Once again, the italicised sentences/fragments are from "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" by Cage the Elephant.

"You had to move into the shade
Before you fire the gun
We got a hunger for destruction
Need someone to bleed."
- James Brown – Cage the Elephant

The Robber

I was walking home after class, pondering my assignment. I had never been one for cliché's and it was one of the few times in my life when I actually cared. I wanted to do well.

My mind was swirling with ideas. I got home and threw my books on my table before turning around and leaving again. I couldn't sit still just yet. I was walking around my block for hours on end, thinking of different corrupt people. That's when I saw the shadow of a man creep out of sight, into an alleyway I was about to walk past.

Carefully keeping my eyes ahead and walking quickly, I passed the opening to labyrinth. Then he swept up from behind me and put a gun up to my head. He made it clear he wasn't looking for a fight when he said, "Gimme all you got, I want your money, not your life, but if you try to make a move, I won't think twice."

My chest was heaving and my eyes were darting around to see if anyone cared. Of course no one gave a shit. We were in the slums of Seattle. It was survival of the fittest out here. Right now, I was looking pretty weak.

So, I took a deep breath and let my mind stop racing for a second. That's when it dawned on me. This man had a story behind his gun and hard attitude. This man would be perfect for my assignment.

"You can have my cash, but you know I have to ask what made you want live this kind of life?" I murmured, barely breathing, praying to nothing in particular that my head wouldn't get blown off.

The cool metal was removed from my skull, and I let myself breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

"Why the hell do you care?" the man asked. I put my hands down and turned towards him.

"Honestly?" He nodded, shoving the gun down his pants. "I'm a psych student."

He barked out a laugh. "That's a new one."

"It's the truth," I promised him. "How about we go to the diner down the street? I'll buy you something to you eat and then give you some money."

He looked at me warily; he clearly didn't like my idea. "What's in it for you?"

I shrugged. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

The man still looked unsure. He must not have been able to trust many people in his life. He must have learnt the valuable lesson a long time ago.

People try to deny it, but they really don't trust anyone. We were fashioned to be suspicious of everyone, even our closest friends. When something goes missing, you never blame your own forgetful ass, it's always someone else's fault.

Maybe this man had been on the receiving end of this international issue. Maybe one of his "buddies" dropped his name to the cops for a crime he didn't commit.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Edward Masen." I held out my hand.

He took it. "Emmett McCarty."

We shook hands and began the short walk to the diner. We moved in silence, neither of us trusting each other for different reasons. Obviously I was scared that I was going to have a gun pulled on me and he was nervous that I would report him. Both legitimate reasons to not trust each other.

When we got to the diner, Emmett opened the door, letting me in first, a quality you wouldn't usually find in a man of Emmett's social class. My brow furrowed as I thought of all the possibilities while I sat in the nearest booth.

A waitress took our orders and we were left alone. I pulled out my moleskin and a pen, flipping to a new page. Emmett fidgeted in his seat, his burly figure looking cramped in the small space.

Emmett looked like a prisoner. He was tall, muscular, and intimidating. He had black, curly hair and steel-gray eyes that looked like boulders holding back information. He was handsome, I suppose. He had ever-present dimples that made him slightly less overbearing, seeing as even if he was frowning, it looked like he was grinning. His skin was tan where I could see it. He was wearing an old, brown leather jacket with a black t-shirt underneath and a pair of worn jeans with some steel-toed boots, if I wasn't mistaken. He looked like a hard-working guy that had a greater purpose than people would think.

"How old are you, Emmett?" I asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Twenty-seven," he replied in a gravelly voice.

"I'm twenty-three." I wanted this to feel like a conversation, not an interrogation.

Emmett nodded, crossing his arms, clearly not interested in what I had to say.

This was harder than I expected. I was brimming with questions and yet I had nothing to say. I felt like I was walking on eggshells.

But I cleared my throat and carried on. "Why did you try to rob me?"

"Easy target," Emmett muttered.

"Why was I the easy target?"

"You looked distracted." He paused, a small smile forming on his lips. "And you're kind of scrawny."

The shot at me made me smile as well. There was a human being beneath all this muscle.

"Would you mind telling me why you need the extra money?"

"What makes you think I don't do this all the time? That I don't have a bunch of cash saved up from robberies?" he snapped, getting defensive.

"By the looks of your attire and tanned skin, you do some outdoor work," I pointed out quietly. "Eventually I want to be paid for being observant."

Emmett leaned back. "I work in construction."

I nodded. "You don't make much?"

He shook his head reluctantly. "Too many workers."

"And that's why you attempted to rob me." It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded. "You know, I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed, there ain't nothing in this world for free." Emmett shifted and stopped talking as the waitress filled our coffee cups. "I can't slow down, I can't hold back, though, you know I wish I could."

"You didn't seem like a regular thief," I admitted.

"You're my first attempt," he breathed, looking at nothing in particular. Then he grinned. "I guess I failed."

"I'm going to give you money, though," I pointed out.

"Yeah." He seemed lost in his thoughts. I almost didn't want to interrupt him. I let him think until our food was brought out. Emmett was like a vacuum. He must have been ravenous all day with nothing to devour but his own worries.

Emmett finally broke down the walls after he finished eating.

"I think this is the first real meal I've had in a month," he admitted lowly. "I work hard every day, six days a week, from seven a.m. to six p.m., and I still don't make enough to provide for my family." He shook his head, clearly disappointed in himself. "I live in a poor excuse for a house a couple of blocks away from here with my wife, three kids, and my ma. Ma's got schizophrenia and we give three-quarters of our paycheques to her medication. My wife, Courtney, is a nurse at Seattle Grace, but she only works part-time 'cause of the kids. Janel's only a year old." Emmett looked at the table, but I could still see the tears in his eyes. "I don't know what I've done to deserve so many good things right in the middle of this hell hole."

"Have you always lived in Rainier?" I prompted.

"No," Emmett spat bitterly. "I grew up in Brooklyn, which is way worse. We moved here after Luke was born, six years ago. I don't know why now. Life could have been better there. We both had steady jobs and plenty of friends."

"Were all your friends good for a family though?" I asked. Many times people from rough backgrounds stayed loyal to their friends, no matter how corrupt they were.

He shrugged. "Some were alright, I guess." His face got dark. "Not all of them though."

My hands wrapped around my coffee mug, warming them while I waited for Emmett to continue.

"I went to jail because of my 'best friend' in senior year," Emmett murmured finally. "He had stolen a car and burnt it one weekend. I got framed by him somehow. I don't even remember what exactly happened because I was so upset. I was in jail for three months though." He sighed. "It really opened my eyes."

"I bet," I breathed before finishing my cup of coffee. "Did anything...happen to you?"

"No, God no," Emmett replied instantly. "Look at me, Edward. I'm too big to be a bitch."

We both chuckled at that.

"I'm glad to hear that," I told him while standing up. "Now, how much cash do you need?"

Emmett shuffled his feet around. He didn't want my money now. He was not made for this kind of life. I pulled out my wallet. I had two-hundred dollars in there, after paying for our meals. I held it out.

"This isn't much, but I can always give you more if you need it," I murmured. "Just stop by my apartment." I quickly jotted my address down on my napkin.

"Edward, I don't–"

"Take it," I insisted, curling his fingers around the wad of cash.

Emmett smiled weakly. "Thank you very much. I've never been so grateful in my life."

"Don't worry about it."

We went our separate ways. Emmett Jonathan McCarty was shot three days later in the very back alley that we met in. The shot went through the back of his skull, penetrating his brain, instantly killing him. No pain, no suffering, just a clean shot to the head. His face was even left unharmed for the funeral. The police report said that he was walking home from work and stopped to pick up a penny off the ground, probably for some luck. The person that shot him must have somehow lured him into the alley before sneaking up behind him and pushing the cool metal against his head.

I know the feeling; it isn't a very good one.