Eddie pushed my face down again and jerked at my cargo pants. “Let’s find out.”

The door of the gas station chimed, and I reached back, grabbing Eddie by the bare balls. He cried out as I twisted, making a sound unique to the howl of a man when his tender, wrinkled basket of nerves were vulnerable and pulsing with pain. I grabbed his shoulders, head butt him once, and while he was still stunned, turned with him until he was closest to the truck.

“Women,” I said, kicking the driver’s side door, slamming him between the door and the old metal frame. “Don’t,” I said, kicking it again. “Enjoy. Being. Raped!” I kicked the door after each word.

The clerk screamed, and I throat-punched Eddie before he fell to the ground, giving me the space to reach under my seat for my Glock 29. After a short jog to the front door, Eddie’s best friend forever had already made it to the wrong side of the counter, pointing his pussy Ruger 9mm at my sweet Barbara.

I slipped my handgun in the back of my pants and held up my hands as I walked in. “That bag on your head,” I said, nodding to the oversized, wrinkled Walmart sack with eye cutouts. “It reminds me of something. I can’t quite put my finger on it…”

“Who are you?” he asked, pointing the gun at me.

“He has a gun!” the clerk cried. I looked down at her name badge. I’ll be damned. Her name is Barbara.

“Thank you, Barb,” I deadpanned. “Now please get on the floor.”

Barbara nodded, her salt and pepper feathered hair moving with the quick bobbing of her head until she was out of sight.

“Who are you?” the man yelled, pushing his gun at me.

“C’mon. Do you really care?”

“Where’s ... where’s Eddie?”

“Outside.” I began to reach for an endcap full of candy. “Don’t shoot. Just stay calm. I’m moving slow … just need a stick of gum and I’ll be out of your hair.”

In the same two seconds that I reached, the man looked at my free hand, and I grabbed my gun and shot him in the knee. Slightly disappointing, but I did have to get back on the road. I kicked his gun down the aisle that ran along the refrigerators, and then leaned over the counter, speaking to Barbara with a warm smile, louder than usual to be heard over the screams from the would-be armed robber. The floor was getting slick with blood.

“You have a mess to clean, I apologize.”

“Oh, no … no worries,” Barbara said, the nervous nodding continued. Her hands were shaking. Her face was pale.

“Be right back,” I said. I jumped over the puddle of crimson, jogged over to one of the fridges, grabbed her a water, and came back to lower it behind the counter.