Unforeseen Developments Part II

Since this is Part II, you might want to read Part I, below, first...

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Cam was at the front door before Sherm had even opened his car door. He was smiling like they were expecting him.

Inside, the air was thick with classic rock. Foghat’s “Slow Ride” swirled around the store, pouring in from the speakers mounted in the corners. Cam nodded to an old woman who was plucking her bag from the counter and making her way past him toward the door. She nodded back, jamming a handful of M&Ms into her mouth and smiling while she reached for the door. To the left, past the rack of car and adult magazines, were a pinball machine, an ATM, and a lottery kiosk against the wall, silent sentinels to impersonal entertainment and service and chance. Twelve-year-old Skip Mays was finishing up a game of Lord of the Rings pinball. The Balrog was growling his victory and Skip’s chin was already hitting his chest as he turned to leave. He looked up at Cam and quickened his pace, almost slamming directly into Sherm’s belly in his haste to exit the store.

Straight back at the center were the coolers filled with milk, soda, and beer. Running down the center were three rows of racks that offered the discerning consumer all manner of breads and cereal, snacks and candy, and an impressive assortment of chips.

Cam wrinkled his nose, pushed into the center of the store and slowly turned, taking in every detail. Three rows of smaller racks extended from each side of the center racks at 45 degree angles. These were home to canned goods, toiletries, cleaning products, and household items. He took it all in with a discerning eye. He glanced back toward the center, then down, studying a row of chips. Down low, way down, almost a floor level, he thought he caught a glimpse of an antenna, a flick of a stray leg, a glint of light off a tiny hard shell. Then it was gone. He grinned. He then continued to survey his surroundings, taking in cans of STP, shoelaces, toilet paper, Hormel chili, and Brillo pads. He surveyed the gums and mints and chocolate bars. Again he spied a tiny flash of movement, down below the Heath bars and the Hershey’s with Almonds.

When Sherm entered a heartbeat later, looking back at the scuffling Skip and giggling creepily to himself, the elderly gentleman behind the counter imperceptibly winced. He moved closer to the counter, ran his fingers through his hair, and then let his arms drop below the height of the counter. The music went up a notch. Enough to make anyone paying attention think that this was the sole reason his hands had dropped below the counter. Cam paid attention. He assumed two things: he had a firearm back there and that Sherm vibrated whatever it is that causes people to go on high alert. He’d seen it a million times. People would discreetly move between Sherm and their children, almost without thinking. They would watch him and then turn their heads ever so slightly when he raised his eyes to them. They would cross the street a step or two early to avoid coming too close to him. It was a familiar scene to Cam. Sherm gave folks the willies. Hell, sometimes Sherm gave Cam the willies, and he’d known Sherm most of his life. Sherm’s oversized and clublike hands hung limply by his sides as he stood and took in the store. He was giving off the Don’t Fuck With Me vibe. Cam drifted back toward the beer cooler, quietly watching the old man and Sherm while surveying the lower reaches of the racks.

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'til next time...