2
An middle aged man was jogging across the Kennedy Memorial Park bridge in Sayreville. The big marathon was approaching, and he had been training for five months for it.
He never saw it coming. As he reached a bend, a tall, muscular figure emerged from the tree. Before the man had time to react, he was clotheslined to the ground. He fell backwards, his head hitting the concrete hard enough to split open. In blind pain, he tried to look up at his attacker, but was met with three hard blows to the face, the second one knocking him unconscious.
Acting quickly, he went rifled through the jogger's pockets and found his wallet. He took the money and ran off to an '87 Buick Grand National, in which his friend and cohort was waiting at the wheel.
"How much did you get?" asked Jonny as they pulled off.
Rome, the attacker, counted the money.
"Two hundred," he said in his deep voice similar to the low rumblings of a lion.
"Nice," said Jonny, "More than enough to get some gas and grub until the next hit up."
Jonny and Rome had been best friends for five years. They two met each other working the graveyard shift as security guards for a federal building. After breaking into a safe and stealing over fifty thousand dollars from it, the two decided that taking things that didn't belong to them was a great career path.
Standing six foot three with flowing black locks, Rome was built like a defensive tackle, which he had been when he played semi-pro. He never really said much and was always as cool as an ice cube in tense situations. He was usually the one who performed the job of roughing up the victims.
Jonny was a scruffy, wiry man in his early 30s with dirty blond hair and had the aura of him that exuded instability. He never worried or planned things, he just did it and couldn't care less whether he died doing it. In fact, the more dangerous the situation, the more fun it was for Jonny.
"Seriously, Jonny," said Rome as Jonny jammed out to Suicidal Tendencies, "we got to hit up something worth jacking, man."
"It's always money with you, man," said Jonny, "It's not always about the money, Rome, it's the act itself; Pointing your gun at some mother fucker's face and threatening to shoot his face off unless he hands over the money, man that gets me semi-erect! The thrill of it all that matters. The fucking thrill!"
"Yeah?" said Rome, raising his eyebrows, "thrills ain't going pay my bills or feed my daughter. We haven't had a decent score since we stuck those rich kids in Marlboro two months ago. I'm tired of this nickel and dime shit, man."
"Alright, man, relax," said Jonny, as they entered Main Street, "We'll get some serious dinero my friend, just sit tight."
"I hope you're right," said Rome, "I'm sick of Spam sandwiches every night. My farts are starting to smell like that shit."
"Oh, it's not that bad," said Jonny, "There's so many recipes you can make with Spam. Gotta improvise, brotha."
It was easy for Jonny. He didn't have a family or responsibilities that came with it, and frequently moved around from house to house more than a military brat. Financial priorities weren't a burden as it was to Rome. He didn't plan ahead for the future, as it wasn't bright.
"What're stopping here for?" asked Rome as Jonny pulled into the parking lot of a 7-11
"I'm in the mood for a Big Gulp," said Jonny, "All this mugging has got me parched."
The two men got out of the Buick, and entered the 7-11, where the cashier, a meek Indian man in his early 20s, eyed them warily.
Jonny walked to the back. On the way, he grabbed the reuseable shopping bags that elderly women took to the supermarket with them.
"Let's see," he muttered after he filled a large Big Gulp Cup with ice. "Orange Fanta, Sprite, Coke, Mountain Dew, Mello Yello...I'll have a little of them all."
One by one, he pressed the buttons and filled his cup up with each of the sodas. He then offered to give Rome a sip.
"No thanks," said Rome as he picked up a bag of Doritos, "you can drink that diabetic death trap by yourself."
Jonny went up and down the aisles indiscreetly, filling the bags with food as he went. When it was time to ring up, he took two dollars out of his pocket and threw it on the counter and proceeded to walk out.
"Hey!" said the clerk, "you pay for the other things too, buddy!"
Jonny turned slowly on the spot and gave the cashier a withering look.
"Or what?" he said, in a voice that promised violence
"Or I'll call the cops, that's what." said the cashier firmly
"You ain't gonna do shit, Apu!" snarled Jonny as he pulled out a black .357 Magnum and aimed it at the cashier, "except hand over all the money in that cash register and five cartons of Newport Reds. Hurry the fuck up!"
The cashier, quivering like a cold dog, quickly opened the cash register and handed the money over to Jonny, before giving him three cigarette cartons.
"Smart choice," said Rome, taking the cigarettes from Jonny, "now you forget about all of this and tend to your business if you know what's best for you."
As the two men hit the main road again, Jonny counted the money he'd just taken.
"Two-hundred and fifty," said Jonny "and, you've got some food to feed your daughter. You can thank me later, homes."
Rome laughed in spite of himself.
"So, what do you want to do now?" he asked
"I thought of something as I left 7-11," said Jonny as they stopped at a red light.
"You actually had a thought?" said Rome
"Yep," said Jonny, grinning maniacally, "you know a place that would have a lot of easy money and nobody thinks to rob it?"
"I don't know," said Rome, "what?"
"A strip club," said Jonny, "I'm telling you, man, that's a fucking gold mine. Everybody goes there with the intention of blowing their money. And you know what's even more better? It's Saturday, man. I can't think of a better score than that."
"And you think you're going to have a successful score with that bullshit ass revolver?" asked Rome.
"Listen, you pessimistic bastard," said Jonny, "you should know better than to underestimate me, I make the impossible possible, jack. Now watch this be a successful score, and I'll do it with just this bullshit revolver. Are you in or not?"
"Like I have a choice," said Rome, "it's all or nothing, bro."
Rome and Jonny fist bumped.
"Before we rob everyone out of their clothes," said Jonny, "we've got to check out the titties, man."