The Robbery (Revised)

It was around 5 o’clock, which meant quitting time for Rocco, when a young man walked into the bank wearing a black coat, black pants, a black hat, and pitch black shoes. He was pretty young, younger than Rocco at least, and had a clear uncertainty in his eye that Rocco could see clean through.

“We’ll do this the easy way or the hard way, Bub.”

Rocco had had quite a boring day, and planned on spicing it up. “For real?” He asked.

“Hey, I ain’t kidding! Put the money in the bag!”

“That’s a negative, Houston.”

         The robber took a double glance at Rocco like as if he’d slapped him.“Hey man, I said, put the money in the bag!”

         “Did I stutter? No.”

         “Alright, that’s it, Old Man! I—“

         And as the young, uncertain man brought the gun up to the counter, he accidentally pushed the button to let out his ammo. The cartridge plopped on the counter and slid within Rocco’s reach. He quickly snatched it and held it up. ‘Gotchya!’ was all his face read.

         “Hey man! Give it back!” The robber pleaded, angry.

         “Ehh, I’ll think about it,” Rocco nonchalantly said, inspecting the dirt under his fingernails.

         “If you don’t give it back, I swear! I’ll-I’ll kill you!”

         “And if I did give it back, you’d still kill me! So I think I’ll just keep it. When I tell my wife about this sissy attempted hold-up thing, she’ll want proof. . . Tell me son, you have a wife?”

         “No sir,” the young man said. Then, realizing what had just come out of his mouth he quickly added, “I mean, give it back, man! I’ll punch you in your throat!”

         “No wife? Girlfriend maybe?”

         “That’s beyond the point!”

         Rocco was having fun now. “You know what? I’ll bet she’s a blonde. Her name…Marie?”

         “Stacy. Wait! Just come over here and I’ll show you how a real man fights.”

         Rocco paused, giving it some thought. If the cops asked, it was just self defense. He sighed and jumped over the counter with one swift movement. “Alright, let’s keep it clean: no low blows, rabbit punches, spitting, kicking, and don’t go all Mike Tyson on me and bite my ear off or nothing.”

         “You think I don’t know how to fight? You’re gonna learn a lesson, Old—“ He was cut off by Rocco’s fist suddenly slammed in his left cheek. “Hey man! I wasn’t ready!”

         “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Rocco said sarcastically, “Now straighten up. It’s your stance. Put your feet out wider. No, not that wide. There. About shoulder length apart. Now bring your fists up like this. Good. Now, turn your fist out like this when you punch. No, straight out. There you go, Buddy.”

         “Don’t call me Buddy, Old—“ Another blow, now hard on his cheek bone.

         “Oh, and another thing: Always be alert. You never know what somebody else is thinking. Now, let’s get this thing over with so I can go home.”

         “Wait. What are the stakes?”

         “Stakes?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Okay, if you win, which I highly doubt, I’ll give you the ammo and you can do whatever you want, except eat at my place for dinner which my wife cooked about—“ he checked his watch—“15 minutes ago. If I  win, I keep the ammo, and I keep your pride.”

         “Sounds good.” The robber nodded and picked his hands up back in front of him.

         “Yeah, so like, how to you want to start this?”

         “How about 1-2-3?”

         “Okay… So…1-2-3!”

         And boom. The young robber was on the floor with a bloody nose. “Duuude!” He spit out a tooth.

         Rocco began to laugh. “I won,” he whispered. He continued his wheezy laughing fit until he reached the door. He flipped the light switch off. “Take it easy, Buddy. Tell Stacy I said hi.” Rocco tossed the cartridge into the air and caught it with one hand. He decided to let the custodians who came in to lock up at 6:00 find the little devil in the floor. Rocco began his long trek home, whistling an old frank Sinatra tune the entire way: “That’s Life.”