Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 7 & 8, July/August 2006

Pretty Boy Lloyd by Rick Noetzel

The teller wouldn’t look at Lloyd. The Glock in his hand had all of her attention. He waggled the gun and grinned when her head mimicked his motion. “You listening?”

She nodded.

“Smart girl. You don’t want to mess with me. Understand?”

She nodded faster, a blond-haired bobblehead.

“I’m in charge, right? You’ll do what I say?”

“Yes.” She paused. “Sir.”

The rest of the bank’s employees huddled against the wall behind her. “Nobody be a hero,” Lloyd said, “and I’m out of here in a minute. Got that?” They muttered a ragged chorus of agreement, and he saw the fear in their eyes. A thrill, a snap of electricity traveled from the base of his brain to the small of his back. Lloyd Carew, large and in charge. He laughed at the thought. “Good. Very good. Now, darlin’—” He handed a bag to the teller. “—put the money in this. No alarms, no dye packs. I don’t want—”

“Mayonnaise! How many times do I need to tell you — read the screen.”

Lloyd jumped when Mr. Harvey tossed a cheeseburger on the preparation counter. “What? I was—”

“It’s simple, Lloyd. We’re a team: I take the orders; you fill the orders. I tell you what to do; you do it. Understand?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Third time today, Lloyd. Beef-E-Burger doesn’t pay you to screw up. Stop your daydreaming and get to work.” He turned back to the customer.

Lloyd grabbed a bun and slid another cheeseburger onto the bottom half. “Just a lousy burger,” he muttered.

“Harsh, dude,” Calvin whispered from the fry cooker.

“Yeah,” Lloyd said, “and I don’t have to take that.” Pickle, lettuce, onion, tomato/Ketchup, mustard, then the mayo. The training jingle ran through Lloyd’s mind while his hands built the sandwich. “I got options.”

“What you gonna do? Quit?”

“Maybe.” He wrapped the burger and slid it down the chute to the front counter. “Check this out.” Lloyd turned his back to the customers and pulled a knife from his pocket. He pressed the button on the black hilt and four inches of steel flashed under the fluorescent lights.

“Sweet! Where’d you get that?”

“Friend of mine went to New York with the marching band. He got it for me.”

“What you gonna do with it?”

“I got some plans — big plans. No more working in places like this for chump change. Eight bucks an hour? That’s nothing.” A tingle, left over from his daydream, ran down his spine. “You heard about the Red Scarf Bandit? I’m gonna be like him.”

“He robs banks, don’t he?”

“Yeah, but he’s got class. Apologizing to the teller, giving her a scarf — that’s cool. Plus, he makes more in ten minutes than we do in a month.”

“I— Harvey’s coming.” Calvin slid back to the deep fryer and pulled a basket of fries from the oil.

Lloyd closed the blade, slid the knife back into his pocket, and grabbed another hamburger bun. According to the order screen, he needed to make two Big-n-Beefy’s with cheese.

“Lloyd.” Mr. Harvey tapped his shoulder. “Remember that ‘no mayo’ burger? You put mayonnaise on it again.”

“I did not. You’re lying.”

“You’re fired, Lloyd. I’m tired of your screwups. I’m tired of your attitude. Punch the clock. You can pick up your check on Friday.”

“You can’t fire me for this.”

“I can and I did. Now leave.” Lloyd started to protest, but Mr. Harvey stopped him. “Quietly or I’ll get them.” He pointed at two cops eating lunch.

Lloyd exhaled heavily, pushed past Harvey, and left.

A steady stream of customers came to the Texaco. The clerk, a teenage girl, kept busy. Lloyd sat in his car, watching the people come and go.

“At least you’re leaving your money,” Lloyd said to himself. “More for me.” He laughed, drained his beer, and tossed the can into the back seat. It rattled against other empties, four casualties of the twelve-pack Lloyd was killing. He grabbed another beer from the box, opened the can, and tucked it between his legs. He leaned his head back, enjoying the warmth from the heater and watching his future cash get carried into the store....

He sat up with a start. Warm beer sloshed out of the can and onto his jeans.

“Jesus,” he said, picking up the can. “Looks like I pissed myself and—” He caught the clock out of the corner of his eye. Five after midnight. “Jesus,” he repeated. “I fell asleep.”

No customers were in the store, so Lloyd climbed out of the car and walked to the sliding doors. He almost cracked his nose when they didn’t open. He stepped back and tried again. The doors stayed closed. Inside, the clerk glanced at Lloyd and returned to her magazine.

“Hey.” Lloyd knocked on the glass. “Open up.”

The girl motioned him down the sidewalk without looking up. Lloyd walked to a sliding drawer built into the wall. The clerk stood and grabbed a microphone.

“Store’s closed. You buying gas? Gotta pay me first ’cause it’s late.”

“I need something inside. Can’t you open the door for me?”

“Store closed at midnight.”

“That was only five minutes ago. C’mon, I’ll be quick.”

“Store’s closed.”

Lloyd sighed. “Look, open the door.”

The girl stared at him.

“I said, open up!” Lloyd banged his fist on the glass. “Now.”

“I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave.”

Lloyd pulled the knife out of his pocket and banged the hilt on the glass. “Open the damn door!” He hit the glass again. This time a piece of chrome popped off the knife and dropped onto the sidewalk. “Look at that — you broke my knife.”

The clerk held the phone with white knuckles and stabbed at the buttons.

She’s calling the cops, he thought. What a bitch! He ran back to his car and got in, sitting in a puddle of the spilled beer. “Jesus,” he said and drove away.

