24 Hr.

[The Lifted Lorax]

So this story is finished, so I'll guess I'll just post it in its entirety. It was inspired by a daydream I had about a job I had about six months ago which I absolutely loathed. I'm not sure if it's a short story or what I should call it, but enjoy. Though, I do warn you: if I find this story in any way shape or form on the internet or in a print without crediting me, I will hunt you down and feed your spinal fluid to my goldfish...and I don't even have a goldfish. I'll buy one just for the occasion. /plagiarism paranoia rant

Pt. I

I stood there shoveling money--fistfuls of cash and quarters--into the bag, staring at the gun on the counter, and finding it difficult to compel myself to care. I wouldn't die if I gave him the money, and I gave it almost gladly. I was done with this place. I almost hoped he'd give me time to escape before hurling a Molotov cocktail through a window. As I finished loading the backpack, slowly I reached for my order sheet and a pencil, keeping my hands above the counter where he could see them and scrawling quickly:

There's more in the back. I work for $2.13/hr and depend mostly on tips to pay bills. They screw with my money. Can I keep tonight's tip?

He considered me for a moment, his eyes flicking across my face from underneath his hood.

"What's my total, ma'am?" he asked in a soft voice. It wasn't deep, his voice, but it wasn't exactly musical, either. Sonorous, though; nothing even remotely close to say Batman a la Christian Bale. I thought carefully for a moment. Too much and his apparent good humor would be broken; too little and I make even less tonight than I normally do.

"That'll be $15.50, sir," I replied in the falsely cheerful voice that I always saved just for work. That was an average tip for a good Saturday night like this. He looked at me another moment before dropping two twenty dollar bills onto the counter.

"Keep the change," he murmured before taking the empty pizza boxes and backpack heavy with money. He'd apologized for setting it there when he'd come in, saying it was heavy before ordering the Hawaiian that we don't sell.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" I asked through my painfully fake smile, motioning with my eyes to the door to the manager's office.

"No, thank you," he said quietly, sliding the gun into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. "Have a nice night," he called over his shoulder as he walked out into the night, leaving my false smile shining on the next brainwashed customer, "Lady Writer" playing softly as I scrambled in my pockets for change for a ten.


I pulled my jacket tighter around myself as I stepped out into the night. Figures, they'd pick the only one without a car to hang out until the swing manager got there. My folks were long asleep and Hell if I knew a bus schedule. I didn't even know if this town had buses. Even if they did, I was almost certain they didn't run at two in the morning, and I had a five mile walk. The day just kept getting better and better. I'd only made it about half a mile before my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten. Sighing, I turned toward a well-lit gas station, hoping to find one of those microwave burritos or a doughnut or something. Sure there were better-tasting, healthier things to spend my forty dollar robbery tip on, but again I ask you what exactly is open at two in the morning?

I'd always disliked the smell of gas stations. The faint smell of ammonia mixed with Pepsi slurpees just never really smelled right to me; they made the convenience store smell weird, as if it were expecting something drastic to happen any moment, even in broad daylight. It wasn't broad daylight, though, except inside the store with its large front windows giving the impression of being stuck in a fishbowl with snacks and magazines. It was always this time of night that I expected said fishbowl to be suddenly raided by a gun-toting shark trying to feed his coke addiction.

Careful little goldfish me kept an eye out for potential crazed bullsharks as I meandered up and down the short aisles looking for some semblance of a dinner-breakfast. There were none, though. In fact, there was nobody else in the store apart from the attendant and a couple of potheads wiping out the fishbowl's supply of cheetos. Damn guppies. I watched as they counted their money out in their hands, dejectedly putting back one of their four bags of cheesy goodness and opting instead for a king sized Snickers to split between them. Taking their fish food up to the counter and paying for it, they quickly raced out to go nom. The attendant shook his head and rolled his eyes. He couldn't have been much older than me and, from his look of extreme apathy, cared about as much for his job as I did for mine. I grabbed the remaining bag of cheetos and a box of mini doughnuts and headed over to the refrigerators to grab a bottle of Mountain Dew. Breakfast of champions. The bell dinged as someone else entered, but I paid no attention; I was focused on paying for my health food and getting home. As I turned to leave the fishbowl I heard a soft voice up at the counter.

"I'd like a carton of Winstons, please." It wasn't a bullshark...but it was definitely a barracuda. Smaller, quieter, but just as deadly.

"I'm sorry sir, we don't--" Something dropped onto the counter. "I see." I wanted to turn around, but didn't have to. I'd heard the voice; I didn't have to see the brown hoodie with the kangaroo pocket or the big black backpack. I knew.

