by M. A. B. Lee

This story has never before been published.

I walked into the jewelry store and looked around. I was the only customer. An older man, who I took to be the manager, was arranging watches in the wall case. A young woman standing behind the counter looked up at me. So far, so good, I thought, although I realized I hadn’t gotten very far yet.

“I’m looking for a nice bracelet for my granddaughter,” I explained. “She’s turning sixteen next week.”

She smiled, pulled the tray of diamond bracelets from the display case, and put it on the counter.
“I’m sure your granddaughter would be happy with any of these,” she said.

“They’re all so lovely.” I leaned close and squinted. “Really,” I laughed. “I need my glasses.”

This was the trickiest part of the plan, and I had rehearsed it quite a bit. No one expects an old lady to just whip her glasses out of her pocket. So I did exactly what everyone expects. I went clawing through the contents of my purse as I muttered, “Now where did I put them?” Then I began piling things on the counter next to the tray of bracelets. Gloves, scarf, some crumpled receipts, a few pens, enough stuff to partly cover the tray. Finally, I took the fake bracelet out. It was concealed in a lace handkerchief. I was about to do the switch when he walked in.

He was a big guy, linebacker big, wearing grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Was he on his way to practice? Probably not with that nylon stocking over his head and gun in his hand. In his other hand, he was carrying a shopping bag. It was a nice canvas bag with pictures of ducks on the side.

“Back against the wall,” he said, waving the gun around. The three of us moved slowly backward. The young woman began sobbing, and the manager put his arm around her in a fatherly way. I leaned against the wall and watched the would-be robber.

He went up to the counter and grabbed the tray of bracelets. Brushing the stuff from my purse on to the floor, he dumped the bracelets into the shopping bag. Then, for just a moment, he stared into the display case. It was all diamond jewelry, sparkling under the lights. Suddenly he smashed the gun against the glass. We all jumped a little because of the noise. A web of cracks spread across the top of the display case but the case didn’t shatter.

“Smash and grab isn’t easy as it looks, is it?” I said.

They say old age makes people garrulous, so maybe that explains why I was talking to this guy. I wasn’t scared. I have a firm belief that no one shoots a grey-haired old lady. No one has shot me yet, so I think I’m right about this. I was, however, annoyed. I fingered the fake diamond bracelet, now back in my pocket. I had paid a fair bit for it and this kid was screwing up everything.

“Stuff like this takes planning.” I continued.

A little research on his part could have avoided this. All those diamonds, you wouldn’t want just regular glass. They must use safety glass or something for these cases. The shelves of diamond jewelry seemed beyond his reach. I could sense his disappointment.

He looked up at me. “Shut up.” The words were muffled because of the stocking, but I got the gist. Then he walked behind the counter. The clerk had locked the display case when she removed the bracelets for my inspection, but she left the key in the lock. He twisted the key right and left, then right again but couldn’t get it to turn. Nothing was going right for him today. Finally, he grabbed the gun by the barrel and began pounding on the lock with the butt. Accidents happen when you do stupid things, and I hoped for a moment he would solve the whole problem by accidentally shooting himself. But that seemed a little unkind. After all, he was just a kid so I said, “You need to push the lock––”

“I don’t see why you’re helping him,” the manager interrupted.

“Shut up! All of you,” the robber said. “Just shut up!” He laid the gun on top of the case, pushed in the lock, turned the key and the back of the case slid open. He went down on his knees and peered in. The diamonds had all his attention now. Even through the stocking I could tell his eyes were getting bigger. He grabbed jewelry by the fistful, boxes and display racks included, stuffing it into the bag. When he had emptied the case he stood up.

“THIS IS THE POLICE. YOU IN THE JEWELRY STORE COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!” The words filled the store. The robber dropped the bag on the top of the display case next to the gun. He was still behind the counter and looked right and left as if unsure how to escape.

The clerk and manager seemed relieved, but I was concerned. My plan would work just as well in the jewelry store on the other side of town, as it would here. But if I came to the attention of the police here, even as a witness, they might remember me when the other jewelry store reported an old lady had fooled them out of an expensive diamond bracelet. I just wanted to slip out and go on my merry way. On the other hand, that bag of diamond jewelry was tempting. It was worth a lot more than I had planned on getting for the bracelet, and more than enough to solve my problem. So you can see why I was a little torn as to what to do.

“You don’t have to watch much TV to know how this ends,” I remarked.

