His Frozen Heart (6 page)

The driver of the Nova made his way to
my window after he had pumped and paid for his gas. I didn’t
recognize the car, and the driver reminded me of a little Banty
rooster. It was minus ten degrees, yet he was only wearing a
sweatshirt, strutting up to the window. “Hi. I need a Coke and a
pack of Salems.”

I reached over and grabbed the
cigarettes, then leaned into the pop cabinet to retrieve his drink.
“Six, forty-nine.”

He slid a ten into the drawer then
cocked his head toward my car. “Nice wheels. Is that a
‘68?”

I placed his items and change into the
drawer and slid it to him. I was used to compliments on my car. It
was a classic and by far one of the sexiest cars on the road.
“’66.”

“
Nice. If I had a car like
that, I wouldn’t be driving it. That’d be in the
garage.”

Trying to be polite, “Your Nova’s not
bad. Why isn’t it in your garage?”

“
Yeah, it’s a ’76 and it’s
nice, but it’s not a Chevelle.”

“
Driving it is my only
alternative to walking, and I’m not hoofing it in this
weather.”

“
I hear that. Rebuilt the
Nova myself. Hey, it’s freezing out here. Can I come
inside?”

“
Sorry, against store
policy. If you need anything else, I can get it.” Every now and
again, someone would ask for something that wouldn’t fit through
the little drawer. When that happened, I would open the door and
hand their item to them, but that wasn’t anything I offered up
unless someone needed a frozen pizza or a bottle of windshield
wash.

He jerked his head toward my car, “Any
girl who drives a ‘66 Chevelle is worth getting to know. Let me in
for a minute. It’s freezing out here.” I sized him up. I liked his
car, but I would tower over him, and he couldn’t be all that bright
if he was out in this weather with just a sweatshirt.

I pasted on my sweetest smile, “Sorry,
I’d get fired if I let you in.”

Oblivious to my disinterest, he asked,
“How about your number? I’ll give you a call.” Something was off
about this guy. He was coming on a little too strong. I’d seen
plenty of guys come through at all hours of the night: none had
given me a second look. My car was awesome, but I’d never had
anyone who wanted my number because of it.

“
Sorry, again. I have a
boyfriend.” I didn’t, but something bothered me about this guy. I
was anxious for him to get into his car and leave.

He pursed his lips together in a
grimace, “That’s my luck. Hey, can I get the key to the men’s
room?”

I slid the key through the drawer. As
he walked around the side of the building, I watched him on the
security camera. He walked around back, but didn’t try to use the
men’s room. He lit up a cigarette outside the restroom and stood
there huddled against the wall. That was odd.

Keeping an eye on the surveillance
monitor, I reached into my book bag and pulled out my business law
book. I hated that class and had been neglecting the reading
assignments because of it. I’d spend the first hour tonight doing
the last couple days’ reading assignments, then a few hours
prepping for my test. I needed to fit in some “crap job” time, like
restocking the cooler or refilling the pop display by the window,
to make up for my tardy arrival.

I saw the guy throw his cigarette butt
on the ground. He still didn’t use the restroom. Strange. The guy
walked back to my little convenience window. When he stood in front
of me, he didn’t put the key back in the drawer. Instead he said,
“Hey, the door is jammed or something. It won’t unlock.”

Warning bells started going off in my
head. I’d watched him the whole time. He never even tried to open
the door. Unsure what type of game he was playing, I accused, “I
was watching the camera. It didn’t look like you tried the
key.”

His forehead wrinkled as his eyes
narrowed. “You calling me a liar?”

Attempting to keep any alarm out of my
voice, I offered, “Um, do you want to try the key to the ladies’
room?”

“
Yeah, sure.” The man made
no move to return the key he already had.

I slid the drawer forward, “I’ll need
the key to the men’s room first, then I can give you the other
key.”

“
Oh, right. I must have
left it in the door. Just a minute.”

