CHAPTER THIRTEEN - The Robbery

This is Chapter 13. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Trevor took a puff on the marijuana and handed it to Senta. “We’ll wait five more minutes, then we go.” Senta took the roach with a shaking hand. She was not in good shape. Trevor shifted his eyes over to her. “Don’t worry baby, I’m going to get you well.”

They were sitting in his Lincoln across from The Lucky Seven convenience store. Paul’s typewriter lay on the back seat. 

When Senta spoke, her voice wavered. “I didn’t think you were coming. I need some stuff now!”

“Calm down,” he said. “We’ll finish our business here, then we’ll go see Pink.” Pink. She thought of him as The Big Happy Pink. Pink always had something good for Senta.

The plan was simple. She would enter The Lucky Seven in a revealing dress. After she had the clerk’s attention, Trevor would come in waving his gun. All they needed was two hundred dollars. That would be enough to get her through the night. After they robbed The Lucky Seven, they’d go see Pink.  Trevor had promised.

Trevor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Just a little longer babe. Hold on.”

Senta’s mind was a whirling storm. When Trevor didn’t show up, she went down to Paul’s apartment. Her idea was to get all the money she could. She planned on taking the typewriter to an all night pawnshop. Trevor finally showed and assured Senta that The Lucky Seven would have enough in the register to “get her well”…at least for another week.

Trevor peered at the lit up convenience store. Habib, the night clerk was alone at the counter, speaking to someone on the phone. “If that camel jockey would put the phone down, we could go in.”  Trevor said impatiently. “There aren’t any customers in there.”

“Well why don’t we?” She was fighting to keep the whine out of her voice.

“Because if I go in there and wave a gun in his face, he’ll alert his friend on the phone.” Senta bent over and grabbed her ankles. Her blood was speeding through her veins, screaming for a fix.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she murmured desperately. Trevor checked his rearview mirror. The street was pretty empty.

“Okay babe, listen up. Go in there and do your thing. Maybe he’ll get off the phone and talk to you. Ask for directions to Disneyland or something. I’ll follow you in. As soon as he hangs up, we’ll do it.”

Senta didn’t wait a second. She jerked the door open and hustled across the street. Trevor admired her outfit, noting she had the perfect touch. He told her to dress like she did in Las Vegas when she was making money as a prostitute.

Habib was talking to his brother when the scantily clad woman walked in. She was wearing sunglasses, but even though it was night, it was not an odd sight in southern California.

She looked around the store and picked up a jar of pickles. Habib noticed that her hand was shaking. It looked like she was wearing a blond wig and she looked vaguely familiar to him. For some reason, he thought of his friend, Paul. Had he seen Paul with her? No. Probably not. Paul didn’t date girls who looked like this. Paul didn’t date at all as far as he knew. This was a wild one and she was walking down the aisle towards him.

“Abuel, I will call you back. I have a customer.” He hung up. “Yes ma’am, can I help you?” As she leaned across the counter, Habib could not control where his eyes went. She was giving him a free show.

“Yes, I was wondering. Am I near The Aces Club?”

“I believe so, ma’am.” He reached under the counter to get a local map. His hand brushed the .38 as he found the map. He pulled the map out from under the counter. “I’ll show you how to get there.” Habib noticed the tall, black man enter. The man didn’t look towards the counter, but walked down the back aisle where the freezer was.

Trevor used the reflection of the glass door in the cold drink section to watch the clerk. The clerk’s attention was totally on Senta and the map. Trevor pulled the 357 magnum from his jacket and turned towards the counter.

“So I take Olympic Boulevard?” she asked.

“No ma’am, the best way to get there is to take Santa Monica to Fairfax.” Habib’s finger traced the faster route on the map. Trevor was halfway down the aisle, with the gun to his side.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went down Wilshire?” Habib couldn’t understand why this lost lady was arguing with him about the directions. He looked up to see the man approaching the counter. Just as Trevor was about to raise his gun, a police car pulled up to the store.

The flight from Dallas touched down at LAX just after 11 p.m. Cory had fallen asleep twenty minutes before landing, only to be politely told by the attendant to buckle her seat belt and put her seat in an upright position. With sleepy eyes, she looked out at the terminal. Home again, home again, jiggity jig, she thought.

“Ms. Stilling, it was a pleasure.” Mr. Holland, the electronics salesman had sat by her and was ecstatic that he got to sit by a “movie star” as he called her. After his enthusiasm had worn down, Cory found out about his wife, Rowena, his kids, Matt and Tilly and their red brick home in Dana Point. Most people would have been bored by Mr. Holland’s recitations, but not Cory. She found so many people interesting. She admired his steady, settled life. It sounded like something right up her alley. She asked Holland questions about the life of a salesman. She was amazed at his knowledge on a number of subjects.