Calvin bit into his burger. “She shot at you?”

“Damn straight. I knocked on the glass and she went all Vin Diesel on me. Pulled a cannon from out under the counter and blew the front window out of the store.”

“Lucky she didn’t kill you.”

“Take more than that to kill me, buddy.” Lloyd grabbed some of Calvin’s fries. “Should be a law against guns, though.”

“Why don’t you get one?”

“Don’t need it, man. Look at the best. Does Red Scarf need one? No.” But Lloyd kept seeing the bank teller from his dreams and the look in her eyes.

“I don’t recall ‘the best’ getting chased around a parking lot by some girl.”

Lloyd ignored the insult. “I’ve got something different in mind this time.”

A cold wind blew through the alley next to the grocery store, cutting through Lloyd’s jacket. He stood in the shadows, blowing on his hands and watching the parking lot. Several cars were nearby, and this section of sidewalk wasn’t visible from inside the store. Lloyd wanted the right person, and shivering in the dark, he wished the right person would hurry it up a bit.

An elderly couple, bundled in winter coats, left the market. He carried two plastic bags of groceries, and she held a purse the size of a suitcase. They shuffled along the sidewalk toward Lloyd.

“C’mon, people,” Lloyd muttered. “I ain’t got all night.”

They stepped into the lot and stopped behind an old Buick. Lloyd sprinted across the pavement toward them when the woman began digging in her purse. He stopped behind them and opened his knife.

“Gimme your wallets.”

They turned toward him. The woman pulled her hand from her purse, a key ring clenched in her fist.

“You first,” Lloyd said, pointing the knife at the man.

“What?” He squinted at Lloyd. “What do you want?”

“Your wallet, old man. Give it up.”

The man stared at Lloyd.

Lloyd stepped forward and pushed the man onto the trunk. The bags of groceries fell onto the pavement. “You deaf?”

The purse caught Lloyd behind his left ear and snapped his teeth together with a loud clack. He turned toward the woman and her second swing caught him flush on the nose. A flash of light filled his eyes and wet warmth covered his face. Lloyd yelped and grabbed his nose, dropping the knife.

“You broke my nose!”

“I’ll break more than that,” the woman said, “if you don’t leave us alone.”

A third strike landed on Lloyd’s forearms and mashed his hand into his nose. The pain drove away the remnants of Lloyd’s bravery. He ran across the parking lot and disappeared behind the stores.

“Damn, man. You don’t look too good.” Calvin took a pull from his beer. “Those guys beat you up pretty good.”

“Well, what did you expect? Four of them jumped me — I ain’t Superman.” Lloyd touched the bruises around his nose. “Looks bad, huh?”

“Like a raccoon. You never was very pretty. Less so, now.” Calvin laughed and emptied his beer can. “They got your knife?”

Lloyd shrugged. “Don’t matter. Red Scarf doesn’t need any weapons. If he can do it, so can I.”

“He doesn’t use them, but you know for sure that he doesn’t have one on him? I mean, just in case?”

Lloyd hadn’t considered that idea. “Maybe you ain’t so stupid after all.”

Only two teller windows were open, but several people waited in the line. Lloyd was fourth. Worse than a grocery store, Lloyd thought.

He wore a hooded sweatshirt with a Georgia Tech logo on it. He hadn’t gone to any college, much less Georgia Tech. He didn’t even know anybody who went there. He just needed a warm jacket with big pockets in front.

Lloyd’s hands were in those pockets. His left held a plastic grocery bag. His right held a small pistol. He’d bought the gun the day before for twenty-five dollars. It only held five bullets and nobody knew if it worked, but Lloyd didn’t plan on shooting anybody.

The person at the front of the line went to an open teller and Lloyd shuffled a couple of feet. His fingers played with the gun. In his mind’s eye, he pulled it out and pointed it at the frightened teller. “Don’t be scared, my dear. Fill the bag and I’ll be out of your hair.” His voice was soft and soothing, like a radio commercial. “Just—”

“Next!”

Lloyd jumped. He released the gun and pulled his hands from the pockets, but his sleeve got caught and pulled the pistol out. It bounced off Lloyd’s knee and clattered onto the floor next to the man in front of Lloyd. Lloyd looked at the gun; the man looked at Lloyd. They both dove onto the weapon.

Lloyd heard someone shout “gun” while he scrambled for the pistol. He had one hand around the grip and the other on the customer’s face when the gun went off. Red-hot pain shot up Lloyd’s leg and he screamed, letting go of the gun. He rolled onto his back and grabbed his thigh. Above him, a security guard crouched with his gun drawn, and he was shouting. Another guard pointed his weapon at the other customer. The customer dropped Lloyd’s gun and put his hands in the air.

“He had the scarf in his pocket?”

“The cops found it when they searched him. He said the gun wasn’t his, but I don’t think they believed him. I ain’t fool enough to tell them that it’s mine.”

Calvin whistled. “Man, you are such a bad ass. What next — another bank? You need to get another gun first. I know this guy—”

Lloyd held up a hand. “Slow down. I’ve been shot, remember? I need to take it slow, lay low for a while.” Lloyd felt the ache in his leg. Maybe forever, he thought.

“Good plan, bro. I’m glad Mr. Harvey let you come back to work.”

“I’m a star. I’m the man who caught the Red Scarf Bandit.” The monitor flashed a new order. “Now, get me two orders of fries while I make these burgers.”

Copyright 2006 Rick Noetze