Now I was thoroughly nervous. He went
toward the back of the place a second time. A big Ford pickup truck
pulled up to one of the pumps. I was trying to watch the guy around
back on the monitor but had lost him when the truck pulled up. Damn
it, where had he gone? I watched the grainy security images from
the cameras around the perimeter of the building, but it was like
he had just vanished. The man’s Nova was still waiting patiently
near pump one.

By the time the woman from the Ford
had finished pumping her gas, I began to get tense because there
was still no sign of the guy. She got back in her truck and was
pulling out when I saw a flicker of him on the back side of the
building. The camera had captured his movement, but not him. That
was it – I’d had enough. We had a panic button under the counter;
if I pushed it, the police would be here in five minutes. I
re-angled the camera near the pump to get a good visual of the
guy’s license plate then wrote it down on a slip of
paper.

The camera on the back of the building
went from a grainy black and white image to nothing but black. I
tapped the monitor. Had it been an equipment malfunction or had the
man done something to the camera? I turned the camera which had
been zoomed in on his license plate and reangled it toward the back
of the building. It wouldn’t turn far enough to provide a clear
view of the back of the building. Shit. Where was he?

The tiny hairs on the nape of my neck
stood up. The lady who had my job before I was hired had pressed
the silent alarm three times in a month, each time over nothing.
Mr. Sanders let her go after the third false alarm, so I didn’t
want to press the button unless I really needed the
police.

I took another look at the black
monitor in front of me. A suspicious man was here while I was
alone. He said the bathroom door was jammed, yet I knew he hadn’t
even tried to open it. He had tried to get me to let him inside
even though there were signs everywhere saying no entry after 10
PM. I pushed the panic button under the counter before I could talk
myself out of it. The device sent a silent signal to the police
station – if it turned out to be a glitch in the surveillance
system, I would apologize profusely to Mr. Sanders tomorrow. My
eyes went to the clock: 12: 43. The police should be here by
12:48.

My eyes continued looking at the three
working monitors, attempting to find him somewhere in the shadows.
A second monitor went out. There were four cameras on the premises:
one on the pumps, one on the front door that showed the front of
the store, one on the back near the restrooms, and the fourth
around back aimed in on the dumpster.

The cameras by the restroom and
dumpster were now both out. The one by the pumps worked, but it
could not see the back of the store, and the one aimed in on front
was taking footage of me through the glass getting more freaked out
by the second.

I picked up my cell. Who could I call?
What would I say? I’m in a safe place but a customer who refuses to
use the restroom is scaring me. Yeah, the few friends I had would
think I’m a head case. I watched headlights on the street whiz past
the gas station, praying one of the vehicles might pull in. I
didn’t want to be alone.

An object flew through the air in
front of the window where I sat. The camera in front of the store
now only registered black like the other two. This wasn’t a glitch:
he was breaking the security cameras. My heart had been gaining
speed and was now beating so loudly that it drowned out all other
sounds. Heat welled up in my body as I felt my face flush with
fear.

I looked at the clock: 12:45. For
God’s sake, where were the cops? The man was slithering toward me
along the side of the building. What did the guy look like? I tried
to get a good look at him in case he left before the police
arrived. He was shorter than me, maybe five feet, six inches on a
good day. He wore a black sweatshirt that zipped in the front,
well-worn black jeans which were too long, rumpled at his feet. Tan
work boots stuck out under his over-sized jeans. He looked to be in
his early to mid-twenties. It was freezing outside, but he wore no
gloves or hat. His brown hair was short, sort of wavy, and his ears
and cheeks were beet red from the cold.

I tried to mask the fear I was
feeling. I tucked my shaking hands under the counter so he couldn’t
see them.

He positioned himself directly in
front of me, leering at me through the glass, “The men’s room still
won’t open. Here’s the key.” He held the key up that was attached
to a ridiculously large sign that said “men’s.” I slid the drawer
open for him to drop the key into it.