Pt. II

"What the Hell's your problem?" I demanded. I'd waited for him outside the fishbowl-gas station. A familiar gun was pointed at me faster than I could blink as he spun around, then lowered with no finger on the trigger when he recognized me.

"Whadya mean, Pizza Girl?" he asked in the same quiet tone he used to get cash. The gun was back in its kangaroo pouch and he was already walking away.

"I mean what's your problem? Isn't one business enough to fuel any sort of meth addiction or something?" I jogged to catch up.

He chuckled softly. "Quite an imagination you got there, Kid."

"Then what's your problem?"

"I gave you forty bucks. Sounds to me like you're the one with the problem."

"Sure. I just wanna know why you think it's okay to rob not one but two stores in the same night where the employees make jack."

”Other people need it more." He didn't look at me as he spoke, taking turns as if by muscle memory.

"Like you?"

"No."

"Like your dealer?"

"No."

"Then who?"

He said nothing, but turned down an alleyway I'd never noticed before. At the end was a woman who may have been beautiful once, but filth hid her skin and premature worry lines marred her features. He held out a wad of stolen cash, had to be at least $300, and wordlessly she took it and scuttled off. She hadn't asked where it had come from; she didn't care.

"Probably some crack addict," I mumbled, watching the rags shamble off.

"She has three kids and no insurance." He hadn't exactly snapped, but his voice carried the tone of having been offended. I shrank a little away from the quiet indignation. "Go home, Kid. Come back when you learn something about reality." I stood, dumbstruck. He pulled the gun again and I heard the hammer click. "Go on. Get outta here." I spun and ran, but oddly enough only because I knew that was what I was supposed to do. I knew I should have feared him, but I didn't. Something told me that his intentions were purer than my overly suspicious instincts had told me.

And it wasn't the last time we would run into each other.


Not quite swing shift; I'd been mercifully let go at ten to midnight. The only place open at ten past midnight to get that creamer for mom's coffee and a box of cereal for myself to prevent seven o'clock runs was the 24-hour Wal-Mart. I saw brown-sleeved hands dart out and snatch a jar of jam from the shelf.

"I thought your thing was convenience stores and 24-hour pizza places?" As in the gas station parking lot, he whirled around but resisted pulling the gun.

"What's it to you?" The question wasn't sharp, just bred out of not knowing what else to say. I shrugged in response.

"Doesn't fit."

He walked around the end cap to the bread aisle. "Sure it does." I frowned. "Think." As I did as I was told, a loaf of bread, jar of peanut butter, can of green beans, and small tin of pineapple tidbits made their way into the black backpack. "Real hard, Kid." Then I got it.

"Why 24-hour places?"

"Because," he said simply, moving to the deli, "People are hungry 24/7. People are cold 24/7. People have debts 24/7. Misery never stops and neither does Corporate America...and they don't expect people like me to take advantage of this coincidence? They are called convenience stores, after all."

"There's a system," I replied slowly. "Social workers, welfare..."

He shook his head as he slipped a package of pre-sliced turkey into the bag. I was quietly astonished at how much it could hold when packed right. "All well and good, but people slip through the cracks."

"So...what? You're Robin Hood?"

He touched two fingers to his hooded head. "At your service."

"Yeah right."

"No, I am. Got my bow and arrow and everything." He motioned to the pocket where I knew by now his gun was hidden.

"Didn't think social commentary legends had a sense of humor."

"Oh, quite. I mean, Little John? Really? Have you seen the guy?" And for the first time, inside the hood his eyes were turned up with a smile.

With a quick grin and large bottles of Tylenol PM and Dayquil gelcaps, he was gone. Not through the front door, dashing from what little sleepy security there was at one in the morning. No, through one of the high windows in the ladies room--with a ten-finger boost from a certain anonymous party. I'd never thought of it, really, going out some other way instead of running like Hell and hoping you didn't get caught. It was clever; and I admired cleverness.

And it was with that thought that I stopped, feet dead on a crack in the sidewalk. I never stepped on cracks; throwback from a childhood plagued by the fear of putting my mother in traction. This crack-stepping realization was that I admired this guy for what he was doing. Me, middle class law-abiding citizen...and I admired this guy who'd robbed me and gotten me in trouble with my superiors for doing just that. Shaking my head, I started homeward again, half expecting my cell to buzz with my dad informing me that Mom had indeed fallen down the stairs and broken her back.

I found the house dark, cold, and quiet with a distinct lack of Emergency Room visits. In the 3 1/2 miles between Wal-Mart and home, I'd convinced myself at least for the time being that I didn't admire or even like Robin Hood, that he was a criminal and should be behind bars. Wrong things, even if done for the right reasons, were still wrong...Right?

