Toni gave the wrench one last turn and headed around to the driver's seat of the Honda. The engine turned over promptly and without fuss. "That should do it, ma'am," she told the Honda's soccer mom, closing the hood.
"Thank you so much," the woman said, following Toni to the register.
"De nada," Toni answered. Tap-tap on the computer, swipe the credit card, and
two tall, handsome white men in suits walked in
the shop was empty.
"Agents Page and Plant, FBI," said the shorter man, showing a badge.
"Antonia Lopez," Toni answered. "What can I do for you?"
Free time to play with the Thunderbird.
"Fine, flirt to your heart's content, it's not like we're on the clock..."
Page flipped Plant off, eyes never leaving the Thunderbird.
The breeze rustled in the tree branches outside the shop as Toni detached the old fuel line and secured the new one in its place. A car rumbled past outside.
Footsteps. Toni rolled out from under the car and stood up, turning, and that was one of the local homeless with a gun pointed at
Page, standing between her and the gun with his hands spread and empty
her. "Gimme all your money," he ordered, the gun shaking in his hands.
"Whoa whoa whoa, buddy, just relax," Page said soothingly.
"I am relaxed!"
Toni hurried over to the register, eyes on the gunman, breathing in-two-three-out-two-three and noting hair color and skin tone and his clothing, anything to stay calm, anything that would get him caught later.
The gun went off. Page went down, his shirt turning red. Another gunshot, and a thud as the robber fell and a clatter as Plant dropped his gun and rushed to Page's side.
With the threat gone, Toni took a deep breath and dialed 911. "I just got robbed at gunpoint," she told the dispatcher, hearing her voice shake. "I could have been shot."