Below Zero

“Really,” Stenko said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Old suspicious habits die hard. Do you forgive me?”

After a beat, Robert said, “Mmmmmn.”

“Okay then,” Stenko hissed. “Then go get that money and pay down my debt. Use the rest for your cause. Plant entire rain forests or buy wind farms or whatever the hell it is you do.”

It was quiet. She could see Robert thinking, probably shouting “TWENTY-EIGHT MILLION!” over and over to himself in his head.

An old woman with a headscarf pushed a walker out through the door of Buy-Rite and headed slowly for the Taurus. A white prescription bag was clutched in her hand.

Robert said, “Okay, I’ll go in.”

She watched Robert as he slammed the door shut and strode toward the pharmacy dodging tumbleweeds. He jammed the pistol into the back of his pants and made sure it was hidden by the hem of his jacket. At the door, he paused for a moment to rake his fingers through his hair, throw back his shoulders. Then he went in.

She said to Stenko, “Are you all right?”

He half-turned toward her, his face in profile. “Not really.”

“If you give me some of that money, can I use it for something else?”

“Like what?”

She said, “I’d like to rescue my sister. She’s not really my sister, but she’s all I’ve got. She’s still back in that house in Chicago with all the other kids. Can I use the money to get her out of there? To fly her to me?”

Stenko grimaced a smile. “Sure, April. Do anything you want.”

She sat back, satisfied. For the first time in her life, she had a plan of her own and would soon have the means to carry it out. Thanks to Stenko.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Then Robert was back, throwing open the door against the wind and heaving himself behind the wheel. He entered talking, “. . . We need to find another pharmacy. This one’s no good.”

Stenko said, “You didn’t get the morphine?”

“Hell no,” Robert said. “The pharmacist in there is a redneck. I’m sure he has a gun. And he just stared at me all suspicious, as if daring me to try something. He knows, Dad. Somehow he knows . . . so I beat it out of there. We need to find another place.”

Stenko looked away. Robert turned the key and started the engine. “These little towns give me the creeps anyway. They all just stare at you like you’re from another planet. They’re all inbred or something.”

“I don’t think there’s another pharmacy,” Stenko said in a near-whisper.

“Maybe not in this town,” Robert said. “But there’s bound to be one in a bigger place.”

“It’s after five,” Stenko said.

She said, “Give me the gun.”

AS SHE MADE HER WAY UP the aisle with the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up and the weight of the gun sagging in her front pocket, she gathered items into a shopping basket. Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, hair coloring, a new TracFone since the one she had was low on power. She thought about how Stenko had barked a sharp “No!” to her request, but Robert quickly warmed to it, handed over the gun, and said, “Maybe she can finally do something useful.”

The jerk. She cared more about his father than he did.

The aisles were well lit, and they led the way toward a counter at the end of the store. Behind the counter was the pharmacist. He wore a white smock and had slicked-back hair and he pretended to busy himself with some kind of tiny project hidden under the cutout opening, but he was actually watching her closely. Robert was right about that. But she was the only customer—so why wouldn’t he keep his eye on her?

She hoped no one else came into the store. Robert had agreed to tap on the horn outside if anyone showed up, but she didn’t trust him to do it. If a police car turned into the lot, she was sure Robert would drive away and leave her in there.

She could hardly feel her legs and the shopping basket seemed weightless. She tried not to keep glancing at the pharmacist as she worked her way toward him, but she couldn’t help it. There was a distinct ache in her chest that got worse as she got closer to him.

He said something to her that didn’t register.

“What?”

“I said, can I help you find anything?”

What an opening. She knew she needed to decide right then whether or not to go through with it. Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run. But the image of Stenko’s tortured face was stronger.

“Do you have morphine?” She could barely meet his eyes.

“Why yes!” the pharmacist said with sarcastic enthusiasm. “And would you like some other narcotics along with it? We have those, too!” And he grinned wolfishly, his eyes sparkling.

She was confused.

Then he reached across the counter and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard.