Читать книгу Hands Through Stone - James A. Ardaiz - Страница 14

4

A Gun Definitely Gets Your Attention

Four Years Earlier

December 8, 1976

Sacramento, California

The clerk looked up as the customer walked into the store. The clerk hadn’t seen him before. The customer wasn’t a local boy and not that old, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but he looked different, like he had seen a lot more than your usual sixteen year old. It was his eyes, tired, like a man who had seen life from the bottom side. He was dark, probably Hispanic, thought the clerk. The boy looked nervous; his eyes darted around the store as if he was looking to see if anyone was there. The clerk could feel himself getting edgy, and it wasn’t long before the clerk knew why the kid made him nervous. It was when the kid pulled out the gun. The pointed gun instantly got this clerk’s attention, and it also caused him to hit the silent alarm.

There is something about a .45 caliber automatic that you have to be aware of, especially when you pull it out: The old Army issue .45 is a touchy weapon. You carry it half-cocked; that is, if you are planning on using it. Most people who aren’t familiar with guns tend to put their finger on the trigger when they pull a gun. This usually isn’t a problem because most guns won’t go off with just a little pressure on the trigger. I wouldn’t recommend that you try that because I said “most guns.” But there is one gun which you never want to put your finger on the trigger of unless you are ready to fire, and that weapon just happens to be a .45 automatic. Many people have learned this the hard way, and the kid in the Sacramento convenience store became one of them. He pulled the gun, and before he could say it was a stickup, the gun went off. Oddly, it was the second time he had made the same mistake. The first time he shot himself in the leg. Robbery was definitely not his strong suit.

The next thing Raul Lopez knew, he was surrounded by police officers, and he quickly came to a new revelation: He was alone. The man who brought him to the store, his getaway driver, had left him. As he was handcuffed, it seemed that everyone around him was talking at once. The cuffs hurt like hell—but they did not cause Raul as much discomfort as the thought of telling his mother what had happened.

The clerk watched from behind the counter as the police pulled the kid up from the floor. His heart still hadn’t slowed down. The smell of burnt gunpowder was now added to the smell of stale coffee and the jumble of odors that made up a convenience store.