Betty Blue closed her register and put up her sign to indicate her aisle was shutting down. Then she opened her register again to begin to count her cash. I turned slowly, and looked out at Keefer. This was the moment of decision. If there was a good angel on one of my shoulders, he or she was asleep. I nodded emphatically and he got out of the SUV and strutted toward the supermarket entrance.
I was supposed to move over to the next cashier, but I hesitated long enough for Keefer to come in and approach Betty Blue, who looked up with surprise.
“I’m closed,” she said, and then grimaced at the realization he had no grocery cart or groceries to check out anyway. Keefer glanced at me and then pulled the pistol out of his jacket.
Betty Blue gasped.
“Just put the cash into a paper bag.”
Betty Blue froze. Keefer’s eyes registered a sense of panic. I was afraid of what would happen next if she didn’t move quickly, but she was in shock.
“Robin, do it,” he said, and I pushed her back and began to take out the cash and drop it in a bag.
“It’s all there,” I said.
“Let’s go,” he snapped.
I knelt down and grabbed Mother darling’s boots where I had hidden them under the counter.
“Hurry up, Robin,” he ordered.
A customer coming up saw the gun in Keefer’s hand and screamed. Mr. Ritter came around one of the aisles and dropped his jaw, his eyes nearly popping out.
Keefer and I ran to the exit and out, me clutching the bag with one hand and Mother darling’s boots in the other. We got into the SUV and he started away. I didn’t look back. I didn’t think I could move my head. I was that frozen.
“Count the money!” Keefer screamed. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
I nodded and then began. We had just a little over two thousand dollars. He was pleased.
“That’s great. It’ll be enough to start.” Then he smiled. “It was easy, easier than I thought, huh?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Hey, what’s with those boots?” he asked. I was clutching them again. I hadn’t even realized I was.
“They’re my mother’s,” I said.
“You’re the same size?”
“No,” I replied.
He shook his head, his lips twisted in confusion.
“Then… why did you take them?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked at them. “I don’t know.”
“Forget about it. You’ll have a nice new pair that fit you soon.”
“I don’t care about boots.”
He laughed and shook his head. We were driving fast, slipping under streetlights before they turned red and weaving around slower traffic.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve been planning carefully on this getaway.”
He let out a whoop.