Outside Bets

“EVERYBODY- FLOOR!”

On repeat. She’s armed- we oblige.

A garbage bag flutters.

“WALLETS.”

Duffel bags sliding like freight trains, lifted and vaulted over glass partitions. Two bodies follow.

Foot against my cheek. Waffle grip. Hot skin, lonesome ground.

Friendly reminder: “YOUR WAL-LET.”

I surrender mine. The pressure peels away.

I reach inside my pocket.

3-6-8-7 6-4-6-8-8-3-7

7-3-3

-

Interior: passenger van.

*Buzz*

“Four minutes.”

"Bags?"

*Buzz*

“Red.”

“Supposed to be BLACK.”

"We have red."

Contents furiously shift.

“Yeah just thank yer God they ain’t green.”

Into the telephone: "Red. Three minutes, 37 seconds."

-

The last wallet splashes inside the bag. 16 patrons, seven staff- not nothing.

“WELL DONE FOLKS,” the point woman whistles. “WE MIGHT ALL AVOID EXECUTION YET.”

Bags flop back over the partitions like stuck vultures; the bodies too. Everyone grab two bags.

233 Mississippi, 234 Mississip-

-

“Go.”

A clump of basketball players shuffle down the sidewalk in socks and sliders shouldering red bags. Doors burst open.

*SMACK*

Everyone’s on the ground grabbing.

“WHAT THE-”

“NO TIME.”

The groups divide. A getaway car screeches; the first sirens pursue.

-

Players exchange bags with the van. I’m inside.

"GODDAMNIT."

?

"Two goddamn bags."