Hold-Up

IOWA, December 24th, 1990

“Nobody move! This is a hold-up!”

The masked bandit grabbed my arm and held it behind my back while he pressed the barrel of a gun to my temple. It was a stark contrast to the Christmas tree that was set up in the cafe's corner. There were cut-outs of paper snowflakes hanging in the window. Now there were about half a dozen patrons dining on Christmas Eve with their hands in the air and half-eaten pancakes on the table. A second masked man entered our establishment, and the little bell hanging over the door chimed. He was also wearing a ski mask and waving around a .22 rimfire pistol. With leather-clad gloves, he locked the front door and ordered a customer to draw the curtains so nobody could see inside.

The man holding a gun to my head made his second command. “Empty the cash register!”

My manager is behind the counter with his potbelly threatening to pop out of his button-up shirt. When he hesitates, the second guy aims his revolver at the center of his chest and gives the same order.

“Money, now!”

“Chester, Chester, just do what they say, please!”

My voice breaks with an audible tremble and a bead of sweat breaks out on forehead as my pulse quickens.

Chester opens the cash register as the second guy produces a backpack, and he loads up the money.

“Who drives the Corvette outside?” The first guy asks, but when no one answers, he yells. “The red Chevy Corvette! Who has the keys? Somebody better say something right now or I will blow her brains out!”

I hear a click in my ears, and I know exactly what that means. My daddy knew how to fire a pistol. And I know the guy currently using me as a human shield just turned the safety off.

“It’s mine.” Chester reluctantly admits.

The bandit turns the gun from my head and aims it at Chester. “Keys, now.”

“Come on, man, I just bought that car.”

“Your car or your life? What’s it going to be?” the bandit asks. Even underneath the black cotton of his mask, I could tell he was sneering.

Once Chester gave up the keys to his Corvette and the restaurant, we were locked up in the kitchen along with the diner guests. The first bandit raised his index finger in front of his lips as his other fingers remaining curled, the universal gesture that demanded our silence. I watched him intently as the door slowly closed and he and his associate backed away. For two and a half hours, we were trapped inside the restaurant until one of the beat cops heard us calling for help.

*

“Lacey, Lacey Christiansen, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Sergeant Davis asked as he approached me outside the cafe.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I answer truthfully as I hugged myself and rubbed at my bare arms. I only had my waitress uniform on; it was a pale blue dress with a white collar and apron, my coat was locked up inside the cafe behind the police tape. Sergeant Davis noted my shivers and stripped off his police officer’s jacket and set it over my shoulders. It was at least three sizes too large for me, but it was warm, so I was grateful.

“What’s the story? What do we know?” Sergeant Davis asked, directing his attention to his deputy.

“Two men with guns, in ski masks. Average height, average build, maybe 120-160 lbs. White. It could be just anybody.” The Deputy answered as he read over the notes in handheld journal. You could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t optimistic about catching these criminals. It’s not like Chester bothered to invest in upgrading the security cameras. Not when he spent his last dime on that expensive car.

“I don’t understand. Things like this just don’t happen in Ankeny.” Sergeant Davis commented as he rubbed his chin.

“Lacey, Lacey, oh my God, baby, are you okay?”

I would know that voice anywhere. The hysterical voice of my mother. The second I turned around, she was on me, hugging me, and kissing my cheeks.

“Mama, I’m alright. Stop kissin’ me.”

“Oh darlin’, when I heard what happened…you must have been so scared!” Mama gasped as she held onto my arms and looked at me. “Thank God, they didn’t hurt your beautiful little face.”

Mama has always been proud of my looks. She tells me I’m prettier than Cindy Crawford. Just recently we got my hair down to be a chocolate brown with caramel highlights. I already have big brown eyes and pouty lips. And like Cindy, I have distinctive moles. One small one just adjacent to my right eye and another one in the bottom left corner below my mouth. I wish the modeling agencies and acting schools agreed with her. Believe me, if they had accepted my applications, I would be out there posing for pictures instead of waitressing. Mama says there is still time for me; I’m only 17 years old.

“Do you need anything else from me, or can I go home now?” I asked.

“Of course you can. I’m glad you’re safe,” Sergeant Davis said. As my mama and I walked away, he called out to us. “Lacey! If you ever need anything, you can call me, you know that, right?”

“I know, Sergeant.”

Mama escorted me back to her truck. “You poor thing, it must have been so terrifying.”

“Yes, it was.”

