Cherry Pickers
by Sally K Lehman
A picture of herself with her great-grandmother was the only childhood memento Colleen Garcia had anymore. She had once had other pictures, dolls, old blankets, even an Easy Bake Oven. But between the just-passing-through's her family had done over the years while she grew up, the quiet-leaving-in-the-middle-of-the-night's, and at least one house fire, all the other bits and pieces of her childhood had been lost except for this one picture.
The picture was black and white and had those funny, bumpy edges you found on old photos. In it, she was only nine months old; she knew because the picture was one that had the semi-vague date of 'Feb 62' along the bottom of it - about nine months after she was born. She was standing, just barely, and holding her great-grandmother's hands for support. Colleen carried it with her just in case something should happen to her apartment while she was away. It sat safely in the big pocket with the zipper on the side panel of her purse so it would never get crushed or ripped up. And right now, her purse sat safely in her locker in the back room of the Denny's where she waited tables every evening. And right now, Colleen was standing at the register and looking into the barrel of a gun.
She'd been at the register during a robbery three times before and knew the drill - give them everything in the register, don't make a fuss or any quick movements, count to twenty before calling the cops. No amount of money was worth your life or that of any Denny's customer. Colleen always got the impression it was more about the customers than the workers though. That's where things had gone disastrously wrong.
The robbers - there were three of them - had made a lot of noise coming in, had gone around and taken wallets and purses from every table in the place, and one of them was in the back now with the on-duty manager cleaning out the safe and the secondary register drawers. So Colleen stood at the main register with her hands up, the empty drawer hanging next to her left hip, the gun aimed at her face. And as hard as she tried to concentrate on the guy's face, as hard as she tried to stay calm and collected so nobody would try something stupid, she was starting to lose it. She could feel sweat pool down from the tight ponytail that held her long, brown hair, into the polyester Denny's top she wore and settle into the arch of her back right where her back ended and her ass began.
The guy with the gun suddenly reached toward her to sweep off a line of perspiration running down her cheek. Colleen flinched back away from the hand, and the guy smiled at her as though trying to calm her. The pool of sweat careened down over her ass, along her legs and into her practical, comfortable, brown shoes. The guy kept on smiling at her, as though in his mind this was some sort of strange means of meeting a prospective girlfriend instead of a means to end up in the county correctional facility for a year or so. Colleen tried not to grimace too much as his fingers ran along her face, the gun was just too close to piss this guy off.
The second guy - the one in the dining rooms collecting things from customers - looked over her way and yelled, "Eddie, pay attention and stop your fucking flirting!"
The hand pulled abruptly from her face, and the gun jerked slightly. A bullet fired from it, missing Colleen's head by an inch, shattering the ugly green and yellow imitation stained glass which separated the register from the order pickup area. Another waitress screamed and fell to the carpet in Section One - sobbing and screaming that they couldn't do this, that they had to leave, that she was too young, had kids, needed to live. Eddie's friend went over to her - passing from Section Two through the entryway and the register - and, kneeling next to the hysterical waitress, held his gun to her head, yelling, "Shut up! Simply, fucking shut up! Now! Or I'll kill you like my asshole friend killed the fucking stained glass!" The trigger of the gun made an audibly 'click', as if to punctuate the statement.
The girl, Stacy Something-or-other, settled down some, content with whimpering and the occasional loud, gulping sob that was always so unattractive in women. Some of the customers in the booths - mostly females, but a couple of males - began to quietly sob as well; quietly, so they wouldn't catch attention or a bullet.
Eddie smiled a little at Colleen in a manner of a kid who got caught doing something wrong by his dad, but not wrong enough to really get in trouble for it. Colleen's arms couldn't stay up any longer, and her hands fell unceremoniously to the glass counter that sat next to the register - drawing his eyes to the candy sitting in the display case there. He nudged her hands a little and pointed the gun towards the glass in a sweeping motion - indicating that she should give him the candy as well.
She bent her knees, which were shaking too much now to hold her it seemed, and began to place the candy on top of the glass case. He shoved the candy into the same black, trash bag where he had stuffed the register drawer - money and all - as well as all of the credit card receipts. Colleen noticed the white puddle that had formed around her feet. The bullet that had missed her had hit the metal milk fridge. A white puddle of milk had formed under the machine, had found it's way to the bits of fake stained glass which now floated along towards the coffee machines, and finally ending it's journey in the puddle around Colleen's feet, where it was stopped by the wood veneer and Plexiglas register desk.
A few pieces of glass had made their way to her puddle, and Colleen watched in curiosity as the greens and yellows melted off the glass and seeped their colors into the puddling milk. She looked quickly at her watch. All of it - the hand, the shout, the shooting, the sobbing, the yelling, the candy, the milk - all of it had happened in less than the span of a minute.
Standing again, the candy case empty and all the contents in the black bag, she looked into the eyes of the robber, Eddie, and noticed that his eyes were now nearly as scared as her's must be. She didn't know that his mind was going off on a rampage. The shot was not expected. The sobbing girl on the floor - goddamned sobbing still - was getting on everyone's last nerve. His friend in the back, he was taking too long. And now this girl with deep brown eyes like his mother and curly hair like his little sister was looking at him in the eyes. And she knew his name.
Suddenly, everyone in the restaurant heard several shots being fired from the back. All of the customers and employees flew to the ground to avoid getting shot. But not this waitress at the register; not Colleen. She stood there and continued to look him in the eyes. The third robber came running from the back, slid in the milk that covered the tan tiles on the floor, and fell hard on his back. The second guy, he ran over and helped him up from the floor. Slapped his face once or twice to get him awake enough to move on his own, and started for the front exit.
"Eddie, get the fuck outta here!" He yelled as the two moved out and into the darkness.
Eddie, the guy at the register, smiled a little at Colleen and said quietly in Spanish, only for her ears, "I couldn't stand to work the crops and trees anymore, like my Pops does." He shrugged and ran out after his friends.
Colleen quickly counted to twenty and called the cops. The busboys, cooks and dishwashers where all sitting on the floor of the fry line - most of them were praying in Spanish. She knew enough about that to cross herself and add her own prayer to Santa Maria in thanks they were alive. Then she ran to the back where the restaurant manager was sitting in his office chair, a bullet hole in his right thigh and a puddle of urine on the carpet around his chair.
The cops came, took statements. The paramedics came, took away the manager and Stacy Something-or-other who had begun wailing the minute the robbers left. Business stopped for one of the first times at the 'Always Open' establishment as everyone was examined and asked again and again about the details of the whole encounter.
And Colleen Garcia, once the cops got there, walked to the restroom and puked up her free-for-employees meal. She then went to her locker and her purse, searching for the pack of cigarettes she kept there. If anyone gave her shit about smoking in the back room tonight, she might just lose it completely on them.
The lockers had some holes in them too - just like the manager. Apparently the third guy was shooting the back up mostly for show before leaving. Colleen's locker was shot right through the lock, the door hanging open and swinging. She pulled out her purse, lit a cigarette, and noticed a hole shot right through the bag. Right through the picture of her great-grandmother and her when she was a baby. Right through her face.
When the cops asked if she would be able to identify any of the robbers, she said no, it had simply happened too fast.
copyright 2007 sally k lehman