Levesque
J.D. Levesque adjusted the strap of the Velcro holster, tightening it against the skin above his ankle. He tugged his gray slacks down to cover the bulge of the gun resting in the holster.
Standing, he checked his appearance in the break room mirror. He re-tucked his shirt where it had bunched at the sides. In doing so, he readjusted the 9mm pistol in its holster at his hip.
Satisfied he looked prepared to face the day, he climbed the stairs to the main floor J.D. Levesque & Son Jewelers. He sat down at his desk and began his day.
This was his favorite part of the day. The calm two hours before opening. The time before the customers started calling with their complaints: the man who wanted to know why they couldn’t be open later every day of the week, the woman whose engagement ring had lost a diamond, while she was running one of those Spartan races, demanding they replace it for free because wasn’t it his fault the diamond had popped out? She knew he knew how much she’d paid, so he must be able to do something for her?
He sighed and took a sip from the plastic Poland Spring bottle he’d carried up from the basement. The vodka warmed him on the inside, dulling the anger boiling up inside him as he thought about these familiar complaints, and the new one’s he was certain would arise today. It was Thursday. The end of the workweek always brought out the worst customers.
These thoughts were dancing through his head again an hour later when he heard a tapping at the front door. He ignored it and looked back down at the invoices covering his desk, wondering where the five grand he needed to cover this month’s expenses was going to come from.
It was his personal policy not to acknowledge anyone at the door until the store opened at ten. This nine o’clock annoyance was going to have to wait. Thursdays, like Tuesdays, were long enough as the store stayed open until 7pm to accommodate the after-work crowd. He cursed to himself about people in this day and age and how all they wanted was more, more, more.
Feeling the rage in his stomach rising up in to bile in his throat, he washed it away with a sip from the Poland Spring bottle.
The tapping continued. He wondered if it was Davis. The bastard was always late. I really should fire him, but the man has a gift for setting stones, and he handles all the other shit I never took the time to learn how to do, he thought to himself, not for the first time.
He took another sip of vodka and glanced down at his Rolex. The time showed 9:15am, which would mean Davis was 15 minutes late for his scheduled shift, meaning, by Davis’ standard arrival time, he was fifteen minutes early.
I’m sure he doesn’t have his keys, again.
The tapping persisted. Levesque pushed back from his desk, took another swig from the bottle and walked out of his office. As he approached the front door, he recognized Davis’ shape. He wanted to ream Davis out, but knew it wouldn’t have any effect. He also didn’t want to go through the process of finding someone to replace him; he hated hiring people.
As he arrived at the door, he saw blood running from a gash above Davis’ eye. It was also dripping through his fingers, which were covering his nose. When he moved his hand to the door handle, Davis fell down and a massive black shape replaced him, a sawed off shotgun extending out from dark depths.
A hand rose from the dark and beckoned for him to open the door. He shook his head, no. He wouldn’t kill Davis in the middle of broad daylight. There was no way.
He moved toward the alarm panel on the wall, preparing to punch in the code for an emergency. As he made his move, he heard a hard voice behind him.
“Another move and I’ll rip your throat out,” said the voice.
He thought about swinging around to confront his attacker but decided staying alive was of greater concern than, maybe, getting a few punches in. His mind raced, and determined this was just a simple robbery. Establishing that his brain moved on to wonder how the man behind him got in? And on top of that, how he’d done so without him hearing a thing or the basement alarms going off?
“You ought to be locking your basement windows,” said the hard voice as he lifted the pistol from the man’s hip. He thumbed the safety off and pressed it to the man’s back, removing the sharp implement from his throat.
“Now, let the big fucker in.”
He took his time moving toward the door. Thinking of nothing that could get him out of the situation, he unlocked the door and let the giant in. He ducked and entered, dragging Davis’ inert body behind him.
The man was a giant, standing at least a foot taller than Davis, who was of average height. The strength in his massive chest and arms was evident, as he appeared to exert no effort in hefting the dead weight of the unconscious Davis.
Upon closer examination Davis appeared more dead than alive. His nose was broken and the side of his face looked as though it had caved in. He was not surprised at this revelation based on the size of the giant’s hands.
He turned away from the bloody mess of Davis and was able to take in the second man’s reflection in the display cases. For all the giant’s height, the second man was short. Three to four inches shorter than Levesque himself. He was built like a fire hydrant, thick all around.
The only thing both intruders shared was their dress. Both were dressed in black with dark balaclavas revealing only their eyes and mouths.
Levesque’s hands and feet were tied with zip ties and the giant tossed him on the floor in the middle of the store. The giant lifted Davis and dropped him in a bloody heap next to the man. He whimpered.
“Not another sound, or your face will match his,” said a voice somewhere above him.
Davis’ breaths were coming in short rasps. His body eased up and down. The air escaping his mouth through cracked teeth whistled.
The intruders began to move through the cases of jewelry. They worked with a speed one would not have thought possible for men of their size. With deft hands, they picked through each display case, not taking everything, but making certain to take anything with a diamond in it. Each piece was placed into one of two toolboxes labeled TJP Security Systems. They didn’t speak to one another.
Levesque watched. Fear was beginning to cut through the alcohol. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He thought to call out, but realized it wouldn’t do any good. They were too far away from any other businesses to have anyone help. The store sat off the road from a major thoroughfare, not quite residential, but not the heart of the city either.
He thought about the gun at his ankle. He strained against the zip ties, but stopped. He was no hero.
The giant and the fire hydrant made their way to the last case having moved through the store with a practiced ease. They finished and straightened up. The giant loomed over Levesque and Davis, the shotgun in one hand, the toolbox in the other.
He put the toolbox down at the Levesque’s feet and removed a large knife from the small of his back. Using it with adeptness, he cut the his bonds.
The man rubbed his wrists to start the blood circulating through them. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shirtsleeve. He looked at the clock. It felt like hours had passed, instead, the hands told him it had been fifteen minutes. Julie would be in in another fifteen minutes. Never early. Never late. Always Julie.
He was hoping the intruders would be gone before she arrived when the giant wrapped an arm around his throat. He grasped at the arm with his hands as he struggled for air. He thought he heard the giant laugh. His vision began to blur. He saw Davis on the floor below him. An arm extended Levesque’s 9mm and shot Davis in the head.
He thought he heard pieces of bone rattle off the display cases. Then everything went black.