“This isn’t TV,” the manager whispered. “Please, be quiet before he shoots us all.”

“He can’t shoot us now, he needs us for hostages.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” the young woman implored.

“I’m sure he had the idea before I said anything.”

“Shut up! Why can’t you all be quiet?” There was a little catch in his voice, as if he were about to start crying. The stocking mask stuck to his face with sweat and large dark patches were forming under his arms. It was all a little sad really.

“There’s a fire exit.” The manager pointed to the sign over a door in back. “It comes out at the east end of the mall near the movie theater. Just run!”

“There’s probably a SWAT team out there already,” I pointed out.

“What’s wrong with you?” the manager hissed, “You’re going to get us all killed!” Then he turned to the robber, “Take the diamonds and leave now. You can do it.”

“THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!” the police announced.

The kid was frozen with uncertainty. I knew this was my last chance. Unfortunately, I only have two speeds, slow and very slow. I needed a distraction. I took the fake diamond bracelet from my pocket and dangled it out to him.

“Don’t forget this one,” I walked forward and reached over the counter as if to hand it to him. But before he could take it, I dropped it at his feet.

“Oops!”

He bent down to retrieve the bracelet. I grabbed the gun.

“Run, run,” I yelled to the others and waved toward the front door. The two of them ran out, not looking back. I heard the manager shouting “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” That was a smart move, cops being what they are in situations like this. The robber stood up, fake bracelet in hand, and stared at me.

“Listen,” I said, “I don’t think you’re cut out for this kind of work.”

But I had underestimated the kid. He still had his eye on the main chance. We both grabbed for the shopping bag. I got a good grip on the handle and he was pulling from the bottom. He gave the bag a big tug. I didn’t let go but I was nearly pulled over the counter. It might have become a real struggle until I remembered I was the one with the gun. I pointed it at him, and he let go.

I backed away toward the fire exit, keeping the gun pointed in his general direction. I’ve never fired a gun, and was pretty sure I wouldn’t shoot this one, but there’s always that uncertainty. He must have realized it because he didn’t move.

Now just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I knew the SWAT team was out there, and running out holding a gun might raise some questions in their minds. So, I laid the gun gently on the floor, clutched my purse and the shopping bag close to my chest, and slipped through the fire exit.

The SWAT team seemed surprised to see me. They were dressed in vests and helmets and carrying big guns. I managed some tears. “Oh dear,” I said, standing still and staring at them.

“Get her out of here,” the lead man ordered. One of the guys from the back came forward and took me by the elbow.

“Come along now,” he said in a kindly voice, as he tried to hurry me down the hallway.

He seemed like a nice young man. His backward glance told me how much he wanted to be in on the real action, not walking away from it with an old lady. So after we had gone a couple of yards, I said, “I’m alright now, really. I can make it the rest of the way by myself. You go back and help catch that terrible robber.”

He left without looking back. I walked out the fire exit door and waved off the waiting EMT.

“I’m fine, really. I’m just going to sit down.” I pointed toward a bench along the wall outside the theater. I walked to the bench, then kept on going, right into the crowd behind the yellow tape. I’ve had a lot of experience being old, and one thing I know is that no one pays a lot of attention to old people. We all look alike––grey-haired, walking slow, carrying bags. I got hardly a glance as I walked through the crowd to the corner of the parking lot. No one was going to remember me.

Raymond picked me up in the van a few minutes later. Just on time.

“Looks like there’s some excitement,” he said, nodding toward the emergency equipment drawn up in the parking lot.

“Well, I missed it. I didn’t see a thing. Must have been at the other end of the mall.”

Raymond helped me up the steps and into the seat. “Just as well. We don’t need all that excitement, do we?” He patted my knee. “Let’s get you home now. You can have a nice rest before dinner.”

Like lots of folks, Raymond thinks of old people as fragile, fussy babies. Not that I mind. He means well, and considering my recent activities, being under-estimated is probably a good thing.

Soon I was sitting in my own comfortable room at Pine Manor Assisted Living with the shopping bag on my lap. Harold the parakeet was swinging on his little trapeze. The African violet on the window sill was flowering. The basket of knitting sat by my chair. This was my home and I intended to keep it, no matter how high they raised the fees. I peeked into the bag, all those diamonds. They’d be enough to keep me here for years and years.

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Mary Ann lives in the mountains of North Carolina where she enjoys hiking, gardening, and writing mystery and crime stories.

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