They did a drive-by, rolling along just beneath the speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic in town: just a few bicyclists, a motorcycle, and an electric delivery truck. Their old-style hybrid car stood out, which was bad, but there was nothing they could do about it. Jimmy drove while Rachel checked out the pharmacy parking lot and the parking spaces in front of the adjacent stores. They saw no sign of the militia.

Jimmy popped the blinker on and they turned the corner, giving Rachel a view of the pharmacy’s solid, windowless wall. He hit the blinker again, and they turned into the grocery store parking lot behind the pharmacy. It was six o’clock and near closing time for most businesses. Jimmy navigated through the grocery parking around to the far side of the pharmacy and parked where their car couldn’t be seen from the pharmacy’s back door.

They got out and strolled casually around to the front of the building. Though they were trying to look inconspicuous, they were a striking couple. Rachel was short, lithe, and dark, while Jimmy was as lean and sharp-eyed as a sheep-killing dog. They ambled together through the front parking lot the pharmacy shared with its neighbor businesses. The one functioning shop, a secondhand store, was just closing. They picked up their pace and hit the door of the pharmacy just as the clerk inside was preparing to close up.

Jimmy strong-armed the door and strode in. The clerk, a young woman, startled but friendly, almost staggered to get out of his way. Jimmy took a quick scan of the interior as Rachel flipped the sign to “closed.” The clerk stuttered, “Can I help you?”

“We’re the last customers,” Rachel told her. She smiled into the clerk’s confused gaze and repeated firmly, “You’re closed now, and we’re the last customers.”

“All clear,” said Jimmy. He pulled his gun out from the back of his jeans and pointed it at the clerk. Her wide-eyed gaze went from startled to frightened, and her mouth opened. Before she could scream, Rachel locked eyes with her and stated firmly, “You are going to close your mouth and stay calm. And you now are going to lock the door.” She backed up her words with a focused thought: Shut up and lock the door. The clerk swallowed hard and clamped her mouth shut. Still round-eyed, she fumbled the key in the lock.

Rachel and Jimmy knew that the pharmacy had one clerk out front and a pharmacist and tech in back. They also knew that the front door was out of sight from the back, blocked by stacks of shelves loaded with sundries, over-the-counter medicines, and candy. Rachel took the young woman’s arm and told her, “We’re going to the back now. You will not speak. We aren’t going to hurt you if you follow directions.”

“Yep,” Jimmy told her. “This is a stick-up. So, get moving.” They marched to the back of the store. The pharmacist, a thin white man of middle age, was frowning at a computer screen on the far side of a counter. Behind him in the stacks of medicines, someone was whistling aimlessly. They heard the rip of a cardboard box being opened. Jimmy held the pistol up and barked “Hey!” to get the pharmacist’s attention.

“Uh, what?” Understanding dawned on the pharmacist’s face, and his mouth dropped open.

“Be calm,” Rachel told him. “Don’t resist. Call your help to come out here.”

"There's no one," he stuttered.

“Yeah, there is. Do it,” Jimmy’s voice was knife-sharp. The pharmacist cleared his throat and called, “Joanie.”

“Huh?” Joanie emerged, a short, round, white woman with grey hair and thick glasses. She saw the gun and came to an abrupt halt.

“Okay, everyone,” Rachel said. “I’ve got a simple direction for you to follow. Place your hands on the counter and keep them flat. Got that, everyone?” They all just stared, too scared to move. Jimmy snapped, “Is there anything in this place worth dying for?” Three pairs of frightened eyes blinked at him. “So, get those hands on the counter.” They complied, the two clerks shakily, the pharmacist with his lips compressed in disapproval.

Rachel pulled a black garbage bag out of the pouch of her sweatshirt. Moving briskly, she worked her way down the aisles toward the front of the store, scooping band-aids, toothpaste, over-the-counter pain killers, and vitamins into her bag. She hit the cash registers and cleaned the money out of the till, her fingers quick and efficient. Then she paused, her attention snagged by the glittering display of Halloween-themed key rings and jewelry draped over a plastic statue of a witch. Rachel’s hand hovered over the witch. Then she snatched it up, shook it until the necklaces and key rings fell off, and dumped it headfirst into her bag. Conscious that she was taking too much time, she headed at a trot up the personal hygiene aisle, tossing shampoo and soap into her bag on her way. Jimmy watched his three hostages while she worked.

The older clerk’s fingers trembled on the counter, and the younger one’s mouth worked incessantly as if she wanted to speak. The pharmacist worried Jimmy a bit; he was visibly seething, and he was clearly planning his call to the militia. Jimmy’s mouth was tight with irritation when Rachel finally joined him, hauling her heavy bag.

“Now we’re coming around to your side.” Rachel grabbed the young clerk by the arm and marched her around back. Jimmy followed, keeping the gun aimed in their direction. “Okay, almost done,” Rachel told them. “We need some antibiotics, some pain killers, and some of your meds for crazy people. Then we’re going out the back door. Lead the way.”

They pushed the pharmacy staff along in a little herd through the maze of stacks while Rachel grabbed bottles and boxes and tossed them into her bulging bag. “Done now!” Rachel sang out cheerfully.

“Back door,” Jimmy told them. “Move.” He made the staff sit on the floor along the wall beside the back door. Rachel pulled a roll of black electrician’s tape out of her pouch and taped their hands and feet. They’d get free in a few minutes; all she really wanted to do was slow them down. Jimmy stood by the door with his hand on the knob. He shoved the door open the minute Rachel finished taping the last pair of hands. Rachel directed her black eyes at each frightened face in turn and stated firmly, “You will not remember what we look like. You will not be able to describe us.” Then, black bag bouncing on her heels, she followed Jimmy out the door.

They walked briskly but calmly along the back of the pharmacy and around the corner to their waiting car. Rachel tossed the bag in the trunk and climbed into the back seat. She ducked down out of sight while Jimmy got the car started. He drove carefully right below the speed limit down the main drag.

“That was fun,” Rachel called from the floor of the backseat.

“Stay down, we ain’t out of town yet,” Jimmy told her.