“Part of the tools of my trade is being able to discuss books, movies, TV shows, and the latest rock group,” laughed Holland. “Knowing the best places to eat is a must.”

Flying over El Paso, she autographed an in-flight magazine for Holland and posed while the attendant took her picture with him. Leaving New Mexico air space, Holland finally realized he had dominated her time and apologized.

“Don’t worry about it Hal. I really think you and Rowena need to add that extra room. A swimming pool will cost you more in the long run.”

“You really sound like you’re interested Ms. Stilling. Sometimes people get that glassy look in their eyes when I go on.”

“I’m fascinated how people operate and relate to others.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I must sound like a psychiatrist.”

“I’d pay your hourly rate,” he laughed.

They talked a bit more. She was getting drowsy, but she couldn’t sleep. Eventually, even Holland drifted off.  Cory’s mind wandered to the Rico shoot in Dallas and to Ron.

When they wrapped the Rico’s spot, Cory’s assistant reserved an early flight. Then Ron came to see her when she was having her make up removed. “Good job, movie star.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Listen, a few of us are going to meet at a great pizza spot on Mockingbird. How would you like to join us?” As she hesitated, he added, “It’s sort of a cast party.”

“But I was the cast.”

“Okay then, it’s a party for you.” 

Cory nodded. “How can I resist when the director personally invites me to a party in my honor?”

The Texana Pizzeria was noisy and crowded. Ron’s party included the copywriter of the Rico spot, the producer, the cinematographer, the client, the account executive, Marcia, her assistant and of course, Cory. They found a table near the back and ordered five large pizzas. The client ordered beer for everyone. Cory had a pitcher of soda and shared it with Marcia and Ron. She liked the idea that he wasn’t drinking the beer.

The pizza took longer than expected, so the copywriter of the Rico’s spot got up on a staging area and played the piano. People began to get up and dance. Ron and Cory were left at the table. He scooted his stool closer to her so they could hear each other over the rowdy din.

“Glenn-Rezell liked my demo reel,” said Ron. “They have a series of spots they’d like for me to direct for the Southern California Tourist Commission.”

“They’re a pretty big ad agency, aren’t they?”

“Oh yeah. Their clients throw a lot of money in these TV spots. If I do that series, I’ll be spending a lot of time in your neck of the woods.”

“We’ll just have to get together,” she said.

As he leaned in, she smelled a hint of magnolia. Even in the heat, he seemed fresh, while Cory was ready for a cool bath. He was saying something to her. She cupped a hand over her ear. “What’s that?”  she asked.

“I said, I would like that.”

After the pizza, Ron drove her to DFW. She talked about her preacher father and family in Minnesota. He told her about how he wanted to be an engineer, but flunked out of college.

“I spent time in the Air Force Reserve, and through a friend, I got a job as a gaffer for a TV production company.”

“And you became a great director within a month,” she said. 

Ron shook his head. “Not that easy. It was five years before I got my chance. I was a cinematographer for a couple of years and got my break on a local car dealership spot. The client liked my work and I’ve never looked back.”

By the time Cory met Mr. Holland on the flight back, she was tired, but happy. She liked the idea of seeing Ron in L.A.

The police car drove up to The Lucky Seven so quickly, Trevor could only think that the clerk must have suspected something and tripped a silent alarm. What Trevor didn’t know was, one of the cops had a killer headache and was anxious to get some aspirin.

Habib didn’t see the police car drive up, but he did see Trevor raise his gun. He frantically felt for the .38 under the counter.

Senta saw Habib’s eyes go wide and knew that Trevor had pulled his gun. She dropped to her knees to get out of the line of fire.

In a panic, Trevor shot at the cop who was getting out from the passenger’s side. That’s when the fireworks began.

Senta huddled against the counter, holding her ears. All she wanted was to get the money and go see Pink. Pink had the stuff. Pink was who she needed to see.

Habib found his pistol and pulled it from behind the counter. Without aiming, he fired at Trevor, but all he hit was a hanging beer sign. He fired again and some mayonnaise jars exploded to Trevor’s left.

Trevor got off three shots at the police, before he realized the clerk was shooting at him. As he turned his gun at the clerk, he felt an invisible baseball bat pound him in the chest. His feet gave way and he fell backwards into a potato chip display. The cops were using the car doors as cover. Their guns were smoking. Trevor thought he heard Senta screaming his name before he fell into darkness and silence.