answer. Slick hung up, a tiny voice in the back of his brain asking if Emma had found the money and split. Silly idea. Not my Emma, he thought.
    “You want a bag?” the kid asked.
    “Yeah.”
    The kid put the donuts in a wax paper bag then opened the register.
    “You want a bag for this too?”
    “Yeah. Please. You got any other questions?”
    The kid thought about it. “Are you gonna shoot me?”
    “If you don’t hurry the fuck up I might.”
    The skinny kid stuffed a wax paper bag full of cash as fast as he could, tore the bag in the process, then transferred the money to another bag. Fifty-three dollars. The morning fifty always in the till at the start of a day and the three dollars he took in when he sold two donuts to two different guys before Slick walked in. Skinny kid left the change.
    He handed over the two bags. Slick took them, but did not move. The kid watched him expectantly, eyeing the unblocked path to the door.
    “Thank you. Have a nice day.” Maybe that’s what this freak wanted. Slick didn’t move.
    The kid’s eyes said it all. What do you want from me?
    “My coffee?”
    The kid spun, fast, and poured a large coffee with shaky hands. He set it on the counter in front of Slick who did not pick it up. “You got one of those, like, sleeve things for hot beverages?” The kid reached to the counter behind him and got one for Slick, slipped it over the coffee cup like a garter belt on a skinny leg.
    “God bless you my son.”
    As Slick backed out of the donut shop the skinny kid saw the priest collar for the first time. His jaw dropped. Already he thought of how he would retell this story so people would think he wasn’t a pussy who rolled over, but this new wrinkle made it interesting. It wasn’t about how he reacted anymore, he got robbed by a Goddamn priest!
    The collar didn’t fit Slick in more ways than one. He didn’t feel bad about impersonating a priest and there was no sacrilege in it. Hell, he’d pantsed a priest in all his shaved-balls glory and twice decked a nun.
    Now that he had a robbery under his belt, he became a target. If the cops were on the lookout for a priest with a face like a bouquet of elbows they wouldn’t have a hard time identifying him.
    When he spotted the Goodwill he decided to step in for a change of clothes.
    The two workers behind the counter, a guy and a girl, didn’t even look up when he entered. Slick walked through the rows of used clothes and found a functional pair