BAKER’S LUCK
By: D.D. Loomis
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2020
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Author’s Page: www.amazon.com/author/dannyloomis
Dedicated to my family for their super support—Melissa, Pete, and Rob. Others of invaluable help were Clay, Susan and my friends at Wildacres Writing Workshop.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Interlude
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About The Author
Note
CHAPTER ONE
My car gave a last gasping wheeze and died when I turned into Sam’s Mini-Mart and Gas. I coasted to the first pump and rolled to a stop, giving a sigh of relief. A thump of my hand on the dashboard, and the gas gauge dropped from quarter-full to empty. “miserable piece of garbage,” I muttered.
I climbed out and rubbed my aching back before heading to the market. Almost midnight. Coffee first, then gas. Glad I was almost back to my hotel. This night work wore me out. Holding security training for ten banks in ten nights around the city of Charlotte was exhausting, mentally and physically. But this had been the last one. The rest of the contract would be done in two days–a class at the main office, then a couple of meetings would finish it up, thank God.
I pushed through the entrance and the cashier rose from his chair behind the counter. This had become one of my favorite stops. “Evening, Val. How’s the world treating you tonight?”
“Just fine, Mister Baker. Coffee’s fresh, go help yourself.” As usual, Val’s dark-brown eyes sparkled with good humor. His being from India was one of the reasons we’d become instant friends. I’d once dated a lady from his home town of Bangalore. Loved their accent, had a flavor all its own. Val was five-five, a couple inches shorter than me. Another reason I liked him.
I gave a half-salute and headed to the back, snagging a small bag of Hershey’s Kisses on the way. Once I’d drawn a cup of ambrosia, better known as Seattle’s Best, I peeled wrappers from two of the kisses and dropped them in. Man, it smelled good. I ambled down an aisle, hunting for a snack while stirring the concoction.
The bell above the entry gave a strident jangle when someone charged in, causing me to stop, all senses alert. Abnormal movement and sounds this late at night usually meant trouble.
A loud voice confirmed my fears. “Hands on the counter where I can see ‘em! Don’t push any alarms or nothing, ‘cause that’ll get you shot.” Besides noisy, he sounded nervous. Not a good combination. “Open that register slow-like an’ take out all the bills. Put ‘em in a paper sack. Now!”
I crept to the front of the aisle, and peeked around the edge. Six feet from me stood a sweaty faced kid with a baseball cap pulled low. Probably no more than 19. He was pointing a revolver at Val who pulled money from the till, hands shaking.
Well, hell. Just what I didn’t need tonight. Gathering shards of courage, more likely idiocy in this case, I stepped around the corner. “Why you giving money to a guy with a toy gun, Val? Look at the barrel, it’s got a plug in it.”
The kid flinched, almost dropping the pistol in his haste to point it at me. “What’d you say?”
I gestured at the gun. “The barrel. It’s got a cork or something in it, just like a toy would.”
His eyes widened, and he reversed the pistol to see in the barrel. I lunged forward and grabbed the weapon, plowing into him. A deafening bang and he fell to the floor, screaming. The round had caught him in the left elbow. Blood spurted from a severed artery.
I gripped his injured arm and squeezed above the wound, trying to shut off the flow of blood and glanced at Val. “Call 911. We need an ambulance and cops…” Val’s eyes rolled up and he fell. A loud thud resounded from behind the counter.
At the same time, the would-be robber passed out. Pieces of bone jutted from his shattered elbow. I gulped, my last meal trying to resurface. Unfastening his belt, I used it to tie off his arm. This slowed the squirting to a trickle. Damn, how’d I always manage to get involved in stuff like this?
I almost tripped over the pistol when I got up and hurried around the corner. Val was out cold. Blood leaked from the back of his head. I made sure he was still breathing, and called 911. “There’s been a holdup attempt at Sam’s Mini-Mart, just off highway seventy-three near the Interstate seventy-seven interchange. Send an ambulance and police. Shot fired.”
I hung up in the middle of the operator’s attempts to keep me on the line, and knelt by the kid. That elbow was really messed up. The bullet had traveled six inches up the forearm before exiting through the joint. He’d be lucky to use this arm again. Bile tinged with a chocolaty taste tickled the back of my throat, and I swallowed a second time. My knee bumped the pistol as the door crashed open.
“Freeze, dirtbag!”
Shit.
CHAPTER TWO
The rattle of a key in the door awoke me from a light doze.
“Up and at ‘em, Baker. You still want that phone call y’kept insisting on a few hours ago?”
I sat up, stifling a groan from the new aches and pains my body complained about. A glance at the wall clock outside my cell showed it was after eight a.m. Six and a half hours since I’d been unceremoniously dumped in here.
A large guy in uniform tossed me a phone. “I’m Sergeant Grunnion, the day shift supervisor for this joint.