He held the key high above the drawer
with his index finger and thumb, dangling it in the air. My voice
shook like a dog in a thunderstorm. “Put the key in the
drawer.”

The man gave me a thin smile and
offered, “Maybe you could come out and give the door a
try?”

I shook my head that I couldn’t, but
said nothing.

“
Oh, come on. A big tough
pool hustler like yourself? You’re not scared of a guy like me, are
you? Come on out and give me a hand.”

Pool hustler? Who was this guy and
what was he talking about? My mind whizzed through all the recent
games Libby and I had played – I’d never even seen him
before.

He held his smile, but his eyes
narrowed. “Swimming with the sharks can be hazardous to your
health.” He dropped the washroom key into the outstretched drawer
with a loud thud, then reached his hand inside the pocket of his
sweatshirt. I grinned to myself, knowing he had to have left a
fingerprint on it and pulled the drawer closed. My grin must have
ticked him off, because he asked, “You like swimming with the
sharks, Princess? Teddy wants his four hundred dollars back. Give
me the money, or you’ll never swim again.”

My heart lurched in my
chest. Teddy? That was the guy from Bank Shot earlier tonight.
Libby had hustled him out of four hundred dollars. Teddy sent a
thug to get his money back from me? Teddy hadn’t even paid
me
. Why wouldn’t he have
tried to get it from Libby? My phone lay on the counter to my left.
I dropped his gaze and looked at it on the counter.

“
That’s right, Princess.
Call the police. They won’t get here in time.” This moron had
obviously never heard of an alarm system. I wasn’t about to correct
him and let on that I wanted to call my roommate to warn her that
Teddy might show up at our door. She had won the four hundred
dollars from him fair and square; he must have believed otherwise
if he sent this jerk to try to get his money back from
me.

My eyes darted to the clock: 12:46. I
listened hard, hoping to hear sirens in the distance – nothing. I
swallowed a lump in my throat, doing my best to steady my voice. “I
was there; she didn’t cheat. Teddy lost. Why would he send you to
get his money back?”

“
That’s the thing, the
money he gave you girls tonight – it wasn’t his. It was mine.
You’ve got to the count of three to push four hundred fifty dollars
through that drawer.”

“
Four hundred
fifty?”

His eyes widened as he shrieked, “You
think my time is free? Give me my money back and add another fifty
for me having to chase you down in this ice box, and I’ll let you
live.”

Let me live? My stomach knotted as the
hairs on my arms joined the fine ones at the base of my neck now
also standing at attention.

I shook my head. Whatever volume I had
been able to produce before evaporated: a small whisper was all I
could get out, “I don’t. . . I don’t have it.”

Condescendingly he said, “That does
create a bit of a problem. You’re a resourceful girl. I bet you
could get it.”

My mouth opened but nothing more came
out. I couldn’t tell him we had spent it already, or that Libby had
whatever was left of it. I looked at the clock: 12:47. The police
should be here any minute. If I could just keep him calm until they
arrived, I’d be fine.

The fear I felt sharpened my thoughts
when it hit me: how did this guy know where I worked? Did someone
from Bank Shot know I worked here? No – none of our friends were
with us tonight. Had he already stopped by my house? Would Libby
have told him I was here? “Um, I could call my friend. She could
bring it here.”

His answer accompanied a toothy smile:
a shiny gold tooth beamed at me where one of his canines had been,
“You think I’m dumb? I was already at your house. There’s no money
there.”

“
You were at my house? How
do you know where I live?”

“
I’m a resourceful guy.” If
he knew my last name, he wouldn’t have had any problems finding me.
Libby Googled me a couple weeks ago; she had told me all my
information was posted in their directory.

Libby kept all of her money in a
coffee can above the stove. Whatever had been left over after she
went to the grocery store would have been in the can. If this guy
would have tried to get money from Libby, it wouldn’t have been in
her purse. She could have told him I had the money. “Libby can tell
you I don’t have it.”