"Pretty much," she said.
"Any company?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, friends."
"Like, guys?"
"Yeah, I guess."
She stubbed out her cigarette. "You know, I'm working in the morning. Need to get up early."
"Oh," Bobby said, "Sure. Me too. Better get going." He took a last gulp then put the bottle on the counter. "Thanks for the beer. Next time on me."
She didn't answer, and he remembered feeling a drop in his stomach when she locked the door behind him. Afterwards, he sat in his truck wondering what made Kelsey Fellows tick. Now, almost twelve months later, sitting in the same truck, he still had no idea.
It began to rain again. "Damn! Where is she?"
He needed her to drive. That was the deal. He'd go in, she'd wait in front, engine running, ready to take off when he ran out with the money. That was how they'd done it all three times before. Three times in three towns. He'd never tried it alone.
There was a convenience store near the end of the block. He could see the front door between the swipes of the wipers. No one in or out as the rain picked up. It was pouring as he put the truck in gear and moved to the entrance, backing into a space. He reached under the seat for the gun and a mask, a Halloween leftover in the likeness of a popular teen idol. He put it on, shoved the gun in a pocket, and pulled up the hood. He left the truck running and made a dash through the torrent.
The clerk, a clueless twenty-something, didn't resist and shoved fistfuls of bills from the register into a bag. Bobby pushed him into a closet, and jammed a stool beneath the knob.
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