I would find out later that wrong or right, he was at least good to have around in a pinch.

-Click!- "Gimme your money."

"Oh, for Chrissake." I rolled my eyes. "You can put your gun down, you know. I only got twelve bucks." I pulled out said money, still in its stapled manilla envelope, and held it up. He snatched it from between my fingers, but didn't lower his weapon.

"Turn out your pockets." As I did so, nothing but time slips and a tube of washing-machine-melted watermelon chapstick fell out. "And the jacket."

"Really? I mean...really??"

"I could take it from you."

"It's my dad's."

"So?"

"My dad's dead."

"So?"

I opened my mouth to defend the lie, but was interrupted.

"Let her go." The gun was immediately lowered. "Give her her money back."

"But--"

"She pays bills on tips. Give it back." My envelope was stuffed back into my hand, crinkled but otherwise unharmed.

"Sorry," my would-be mugger mumbled. I shrugged.

"Got my money back, didn't I? Friend of yours?" I addressed the non-rhetorical question to the hoodie I hadn't seen for three or four months.

"Associate," he smiled quietly, his eyes flicking to the subject.

"Merry man?"

"Decidedly."

"Little John?"

His eyes slid to the mugger again. "More like Will Scarlet." The sly smile returned.

"This Pizza Girl?" The smile slowly widened.

"You talk about me?" I didn't know whether to be honored or creeped out.

"And you don't talk about me? I'm hurt." He poked his lip out a little bit, but
his tone had remained as soft and even as ever.

"Why don’t I get to be Little John?" Will Scarlet interrupted, folding his arms.

"Because you aren't." The brown-sleeved shoulders shrugged nonchalantly.

"Why not? Who is?"

"You could be Maid Marian if you want." The mugger was silent, pouting. "Get
the next one; no gun this time unless you have to." He turned around, facing the direction I'd been walking. "Come on, Kid. Let's get you home."

Pt. III

"You live here?" His eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Yeah..." I answered sheepishly, a little ashamed of my clean suburban cul-de-sac. It was sort of everything he stood against.

"Either you were lying about paying bills on tips, or--"

"Or I live with my parents and they make me pay rent and one third of the groceries," I interrupted. "Add that to the occasional pair of Pay Less shoes after mine wear down..."

"And it adds up," he finished for me. "I see." I nodded. He'd done me the courtesy of walking me to the door and we now stood awkwardly beneath the porch light.

"I'd invite you in," I mumbled, "but my folks might freak a little if they came downstairs to see their daughter chatting with some gun-toting stranger at 2 a.m." He shrugged and shook his head.

"Nah, wouldna come in anyways. Inside is too soft." I frowned at the descriptor.

"Soft?"

He shrugged in response, as if he didn't know what it was supposed to mean, either.

"I've never been exactly what you'd call a domestic type. Y'know, carpets and couches and everything. Someone else's box spring's good enough for me." The shame came back at my liking of these 'domestic' things, and I think it showed on my face, because he then added, "Not that there's anything wrong with it. Just never been my thing."

It made me feel a little better...but only a little. We stood there for a few minutes, not saying anything. Any sort of love interest and I'd try to kiss him, actual friend and I'd try to hug him...but I didn't know exactly where we stood, if we'd yet crossed that line between acquaintance and friend. Nor did I know how he'd react to physicality.

"Well..." I said after what seemed an eternity of debating (and I suspect he had been, too), "g'night." I stuck my hand out toward him. He stared at it for a moment before taking it. His hands were thin and chapped, a layer of dirt making them even drier. If there had been any doubt I now knew that he didn't live in comfort while claiming to help the needy; it wasn't some pan-handling tax write-off.

"Yeah. Night, Kid." He shook my hand firmly, the way he would have a man's. If not a friend, I was at least an equal.

"Doncha mean 'Pizza Girl'?" I prodded gently with a small smile. He shrugged indifferently.

"If you want..."

"No."

He smirked a little. "Alright then. See ya around, Kid." With a small wave, he stepped beyond the curtain of porchlight and into the early morning, the blue light cast by the shadow of the rising sun allowing me to see just his outline as he plodded across my lawn.

I think I dreamed something about Robin Hood that night, but I never was exactly sure. If I did, it was something fuzzy and meaningless, I think.

"Got the night off?" I gasped and spun around towards the voice near my ear, raising my hand to strike at whoever was behind me. But only him. It was the first time he'd ever found me, at least on his own. He chuckled a little at my stance and expression. "Put your hand down, Kid, we're not in class." I squinted at him and lowered my hand, turning and squaring my stance.

