The Leather Boot

My head pounded in rhythm with the security alarm as I lay on the cold floor, face to face with a worn leather boot.  A hole was starting at the toe, and a simple white sock peeked out through the frays.  The normalcy of the garment mocked me in its irony – its owner was in no way routine, or even welcome, in my store.

He coughed as he shifted his weight, seemingly uncomfortable and unconfident in his duty – to watch me, with that shiny black pistol in hand – as his ‘buddies’ ransacked my shop.  The shop had been in my family for decades, and was a quaint establishment that spit in the face of the typical pawn shop stereotypes.  We stood, not to rob our patrons, but to give them a boost when they were down on their luck.  And now, here we stood, getting robbed by these gruff, masked men with no one in sight who could help us.

Helplessly, I began to let my thoughts wander to the events that had started this day. At this point, there wasn’t much I could do anyway, unless I wanted to get shot.  And while I had craved some excitement to shake up my stagnant life, I knew I wasn’t prepared for any James Bond bravado.

It was ridiculously early in the morning when I had woken up, probably three or four o’clock, and the sun had a few more hours of rest before I would see it rise.  My suitcase was all packed and ready to go – I had been looking forward to this trip for months, and I didn’t want anything left for the last minute.  I could recall previous encounters with Murphy’s Law during my rather limited travel experiences, and I was determined that nothing should go wrong.  Funny, how much irony was packed in this young day.

My luggage was in the car, and as I strapped in, I phoned by best friend Anna to let her know I was en route to the airport to catch our early flight to Hawaii.  The getaway was somewhat spontaneous, booked over a tub of pity-ice-cream following a recent breakup.  Surprisingly, Anna’s husband was immediately keen on the idea, and even helped pick the dates we would go.  He must have known how eager we both were for a temporary reprieve from our mundane routines. 

As usual, whenever I leave the house, I made the rundown of things that I might have forgotten.  I was about halfway to the airport when a vision of my passport popped into my head.

I swore and made an immediate u-turn back into town.  I never packed my passport.  Better yet, I hadn’t even left it at my house, but at the pawn shop.  At least it was early enough that the shop was closed, and I would avoid any of the usual customers that insist on striking up conversation. I needed an in-and-out as the clock ticked closer to my flight time.  I parked behind the building and ran up the stairs to the apartment above the shop, which I used as my office.

I was rummaging through the desk drawer when the shop alarm first sounded.  Frustrated, thinking that the slamming door had set off one of the downstairs sensors, I went outside and through the front door to disarm the security system. That’s when I noticed the broken glass.  I felt for my coat pocket, but I knew my phone was conveniently in the cup holder of my car.

And then they grabbed me. With a gun behind my back, I opened the register and the small safe behind the counter.  The key to the valuables case wasn’t even needed, as the glass had already been shattered.  Once I was patted down and it was ensured that I had no phone, I was deemed a nonthreat, and was instructed to lay on the floor… which is where I remained, staring at a boot and the uneven hardwood floor.

As my daydreaming subsided, it appeared that the robbers were almost done.  The glass case had been cleared out and their black bags were bulging with the ageless valuables from my shop.  They were definitely smart – some of these items were worth tens of thousands of dollars.  If dealt properly, these guys would make off with more loot than if they had robbed a bank.

The apparent leader mumbled something to his partner, and then signaled at my guardian that it was time to go. Keeping his pistol on me, he waited for the men to leave and then made a beeline for the door.

But the leather boot and the uneven floorboard, which had been my companions throughout the ordeal, came together with a crash – and the man was down on the ground with his gun, now, sliding toward my face.

I quickly scooped it up and pointed it at him as I scrambled for the shop phone to dial 911. The squealing tires out front meant that his accomplices saw what happened, and he was abandoned.  At this realization, the man’s eyes grew dim.

But wait. Those eyes. They were so familiar! It couldn’t be!

The cops arrived in minutes, as I stood glaring at my now-unmasked robber.

“Now I know why you were so eager to help us plan our trip, you bastard,” I yelled after the officers, as they cuffed Anna’s husband.  Well, looks like I met with Murphy’s Law yet again.