Star Buck$$$

Wednesday afternoon in a crowded Starbucks with a typical blend of struggling crime writers, millennial gamers, and a hapless herd of senior citizen dating site hopefuls.

The buzz in the air was perfect to mask any implicating details that might have slipped from our lips between our caffeinated sips. I hadn't seen Gilbert in nearly two months since security kindly escorted him off the premises, and desperation infiltrated his eyes as he fidgeted in his chair like if his ex-wife had recently discovered his new address.

“Look, bro.. I wish I could help you, but I had to refinance my house just to afford this coffee.” I replied. The joke fell on deaf ears as Gilbert continued to scan the patrons with a loathing sneer.

Just then, a tall redhead slithered in, distracting him for a brief moment. “Those aren’t real,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to offend everyone in the building.

“Good job, buddy,” I scolded with a grin.

“Listen, I have a plan,” Gilbert suggested.

I acknowledged him with a brief nod, as he suddenly rose to his feet, flashed a shiny 357 revolver and proceeded to the register. No mask, just pure unabashed freedom...