"Off to rob a 7/11 are we?"

"Waffle House, actually." I should have come to expect his nonchalance at felony, but I admit it still surprised me a little, even then. "So you got the night off?" he repeated.

"I quit."

"Really?" His eyebrows were raised in mild surprise. "Thought you needed the money?"

"That's why I had another job before I quit that one."

He fell in step as I began walking again.

"Twenty-four hour?"

"No."

"Oh, but you know how I love visiting you at work!"

"Rob me in the day time, then...And give me fifty this time."

"Twenty-five."

"Fourty-five."

"$35.50 or no deal."

"Fine." We looked at each other out of the corners of our eyes and grinned. I admit, it was a little sick that the supposed joking carried a very possible reality behind it...But Mom had been right all along; we're all attracted to danger. It calls to every single one of us and what matters is how we answer.

"So what is this day time job and how late is it open?"

I shrugged. "Greek place across town called Xenos. We're open til eleven."

"So does that mean I get a free gyro when I rob you?" He sounded a little excited, actually.

"No," I smiled wryly. "You get a thirty-five dollar, fifty-cent gyro." He
whistled, then smiled.

"That's a damn expensive sandwich. Slaughter the lambs yourself, do you?"

"Only the best."

"So..." he grabbed my arm and checked my watch. "Just get off work, did you?" I shook my head.

"Day off."

"Whatcha doing out so late then, with the likes of me on the street?" His lips pursed themselves into that smirk.

"Felt like walking. It's a nice night. And the likes of you aren't quite so threatening when I know you're just a big teddy bear with a gun." I bumped him with my hip.

"Hey now!" He held up his hands in defense. "Quiet with stuff like that. People hear you've gone soft and they quit handing the cash over. It is a nice night, though."

We were on the outskirts of town, where a lot of gas stations were. There were the sounds of the city, of course, but on the beautiful June night the sounds of crickets and cicadas with undertones of peepers were more prominent. Although it was warm, warm enough to compel me to wear a tank top, he still wore his faithful hoodie with the kangaroo pocket.

"Speaking of, why're you still all stuffed up in that shirt, anyway? It's too warm for that." He shied away, however, when I reached to pull his hood back.

"I guess you can say...It's better that people don't forget me," he answered quietly.

"Better they don't forget you?" I frowned. That sounded ominous. "What're you saying? That you're dangerous?"

He smiled. "Maybe. Maybe it's so people remember what I stand for...Or maybe I'm perfectly harmless and am just terrified of being forgotten."

I snorted. "I doubt that."

"Why?"

"You're not afraid of anything," I answered confidently, certain he'd agree.

"Am I not?" I turned my head toward him curiously as we stepped off the curb. Long ago he'd begun leading the way, whence I knew not. "Why do we do noteworthy things that help no one at all? Why do we surround ourselves with family and friends? Bears and sharks make it just fine without doing anything of note or surrounding themselves with others. Is it not bred of a fear of being forgotten? If we achieve nothing in our short lives, when we die who will speak our names? Did we live for nothing?"

"Didn't know you were a philosopher, too," I joked nervously after a few moments, realizing the question wasn't rehtorical.

"It scares you, doesn't it?'

I would never admit it, but yes. The way he talked about being forgotten, it made my heart jump into my lungs and my lungs sink down into my stomach. I didn't want all of this to have been in vain.

"So are you afraid of being forgotten?"

He shrugged. "Only people like me."

"Robin Hoods?"

"Poor people."

"Where are we going?" I asked after a long silence. He was saying a lot of
things tonight to which I couldn't really say anything. I wondered if something was wrong.

"Home." If he'd noticed my discomfort at not being able to answer, he hadn't said anything. "I figured I've seen where you live, you might as well see where I live."

"You don't have to do that, you know." I tagged along anyway, despite my reluctance to follow. I knew seeing his living conditions would make me feel even more guilty.

"I want to." He grabbed my arm; the first time he'd voluntarily touched me.

"But I--"

"Look, it's only 11:30, not that late. And it's my birthday. Humor me?" He looked at me and I looked back with pleading eyes before consenting. The smile was small, but bright. "Good. C'mon."

Through more alleys I didn't know about, past a couple of crackhouses where he waved to a few shufflers here and there on the street. Up a fire escape and a quick hop onto the next roof. It was a small place, but a good one to live I could imagine. At least, until winter. He hadn't been kidding about the box spring, and there was nothing but a thin blanket and a few discarded jackets to furnish it. It looked like he'd found an old tarp to spread between two chimneys and lodge between bricks to cover the mattress. Other than another pair of tatty jeans and spare bit of ammo by the mattress, there was otherwise nothing else on the roof.

