C
H A P T E R O N E
Rachel
and Jimmy
go
into Rainier to Shop
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, his eyes
darting around.
“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.
10
The Raven of my
novel is not the Raven of Coastal Salish tradition. I’m not Native and I don’t
feel comfortable using a concept from a tradition that is not mine. So when I
was rummaging around in my imagination, sorting out ideas for this story, I went
to Ireland, the land of some of my ancestors. A puca is a pre-Christian Celtic
shapeshifter or trickster who could be helpful or harmful or humans, but always
acted on it’s own agenda. The puca was to blame if drunken revelers got lost or
harmed on their way home.
Genius loci is
the Latin term for a spirit of a place. Many pre-Christian Europeans believed
that rivers, ponds springs, or other natural features had a guardian spirit who
could be appealed to in times of stress or needed to be placated to prevent
trouble. In Ireland these spirits were usually associated with water or hills.
So my Raven is
both a puca and a genius loci; she is the spirit of a bend in a river where she
acts as a guardian of those who honor her or an enforcer to those that don’t.
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