He’s staring like he thinks if he concentrates hard enough, he’ll be able to see through the mask. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement, and I see that my dad doesn’t have both hands up in the air anymore. Somehow he’s managed to edge sideways just enough that he’s standing right behind Daniel. He lowers one hand. He’s looking at the guy in the mask as he bends ever so slightly to reach under the counter. What is he doing? His hand re-emerges. It’s wrapped around a gun. A gun! Where did it come from? I’ve never seen a gun in the store before. Is it new? There’s been a rash of robberies lately. The cops say it’s because of all the drugs in the neighborhood, which is a relatively new thing. My dad has been complaining about it, about all the stickups and how the only thing that ever happens is that insurance rates go up for the storeowners. “They get robbed twice,” he says. “First by the punks and the junkies and then by the insurance companies. And you know what?