*

My mama and I spend Christmas Day together. We don’t have much, just a two-bedroom apartment with one bathroom. She works at the hospital in Des Moines. My daddy passed away seven years ago from a heart attack. He was a cop. Sergeant Davis was his partner at the time. That’s why Davis is so protective of me, some kind of ‘brother in blue’ loyalty thing. I don’t personally get it. Of all the things that could have taken my daddy out, guns, bombs, fires, and criminals, and instead it was too much breakfast pizza. He loved life, though, and he loved me. I was his little girl. I was his only little girl.

I admire his portrait of him dressed in his best navy-blue police uniform. My mama is sipping eggnog as she scours of VHS collection.

“Which movie do you want to watch next? ‘It’s A Wonderful Life?’” She suggests.

“No, I hate that movie! George Bailey gets such a raw deal. Stuck in a small town he hates.”

“Alright then, what do you want to do?” Mama asked.

“Could I borrow the truck? I was thinking of going to visit Hannah and her family.”

“On Christmas?” she asked.

“It might be good to be around my friends, you know, after what happened at the cafe?” I batted my doe eyes at her, and she was powerless to resist me. She picks up the keys to the truck.

“If it snows, don’t drive. Wait until morning. I’m sure Hannah wouldn’t mind putting you up for the night.”

“Thanks, Mama,” I kiss her cheek as I accept the keys to her car.

*

I got myself dolled up before heading out. Tight fitting acid wash jeans and a neon pink top with buttons that hugged my figure and showed off my midriff. To complete the ensemble, a flowy, bright green jacket with squiggle patterns on it. I fluffed up hair and did my makeup before leaving the apartment. It took about 20 minutes to drive out of Ankeny to where I was headed. The backcountry was just farmland stretching for miles on end. Fields upon fields of corn and beans. Some people had pigs, others had chickens. It didn’t matter, they were all the same in my eyes. I got to my destination and pulled into the driveway off 96th Street. Only it wasn’t Hannah’s place. As I walked towards the house, I could hear the Christmas celebration going on inside. I knocked on the front door of the Baker family farm.

“Oh, hush now, or Santa is going to take back all your presents!” Stephanie answered the door with a baby on her hip, while yelling at her boys for misbehaving. She turned to address her guest, and she smiled when she saw who it was. “Why, hello, Lacey. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Stephanie…is he here?”

“Come on in, he’s downstairs.” Stephanie ushered her inside and headed back to the living room, where her husband and three rowdy sons were. Lacey shut the door behind her before making her way down the hall to the cellar door. She descended the staircase and found the recreation room with two young men sitting on a plumped up scarlet colored couch. There was a brick-laid fireplace with a log burning, giving off heat. In front of the sofa was a coffee table laid with multiple piles of cash, organized and laid out on the table. Along with two pistols, they were the same .22 rimfire pistols from the cafe robbery.

“Richie, do me a favor…take a walk,” Zack said, scooting a pile of money over in front of his friend.

“No problem.” Richie accepted the cash and tucked it into his back pocket. He also took the gun that belonged to him and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans behind his back. Instead of going up the stairs, he exited through the sliding glass doors on the other side of the room. Before he closed the door, he addressed me and said, “Hi Lacey, bye Lacey.”

I waved goodbye and pulled the curtains over the sliding glass door. I then turned my attention to Zack. He looked good.

There were holes in his tattered jeans, and he wore only a thin white undershirt, his arms exposed. While he wasn’t overly muscular, he wasn’t lanky either. He was just the right level of masculine. His dark hair was thick and wild, but not nearly as dark as his brown eyes, which were currently locked onto me. He took a stack of money and slowly stalked towards me. With his right hand raised, he offered the wad of cash.

“Here’s your cut.”

“Later,” I said, cupping his cheeks and kissing him hard on the lips. He nearly lost his footing as I walked him backward toward the bed tucked into the corner of the room. His arms encircled my waist, and we fell backward onto the mattress.

He tucks my brown hair behind my ears as he breaks the kiss and stares intently into my lust-filled eyes. With a furrow, he says, “And the acting school turned you down?”

“Right? I deserve an Oscar for that performance.” I go to kiss him again as I maneuver to straddle his waist.

“We can’t do that again, though,” Mustang’s demeanor shifts as he gets serious. “It’s one thing to rob strangers. It’s another thing to rob your boss.”

“That bastard has been stealing my tips for over a year.” I stripped off my jacket and enjoyed the view from my vantage point. My hands start at his shoulders as I ghost my fingertips down his pecs and abs until I reach his hips. “Besides, you have to admit it…it’s thrilling.”