"You can sit down if you want," he said quietly, motioning to the bed. I did sit, near what I thought to be the head, and watched him. "Excuse me," he said before turning around and sliding his belt out of his belt loops and dropping his trousers. I arched my eyebrows in surprise as he stepped out of them and into the other pair. "Had to change into my formal attire," he joked grimly, redoing the belt. I gave him a courtesy smile as he sat on the bed.

"So...happy birthday," I offered uncertainly. The smirk returned.

"Thanks."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two. A lot longer than I expected." He flopped backward unceremoniously, springs creaking under him. I leaned on one hand and looked at him for a few moments.

"So what now?" I asked. He shrugged.

"What do you do when you have friends over?"

"Friends?" My eyebrows arched again. The responding shoulder raise was as nonchalant as he could make it.

"If you wanna be, I guess."

“I think I’d like that,” I smile quietly. “But…we’ll have to stop trying to shoot or hit each other every time we meet. I have a feeling friends don’t do that.”

“Deal.” He held up his hand and I shook it before he tightened his grip and pulled me down onto the box spring. “Relax, stay a while. I’ll get you home before three, promise.” I couldn’t help but smile a little as I rolled onto my side and got more comfortable. A long silence fell where neither of us said or did anything, only stared either at each other or at the tarp above us. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though, just a comfortable one. “So…” he said finally after maybe half an hour of this comfortable quiet, “high school? College?”

“Neither,” I answered. “Graduated last year, but school just isn’t my thing. Trying to figure out what I’m going to do and in the meantime dealing with stupid people day in and day out. What about you? Ever go to school?”

“Dropped out.” I nodded. That didn’t surprise me. “Didn’t want to, but bills had to be paid and I couldn’t work and go to school at the same time.”

“You had a job?”

“I still do.”

“…Oh.” I bit my lip a little. It hadn’t occurred to me that he considered robbing Corporate America a job. He didn’t seem to mind, but I felt bad all the same.

“I did have a job with a society approval stamp once, though,” he added. “Working in a locally owned general store. He had no choice but to fire me, though, when he found out my real age. Fifteen’s against state labor laws.”

“Is that when you started what you do now?”

He shook his head. “Kept trying to get legit jobs. Mom was sick, so she couldn’t work very much. She did some at home stuff, don’t remember what it was, but she didn’t get out a whole lot. She was just trying her hardest to keep us off the streets. Welfare helped us out a little bit, we got food stamps, but she made too much for us to be able to get much more than that. We had to come up with money for rent and other necessities ourselves. Couldn’t afford insurance, either, so there went hospital bills.”

It felt strange, knowing this mysterious man had a mother. I suppose he couldn’t have come from nowhere, but just thinking of him with her and other family was weird. Robin Hood fell silent, seeming to debate with himself on how to continue, if he should continue.

“What about your dad?” I asked finally. He shrugged.

“Out in Pasadena last I heard.” His voice carried a tone of indifference, and I could have sworn there was a hint of bitterness laying underneath the measured control. “Ran out when I was two, we never really depended on him for anything. From the sounds of it he was just an extra mouth to feed, anyway.” So he’d been screwed from the very beginning. The bitterness in his voice had grown slightly, and it seemed that it took a lot for any emotion to show through that Robin Hood didn’t want showing. I had other friends with Daddy issues and knew better by now than to pursue the topic.

“You said hospital bills,” I said slowly after trying to think of another topic. “Is she okay?” He sighed.

“Died when I was sixteen. The bills got to be too much and we just couldn’t afford it anymore…” He shook his head and blinked hard. Had that been a tear in his eye? “Cancer’s a bitch, you know? Anyway, that’s when I got out on the street.”

“And started robbing people?” I’d expected him to say yes, but he surprised me.

“Begging, actually. Or homeless shelters, those were always good places to be. But I thought at the time that stealing was beneath me.” I raised my eyebrows.

“What changed?” He shrugged.

“Got hungry. Another street kid took me in about six months after Mom died, showed me the ropes.”

“The Artful Dodger?” I prodded curiously. He smirked wryly.

“Mixing your literature a bit there, but yeah I guess you could call her that.
Anyway, ran around with her and a few others for a while and started meeting some people by myself as I got older and better at what I do. After a while, I was able to feed myself but I could see that there were still too many people out there like me who couldn’t.”

