Mini-Mart Hold-up

The heat was unbearable. Barely three days into June, and it was already 97 degrees. Living in downtown Chicago wasn’t helping matters much; the sun reflected up off the asphalt easily raised the temperature 10 degrees. Combine that with the sheer number of people and vehicles, and you have a recipe for disaster.

They say that there are only a few things that make humans truly crazy: genetics, missing socks, traffic, and sweltering heat. Today’s heat was enough to drive an ordinarily sane person to do things they never thought they were capable of. You hear it all the time: violence is significantly higher during the summer months—rapes, murders, muggings all rise with the temperature. The news agencies eat it up; they like to make a big deal about comparisons to the temperatures, and the amount happening in the city.

The heat on this particular day was enough to brown out three square blocks in downtown Chicago, my apartment being on the edge of the browned-out area. Unfortunately, this meant that my ‘fridge was without power, which also meant all my food and water was about as hot as it was outside. This predicament is what forced me out of my flat and into the Near North Side 7-Eleven on Chicago Avenue, which was a blistering four-block walk from my apartment on State and Chestnut.

The walk was absolutely miserable; normally, it was a 6 minute, quarter mile trip. Today, however, people were lethargic, barely moving down the sweltering sidewalk. Every other person I encountered looked utterly miserable: their hair was matted down with sweat, their cheeks were flushed, and their shoulders slumped in exhaustion or dejection. The only salvation from the heat was a broken-open fire hydrant near State and Chicago Ave; apparently, teenagers were not content to suffer in silence. Distant sirens made it evident that their fun was going to be short lived.

The closer I got to the quick mart, the more I seemed to notice the heat. As I was walking, a thought struck me: what if the 7-Eleven didn’t have power? I wasn’t about to go anywhere else. The last thing I wanted to do was to turn around without a bottle of water.

After what felt like an eternity of walking behind lethargic, borderline depressed people, I finally made it to the market which, thankfully, still had power. I pulled the door open and was greeted by a blast of cold air from the air conditioner.

I must have looked like an idiot just standing there, because the employees were eyeing me. I tossed a lopsided smile their way, and walked further into the store. I wandered up and down the aisles, more enjoying the cool air than looking for anything specific. I finally wandered toward the coolers in the back of the store and grabbed the biggest bottle of water they offered.

I turned toward the front of the store just as the doors opened. In an instant, a man was at the counter, waving a handgun in the employee’s faces. The guy holding the place up was completely oblivious to my presence, which was great; getting shot in the face wasn’t high on my to-do list. I twisted the cap off my water and crouched down next to the chips and beef jerky.

The robber threw a pillowcase on the counter and ordered the kids standing there to fill the bag with cash and all the menthols they had. It was all I could do not to snort. This guy was holding a place up for about $250 worth of cash and 20 packs of smokes, trying to get away with a SpongeBob SquarePants pillowcase. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of the situation.

I peeked around the corner, pushing a few packages of jerky out of my face. The kids behind the counter were looking around, obviously trying to figure out if I was still in the store. I pulled my head back around the corner and took another drink of my water.

“…right there, and don’t do anything stupid! I’ll blow a hole right through your skull.”

“Take anything you want, just don’t kill us!” the boy said, his voice breaking.

“You already have everything you want, just go!” cried the girl, sounding more angry than scared.

“I’m taking the water. Nothing stupid, now.”

I hung my head. It looked like I was going to have to get involved after all. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on which direction the footsteps were coming from; the last thing I wanted was for this guy to walk straight into me.

The left.

I sidestepped quickly to my right and reached behind my back. The robber reached the coolers, threw the door open and began stuffing bottles of water into another pillowcase, this one featuring Buzz Lightyear. I shook my head again. This guy was a total amateur. I stood up and walked up behind him. He even left his 9 mm tucked into the waistband of his pants. In one smooth movement, I grabbed the gun and the arm that was stuffing water bottles in the pillowcase. I flicked the safety off and pushed the barrel into the man’s back.

“Hello there, Kyle Bradley, nice to meet you. You’re under arrest.”

The guy had no idea what had just happened. He tried—very unsuccessfully—to break free, but I held his arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Stop. Stop. I don’t want to hurt you. Just relax—relax!”

He continued to struggle, so I shot out my left knee and took him down. I shoved his gun into my own waistband, and pulled my handcuffs off my belt, snapping them over the man’s wrists.

“Who are you, man? Where did you come from?”

I shook my head again.

“Like I said,” my voice was all but dripping with sarcasm, “I’m Detective Kyle Bradley, and you’re under arrest.” I pulled the man to his feet, and started to walk him toward the front of the store. I looked at the kids behind the counter, held up my water, and said,

“I’m going to take this, and him. Try not to look so scared. It’s just the heat making people go nutty.”

I stepped out into the searing heat, pulled out my cell, and sighed.

“And all I wanted was a bottle of water.”