I hate the man.
Charlie and his driver don’t get gas; they both enter the building, dressed in their ridiculously expensive suits, their Italian leather shoes shining under the bright glare of the gas stations strip lights. They start perusing the shelves, looking for…looking for I don’t know what. We’ve been trained to spot people like this—people who look like they’re killing time. It generally means that they’re about to hold up the place, but somehow I think armed robbery is a little below Charlie’s pay grade. If he were short on cash, which I don’t think he is, then he has a whole crew of mindless goons who can perform such menial tasks for him.
“Lucky bastard,” Myers says, shoving more of his breakfast into his mouth. “What do you think? Personal banker? Lawyer? He looks like a fucking lawyer. Gotta have some serious money to afford an Aston.”
If Myers were one of the other guys, someone I actually like hanging out with, I might break my silence and tell him what this man does for a living. As it stands, I simply reach forward and hit the lockout button that prevents the screen in front of me from scrolling through to another camera somewhere else in the city. Charlie and his hired help continue to pace around the store, picking up random items from the shelves and talking to one another. Charlie selects an item from the shelf and says something to his henchman, laughing. He tosses the packaged item to the other man, who opens it and starts to eat the contents inside. Over Charlie’s shoulder, the door opens and a young woman walks in, talking on her cell phone. She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t notice Charlie and the other guy stop laughing and look at her. She has a big bag strapped over her shoulder; it looks unwieldy and awkward to carry. She walks to the checkout and sets it down at her feet, laughing at something that the person on the other end of the phone is saying to her.
I have a bad feeling about this. I don’t know what it is, but something…something just isn’t right. The men aren’t buying anything, and they seem far too focused on this young woman to be merely showing a passing interest. I think about reaching for the radio and getting the boys onto this, but what would I say? I can’t explain how I know Charlie, how I know that this middle-aged guy who looks like your average businessman is actually a crime kingpin, wanted for countless murders and crimes of drug trafficking. If I did, then that would definitely be getting Sammy into trouble. The punk deserves it for sure, but my mom sure as hell doesn’t.
The girl’s paid for something over the counter, and Charlie and his friend have stopped their horseplay and have queued up behind her. The driver moves to one side, while Charlie bends down and collects up the girl’s bag for her, holding it out to her as she turns around. It’s a kind thing to do, and the girl grins at him as she accepts the bag.
“Whoa! Hang on a second,” Myers says. He leans across me, his eyebrows bunching together. “What the hell is that guy doing?”
I’ve been too busy watching Charlie as he tricks this girl into believing he is a gentleman to notice the other guy; he is standing really close behind her, and it looks like he’s holding something up to the back of her neck. Something sharp; something silver; something glinting in a fuzzy patch of white through the CCTV camera’s low-res feed. Adrenalin slams through my body. “Holy shit! He’s going to rob her or something. He’s actually going to do it.”
Before I react, the siren on the wall behind me begins to wail, loud and piercing; the cashier, standing on the other side of the Plexiglas right in front of the three people in the gas station, has a closer view of what is going on there, and he obviously thinks this girl is in danger, too. He’s hit the alarm. “Fuck. Do it. Call the emergency response unit.”
Myers might be an asshole, but he reacts quickly. He’s on the line, giving the cops the details of the robbery in progress and then he’s dispatching the security unit employed by Castle. I’m having trouble peeling my eyes from the screen. The driver and Charlie have both stepped away from the woman, and whatever it was the driver was holding up to the woman’s neck has now been secreted away again; the cashier has come around the front of the booth—moron! They’re told never to do that—and is trying to force Charlie and the other man out of the gas station.