“So that’s when you decided why you do what you do?” He nodded. It was weird…I’d never expected him to have any sort of back story. I don’t know why; even the most boring of people have a life they’ve lived before you met them. A silence fell between us for a while as I reflected on this. “What time is it?” I asked suddenly. He grabbed my wrist and looked at it.

“12:30. What? Not having fun?” He grinned. I shook my head.

“No…but you promised to get me home by three.” I smiled and stuck my tongue out. “So what now?” He shrugged.

“Wanna make out?” I looked at him, frowning. He hadn’t seemed like that kind of a guy. He looked back at me seriously for a few moments, but couldn’t keep a straight face for longer than a minute. He burst out laughing, and I chuckled uncertainly along with him. “No, I wasn’t serious!” he said as if I’d asked him if he were.

“Oh, I see. So you don’t think I’m kiss-worthy?” I teased. “I’m not pretty enough for Robin Hood, am I?”

“’Course you are, you’re very pretty. It’d just be weird to kiss you, that’s all.” We were back to not looking at each other, but lying on our backs and staring up at the tarp. I nodded.

“Yeah, it would…Wouldn’t it?” We looked at each other.

“We could try?” he suggested uncertainly with a shrug, rolling onto his side.

“O…okay?” I rolled onto my side as well.

He pushed himself up onto his elbow and leaned over me. I bit my tongue gently as he leaned closer and pressed his lips to mine…And that was it. No fireworks, no angels singing…not even tingly lips. He pulled away eventually and we looked at each other a few seconds. He shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. I mimicked his movement.

“Nope. It was kinda like kissing a cousin or something, actually…”

“Agreed.”

“So we never speak of this again?” He shook his head.

“Never ever.”

“Deal,” I chuckled, rolling back onto my back as he followed suit. We both sat back up quickly, however, as the steel door banged open.

“Oh…sorry, I didn’t know you had company…” A skinny, whey-faced boy with sandy hair began to back off of the roof.

“Nah man, it’s okay. Come on in.” Robin Hood beckoned him and he shuffled nervously forward. “Whatcha got for me?” The skinny boy knelt down by the mattress, shifting nervously.

“Hey…” he mumbled at me, nodding.

“Hey,” I greeted, returning the nod.

“Oh, sorry. Pizza Girl, this is Bobby. Bobby, Pizza Girl.” He motioned between us and we smiled politely at each other.

“Nice to meet you,” I said quietly, smiling. I was always kinda weird about meeting new people, especially if they were awkward, too.

“Oh, you’re Pizza Girl?” The kid—I call him a kid because he couldn’t have been more than fifteen—raised his eyebrows. I turned to Robin Hood.

“What, do you talk about me to everyone?” He shrugged.

“They like to know where I go.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Bobby assured me.

“Anyway!” Robin Hood brought the focus back to the point of Bobby’s visit.

“Oh yeah.” The kid started emptying his pockets onto the mattress.

“Aaah, excellent!” Robin Hood started separating the bills by value. My eyes widened slightly. The acne-ridden kid didn’t look like he could steal milk money from a fourth grader, never mind this much.

“A couple of rich girls were on their way back from a club…Too drunk to drive, I guess.” Bobby emptied more money from his jacket pockets. “Led them to an ATM and had them empty their accounts.”

“You’re brilliant, Bob! This could have a lot of people set for a very long time.” Bobby smiled proudly. It was endearing, the expression he wore at the “attaboy” from seemingly the boss man.

“Alright…” the kid said now that his pockets were empty and he’d received his praise. “I guess um…well, it’s only like, midnight. So I guess I’ll go try to find more.” Robin Hood nodded.

“Yeah, Bobby, you do that. Just be careful, alright?” The pimply kid nodded and got up to leave, letting the steel door fall carefully closed behind him.

“Nice guy, seems like.” Robin Hood nodded.

“Heart of gold, Bobby. Shame about his folks, though…Coke heads.”

“Oh, so he’s not—?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “He’s got a home and family…but not everyone can be so fortunate as to have a good home and family.” I nodded in understanding. He took a deep breath. “Well, c’mon Kid. I got a job to do.” I stood along with him.

“You want me to come with you?” I asked uncertainly, unsure if that was what he was implying or not. He shrugged and continued carefully laying the stacks of money in his backpack.

“Why not? I can introduce you to a few of the Merry Men if you want, and the people we help.” I nodded.

“I’d like that.”

