Free Hit & Mrs. by Lesley Crewe Page B

tiptoed back.
    â€œOh my God, do you hear them?” Augusta whispered.
    Bette wrung her hands. “Is there a back way out of here?”
    â€œJust be quiet,” Linda said. “If we start running around, we’ll call attention to ourselves. Crouch down and keep your mouths shut.”
    So the four of them sat on their haunches and looked like they were having a campfire at the back of the store. Augusta grabbed Gemma’s hand. She was close to tears.
    â€œIf anything happens to me, Gem, please take care of my girls.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Gussie, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
    â€œPut that knife away, you little punk, and get outta my store before I kill you.”
    â€œOpen the motherfuckin’ till or you’re dead.”
    â€œNO. You’re dead, you piece of shit.”
    â€œNO. You’re dead, old man.”
    â€œOkay, that’s it. I’ve had it.” Gemma stood up. The others tried to get her to sit down, but she pushed them away. She reached into her purse and took out the gun. She pointed it at the ceiling and fired off a shot.
    The ceiling tiles fell down around their ears in a cloud of white dust, which made them scream. Gemma dropped the gun, grabbed her suitcase and Augusta’s hand, and rushed to the front of the store. “Get out of my way, you little bastards.”
    She was a raging bull, a raging bull with white powdery hair.
    â€œGemma, wait up.” Linda and Bette grabbed their things and Augusta’s suitcase and charged behind Gemma as she tore up the aisle with Augusta in tow. The two kids wearing hoodies took off out the door.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing to my store, you crazy bitch? I’m calling the cops. Look at my ceiling.” The store owner jumped across the counter after them as they ran out the door. Their luggage bounced off the pavement behind them and made a terrible racket. The owner chased them with a cellphone in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.
    â€œI’m never leaving the house again,” Augusta cried.
    After half a block, Linda looked over her shoulder and noticed the owner running back towards his store. He probably thought better of leaving his property unattended.
    â€œGirls, he’s gone.”
    Out of breath, they slowed to a fast walk.
    â€œHe’s calling the police,” Augusta said. “We should keep going.”
    â€œBut I thought we wanted the police,” Bette said.
    Linda bounced beside her on her uneven shoes. “We do. But we don’t want them arresting us for property damage. We’ll call them about the other disaster when we get out of this disaster.”
    Gemma developed an interesting gait as she raced up the side–walk. “On top of everything else, I’m getting a blister, and it’s not on my foot.”
    Just then a police siren went off down the street.
    â€œHurry up, this way.” Linda led them towards a dark alley on the right. “Let’s hide in here.” They gathered together with their bags, and as the siren got louder they pressed against a brick wall next to a stinking dumpster and rotting bags of garbage.
    Bette jumped. “I think a rat ran over my foot.”
    They leapt about in a frenzied dance, but stopped when the two police cars whizzed by. That’s when the drunk spoke up.
    â€œGot a light?”
    They screamed as one, and scared the poor bugger out of his wits. He threw his cigarette at them. “Take it.” He lurched down the alley and away from them as fast as possible.
    â€œOkay, I’m going to have hysterics in a minute if I don’t get the hell out of here now ,” Augusta said.
    Gemma pointed. “There’s a bus and there’s a bus stop. Who cares where it goes. Let’s get on it.”
    No one answered her. They were too busy running for the bus.
    It almost left without them, and if it hadn’t been for an exceptional burst of speed from