1
Darkness had invaded Old Forge.
Snowflakes sprinkled Eddie Parker’s windshield as he drove along Main Street. The small Upstate New York town had a homely feel. Retro streetlights giving off warm yellow glows. Adorable local stores stuffed with holiday decorations. He imagined that most of the inhabitants were straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, gathered around their fires on this cold Christmas-week evening. Most places had closed for the night and the sidewalks were deserted.
Old Forge had heaps of character, and its quaintness drew people from miles around. It was a tourist trap in the summer, with the best boat tours in the Adirondacks. But it had the lowest temperatures in the entire state during the winter. Truly brutal weather. Even so, Eddie never tired of seeing the place on his drive back from his brother’s cabin.
Also, the people here had money. Lots of it. Eddie had a maxed-out credit card, forty bucks in his wallet, and was a month behind on his rent. But he knew he had a few more months to go before his landlord could start the eviction process. New York law was a bitch to landlords, thankfully. But overall, a pretty sad situation for a thirty-year-old guy. Once back home, he vowed to get a real job.
Because Lord knows, he had done his old job for far too long. It was time for a change.
A bright sign beamed at the end of the strip. The local grocery store had remained open.
And he needed a pack of smokes.
On a cold winter night, it was a match made in heaven.
Eddie slowed and flicked on his turn signal.
The store entrance swung open, sending a shaft of light into the street. A man walked out with a couple of six-packs.
He pulled into the dilapidated parking lot at the side of the building. Moments after, a set of headlights flashed past his SUV. A minivan parked a few spots to his left. It had a blue wheelchair sign in one of its windows.
Eddie sensed an opportunity. Maybe the “real” job search could start tomorrow …
A silver-haired lady, dressed in a thick coat, struggled out of the driver’s side. She unsteadily made her way around to the other side of the minivan. A minute later, she reappeared with a stick-thin husband in an electric wheelchair. The couple was maybe in their seventies. Probably too old to brave this kind of weather for butterscotch candies and a bottle of Bartles & Jaymes.
Eddie scanned the place for any security cameras.
Nothing.
For a moment, he kicked himself for allowing another one of his bad habits to surface, but quickly rationalized the moment.
One last score to see me through Christmas.
Besides, nobody’ll get hurt.
Nobody will ever get hurt again.
He jumped out of his vehicle, and his breath instantly fogged in the frigid night air. His jeans and a sweater provided poor protection from the elements.
Eddie broke into a jog toward the entrance, following the wheelchair tracks in the snow. He dragged open the door and stepped into the welcoming warmth.
Quiet Christmas music leaked out from an old, dilapidated speaker. It looked like a Radio Shack special, circa Black Friday 1994. The woman at the checkout glanced at him, then focused back on a wall-mounted tube TV playing repeats of Wheel of Fortune.
The tiny grocery store had a measly five aisles. The elderly couple moved along the one farthest from the counter. The old woman’s basket was already half-full and she visibly struggled with its weight. Eddie followed closely behind, glancing back and forth between his targets and the various junk foods on display. The freshest seemed to be the Twinkies. The hot dogs on the roller looked like they needed carbon dating.
The couple moved along to the next aisle. They seemed in good spirits, busily chatting while completely unaware of his presence. The perfect marks.
The bell at the front door of the store tinkled.
He paused his pursuit by the refrigerators.
A middle-aged cop with a stern stare had walked in. The type of humorless asshole that would give you a ticket for looking at him the wrong way. It was the last thing Eddie needed on a night like this, but he told himself to play it cool.
“Sheriff Briggs,” the old man called out.
“George. Dorothy. What you doing out on a night like this?”
“You know how Dorothy likes to stock up for the holiday, Sheriff,” the old man said with a smile.
“The roast isn’t going to cook itself,” the woman replied, pinching her husband’s side lovingly.
“Do you have a moment, Sheriff?” the old man asked.
Copyright © 2024 by James S. Murray and Darren Wearmouth
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