Pt. IV

The Merry Men were all very nice for the most part, with the exception of a few and sort-of Will Scarlet. I think he still bore a grudge from the last time we’d met, but in all fairness he did try to mug me, not the other way around. The poor people, too, were memorable. Some were relatively clean though shabbily dressed, others much like the mother I’d seen upon my first night with Robin Hood; malnourished and an absolute shambles. Thankfully, he didn’t take me to rob anyone at gunpoint, but still…Meeting a part of the population I’d known existed, but never even bothered to look twice at bothered me. Mostly I was concerned with how ignorant I was of the problem in my own city. That concern spread to encompass the world. Several times throughout the course of the early morning I had to remind myself that things like this had to be stopped one city at a time, and I needed to help in any way I could.

“Well, this is your stop.”

I looked at my watch. 3 a.m. exactly. “Thanks for walking me home; I appreciate it. I learned a lot of things tonight.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “I need to pay more attention to what’s going on around me; to give all that I can to those who need it more than I do.” Robin Hood shrugged.

“Yeah, well…we’ll see. Just try practicin’ what you preach, yeah?” I nodded and waited for him to say more, but he never did.

Yet another awkward moment under the porch light. After standing and shuffling our feet for another few moments, we hesitantly hugged before quickly letting go. There was much clearing of throats and looking anywhere but at each other for a few moments before I finally said,

“Well uh…night, Robin.” He looked at me for a moment and smiled at the shortened name.

“Night, Kid,” he said quietly, a trace of affection in his voice and touch as he ruffled my hair. This time I watched him as far as I could as he walked beyond the safe circle of light into the darkness. I’d met the thing that most people like me think goes bump in the night…and he wasn’t so terrible, after all.

Pt. V

I’d been graced with the honor of taking a split shift on a sunny but chilly October Saturday. Pulling my sweater tighter around me against the wind, I turned down a street to find some place to eat lunch and take my two-hour break in peace. For the first few months at Xenos, I’d been perfectly happy to munch on gyros and soufflaki. However, there was only so much lamb and tsaziki a girl could take.

The past six months had been punctuated every now and then by an affectionate well-wisher wanting a $35 gyro. Once it had been Bobby, twice Robin Hood himself. Once, however, Robin Hood had really just left with a free sandwich rather than hitting up the register; rob a place too many times and the owner would start to get suspicious. I smiled as I thought upon the visits, rounding the corner and not quite looking where I was going.

…Until I found myself on my back on the ground, looking up into a brown hoodie. My eyebrows rose in surprise as he scrambled from on top of me and grabbed my hand, heaving me up. Staggering to my feet, I began running and followed close behind.

“You’re not out during the day,” was all I could think to say as we ran from I-didn’t-know-what.

“Neither are you,” Robin Hood panted as he ran alongside me or, rather, I alongside him.

“Split shift. You?”

“I got quotas same as everyone else.”

“And you got caught?”

“There’s a reason I work at night, Kid.” As I looked at him, I saw his lips move silently as if counting the alleyways. “This way.” He grabbed my sleeve and jerked me down an alley. We ran maybe twenty paces before it became clear that there would be no way out of the alley. “Shit…” I heard him murmur, turning. Then, as he made to leave and heard footsteps coming toward us, “shit! Look Kid, just do what I say, okay?” It was obvious he was trying to stay calm. His hand was in his pocket and I could only imagine what he was going to do as he gave me a small push towards the brick wall at the end of the alley. “Just stay back okay? And behind something.”

My legs shook as police blocked off the entrance and Robin Hood stepped forward. Several officers drew their weapons and there was much shouting from both parties. I peeked my head out from the metal dumpster behind which I’d taken refuge. Apparently Robin had caught this out of the corner of his eye.

“Stay back Kid, okay?” he shouted back to me. My heart sank as I heard one of the officers shout something into his radio about a hostage.
“Just give the money back and let the girl go,” the same officer shouted to Robin.

“Yeah? What’s in it for me?” Robin demanded. He made it sound as if he were just a common criminal, robbing only for himself. At first I wondered why. He was doing a morally grey but all the same good deed. Then it occurred to me; he was protecting everyone else. Bobby, Will, everyone, they’d all be taken in for robbery and possibly other charges if Robin Hood ever acted as if he robbed for anybody but himself.

“Well,” the cop started, “for one, you’ll only be brought up on grand theft. Right now you’re looking at that and kidnapping.” Kidnapping? Robin repeated my question out loud. “You’ve got a hostage, that’s how it works.”

He shook his head. “Not happening.”

I frowned, but didn’t move.

Why wasn’t he just letting me go? We both knew I wasn’t a hostage. We could just pretend I was, I’d walk over, he’d hand over the money, and we’d work on maybe some sort of plea bargain. I knew that last part wasn’t going to happen. He felt he had too many people depending on him. Too many mouths to feed.

