Bank Robbers by C. Clark Criscuolo

slightly ajar closet door, as he tore the room apart looking for things that maybe didn’t even exist. And the years Arthur’d spent huddled at the bottom of the bedroom closet trying to pretend he was a box or maybe one of the shoes he was sitting on—any inanimate object—so he wouldn’t be discovered and get whacked by this madman because there was no one there to stop him.
    Until Dottie, he’d thought of himself like that. A piece of furniture, he was, not even a human being. And when he’d grabbed her that night he’d figured maybe God would let him steal a kiss. A kiss that he could have as his own.
    And she gave him herself.
    And she promised to wait.
    And she lied.
    And Arthur was thinking back on all this when the door to the shop opened and he saw her outline as she came through the glass-and-wire-mesh door.
    He couldn’t help but lean forward as she moved into the soft red light from the neon, almost looking like firelight from a fireplace, and still he didn’t let her know he was there, just like that night on the roof.
    â€œHello?” Her voice was shaky, as she took several steps inside the shop.
    He wanted to hurt her.
    â€œHello?” she said again, and he watched her look around. He could make out on her face that she was frightened.
    And he could make out that she still was one of the best-looking women he’d ever seen in his life, and still had a figure he could spend entire days exploring.
    Not one of his other women had ever affected him like she did.
    And that made him even angrier about what she’d done to them.
    â€œIs anyone here?” Her voice sounded panicky.
    He watched her blink, and then her face fell and she turned around and put her hand back onto the doorknob.
    â€œWhat do you want, Dottie?” he said loudly and sharply and he watched her jump, startled, and spin around.
    â€œArthur MacGregor?”
    â€œThat’s me, remember, Dottie?” he said harshly.
    He watched her look hurt and back herself into the wall next to the door.
    â€œHow have you been, Arthur?” she said after a moment.
    â€œWhat do you want from me?”
    He watched her face stop looking hurt and begin to look angry.
    â€œA gun, Arthur.”
    That threw him. He sat still for a moment, watching her. Her eyes didn’t waver.
    He stood up and walked around the cash register and stared up and down at her, and when he looked back up to her eyes, he realized that she had done the same to him, and that her breathing was shallow as she looked over his body.
    He felt good about the dim lights at first but now he wanted to take a good look at this woman who’d thrown him over for a nobody.
    He shot one arm beside her to reach the light switch behind her, and for a split second she almost ducked, as if he were going to hit her. He played with it, as if he were having trouble, all the while making sure he was pressed up against her.
    She was shaking like a leaf.
    Snap. The lights went on and he stepped back from her a foot, and they both blinked at each other in the harsh light.
    â€œI liked it better the other way,” he said nastily and snapped the light off, and he leaned against her just for a second too long, just so she’d get the point, then stepped back.
    â€œI didn’t come here for you to appraise my looks. I want a gun, Arthur,” she repeated.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou ask all your customers why they want guns?”
    She had him on that one.
    â€œNo.” He walked around the counter, sat back down on his chair near the register. She walked over and placed her bag on the glass counter.
    â€œSo?” she prodded.
    â€œSo why do you want a gun, Dottie?”
    â€œIt’s dangerous where I live.”
    â€œIt’s dangerous everywhere these days.”
    â€œYou got a chip on your shoulder.”
    â€œYou noticed.”
    â€œI never did a thing to you.” She was jittery. Her eyes were looking