“Just hand her over, kid. I won’t ask you again.” But the hoodie shook its head. I saw even from this distance that they had their fingers on the triggers. They thought they were dealing with somebody more heartless than I knew he was; they were jumpy. One wrong move, and things could go horribly awry. Robin sighed.

“C’mere, Kid.” I didn’t move. “I said c’mere!” Timidly I stepped forward. He moved back toward me. Before I knew what had happened, my back was pressed against his chest. His arm snaked from shoulder to shoulder with his fingers wrapped around the joint of my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as cold steel pressed against my temple. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

“I trust you,” I whispered back. Despite my words, I still trembled. Friendly though the Merry Men were, of them all Robin was the only one I placed any amount of trust in. Now, suddenly, he had a gun pressed to my head.

“You don’t involve her in anything,” he called over my shoulder. “Not in the trial, not anything. She’s untouchable.”

“Alright, anything you want. Just hand her over.” They were empty promises and we both knew it. If there were a trial, we both knew I’d be fully involved.

“I’m sorry you have to see this,” he whispered to me as he pressed me to take a step forward. “I never wanted you to be a part of this.” I frowned, but was pushed forward before I had the opportunity to ask what he meant.

“It’s okay, you’re alright now.” I felt the cop’s arm around me. Clearly he was oblivious to my lack of trembling or any other signs of shock. I was hustled to the back of the crowd of cops, but struggled to see over them. All I could see, however, was the back of the brown hoodie.

One shot. Two. Then a multitude of gunshots, but not from the same direction. Robin Hood had done it; he’d taken shots at the police. Of course, in a panic they’d retaliated. For a few seconds, my mind went blank and everything seemed to go in slow motion. The next thing I was aware of was pushing through the wall of police and staggering toward Robin. Tripping over my own feet, I fell to my hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way toward him.

“No…no no no no…” I murmured. “Why did you do that? That was so stupid, Robin! Why?” I demanded, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Gee Kid…thanks…” he wheezed as I gingerly picked his head up and set it in my lap. He knew I hadn’t meant it. For the first time, his hood fell back and I saw him in full.

“Please don’t. You shouldn’t have.” I worked hard not to cry as I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. I focused on his face to avoid looking at his chest. Four bullets.

“Yeah, well…I did,” he gurgled. “You can’t say it wasn’t the right thing. I couldn’t give up anyone else and that’s what it would’ve come to.” I winced as he let out a hacking cough. “You know it would’ve.” I nodded and bit my lip. My attempt at keeping the tears back failed miserably.

“You did the right thing, Robin. You did the right thing.” I slid my hand down to his and gripped it tightly. He tried to grip back, to give me some sort of assurance, but already he was slipping.


“Thank you, for releasing his personal effects to me.”

The coroner nodded. “Well, we couldn’t find any next of kin…So the only places they’d go are in the trash or a clothes bank, depending.”

I nodded, thanked him again, and headed home. There had been no official funeral for Robin Hood. The state had cremated him and then God knows after that. There had, however, been a gathering on the roof top which had been his home. Some of the attendees I recognized, many I didn’t. They hadn’t just been Merry Men, but also homeless people. Looking around I saw that I was the only one who wasn’t dressed in my best rags. I had, of course, kept it toned-down to avoid being conspicuous but failed miserably.

That had been three days ago. Now I sat on my bed with a hoodie washed seven times with detergent and several different stain removers. Still the stains were visible, but I think only to me because I knew what to look for. Several times I clumsily pricked my finger with the sewing needle, but still I patched the holes in the front. I hadn’t cried since that day, the day I’d for the very first time watched a man die. I couldn’t. My eyes wouldn’t let me. They remained stubbornly dry and I hated myself for it. I should be crying, I needed to cry, but I couldn’t. I sniffed a little as I stitched up the last hole.

For the first time, I took a good look at the inside of the hoodie. It was dirty even after all the washing. Obviously it had been lived in for many, many years and seven washings wouldn’t take all of that away. I knew that and shouldn’t have expected any differently. Dirt was still engrained in the ribbing on the bottom and around the sleeves. As I handled it, I felt a smooth spot in the fleecy lining. Turning it inside-out, I saw that a frayed, dirty tag had been stitched into the inside. All that had been written on it was the name Isaac Johansson. His name had been Isaac. Sighing sadly, I closed my eyes as I slipped the old sweater on, pulling the hood over my head.

I breathed deeply as I stepped out the door on my one night off. Burying my hands in the hoodie pockets, I turned—unarmed—toward downtown where I thought Will or Bobby might be.

“If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story.”
—Hamlet, Act V Scene III


~Fin~