Russell skimmed over the rows of shelves stocked with food and other nonperishable items. Along the far side wall, coolers ran the width of the building, then down the back wall. From what he could see, it looked to have an assortment of drinks jammed into the slanted shelves.
A flashlight would be nice right now, Russell thought. He didn’t want to power on his phone unless necessary. It hadn’t been charged in some time, and the last time he checked there was little to no power left.
Look for a portable battery pack.
He logged the mental note in his head, then made his way to the checkout counter. “If anyone is here, we’re looking to get some food, drinks, gas, and any other supplies. We’ll pay for what we take.”
Russell didn’t receive a response, making him wonder where the clerk resided.
The cluttered space behind the counter looked empty. A plastic crate, boxes, and other items sat on the floor. He couldn’t spot any lights, or other markers to signal that the fuel pumps were working.
Crap.
Russell grabbed a plastic sack from near the counter, then turned toward the shelves.
Max milled about the store, sniffing any food that piqued his interest. He lingered at the beef jerky. Good choice.
Russell shopped the store, grabbing any and all items that he could stuff inside the sack. It bulged at the sides, testing the strength of the plastic. He opened a package of jerky and fed it to Max.
The German shepherd snatched it from his hand and consumed the meaty treat in a blink.
Oh. What do we have here?
A small section of the shelves toward the front of the store, near the register, had a small supply of liquor on the top shelf.
The bottles filled Russell’s gaze, tormenting him to pop open their tops and partake. His mouth watered at the thought. The urge to take a single sip grew stronger the more he lingered in front of the bottles.
Russell grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, stuffed it inside the front pocket of his jeans, and moved on.
A small display of electronic items caught his eye. The black shroud hanging over the display made it hard to see. He leaned in close, searching for a portable battery charger.
Max growled under his breath. The German shepherd stood rigid in the main aisle, facing the entrance to the convenience store. Even through the dimness, Russell could see and sense the tension swelling in the canine’s large frame.
The grumbling of an engine from outside the store caught Russell’s ear, followed by the skidding of tires over the pavement. He couldn’t spot the vehicle from where he stood, but he knew what caused the sound.
Great.
CHAPTER THREE
RUSSELL
Max inched his way toward the entrance of the convenience store. Both ears stood erect, and his tail was taut. He growled under his breath, searching for the source of his anxiousness.
Russell flanked the canine, craning his neck to see the blind spot beyond the corner of the glass door.
A jacked-up brown Chevy truck sat in the parking lot, away from the building. It wasn’t parked near any pumps or anything else for that matter. Strange.
The front of the truck had clumps of mud covering the front. The grill and bumper had chunks of grass clinging to the frame. A thick layer of dried dirt coated the windshield, leaving only the path where the wipers ran visible.
Hillbillies. Awesome.
Russell didn’t spot Cathy, making him more anxious. He glanced over what little he could see of the parking lot and near the Bronco. She was nowhere to be found.
A tall, slender man materialized from the corner of the glass door.
Max growled, then lowered to the ground. Russell grabbed him by the collar and held firm.
The door swung open.
Max barked a warning.
The man paused just shy of the threshold. He took a step back from Max. “That is one mean looking pup, there.”
The bill of his green John Deere hat pointed at the sky. His jaw worked the toothpick clutched between his teeth. The scraggy hairs growing from the sides of his face were thick and long, and his clothes were dingy, torn, and ragged.
An awful smell of onions radiated from the man’s unclean body, assaulting Russell’s senses. Russell crinkled his nose as he wrestled with the agitated canine.
Max bared his fangs at the stranger. He pressed forward, trying to get free of Russell’s grip around his collar.
John Deere dipped his chin to Max, then glanced up at Russell. “Not sure why your dog is so bent out of shape, friend, but I’d make sure to keep a firm grasp on that collar.”
“Max, settle down,” Russell said, patting him on the side. He tugged on the collar, pulling him back from the entrance of the store and away from the man. “It’s okay, boy.”
“Yeah, boy. It’s ok,” John Deere replied, removing the toothpick and spitting a mouthful of saliva to the ground. It hit the floor like wet cement.
Russell backed away with Max, who was less than cooperative. “Sorry about that. He’s pretty protective.”
John Deere whipped the thin line of spit that clung to his bottom lip with the back of his hand. “German shepherds are great guard dogs for sure. They can get one hell of a temper, though.”
Max calmed on the growling, but he remained vigilant, watching the man’s every move.
“Doing some shopping there, friend?” John Deere walked inside the store, closing the door behind him. He eyed the plastic sack stuffed to the gills with food and other items.
Russell looked to the sack, then back to John Deere. “Uh, yeah. I’m not sure where the clerk is, though. We spotted the car on the other side of the building, and the door was unlocked. I grabbed some supplies and planned to leave money on the counter for whatever we took.”
“We?” John Deere nodded, then said, “Oh, you must be talking about that tasty little number outside. She’s easy on the eyes for sure. You’re a lucky man.” An unsettling grin formed on the man’s face.
Russell shifted his weight between his legs, nostrils flaring. The muscles in his arms twitched, then flexed. He didn’t care for the tone or coy smile.
Russell had his Glock 17 concealed in the waistband of his pants behind his back. He contemplated reaching for the weapon, but didn’t want to escalate matters further.
“Don’t worry, friend, she’s in good hands. My friend is keeping her company,” John Deere said, smiling.
“Stay, Max.” Russell let go of the collar, then removed his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it on the counter near the register.
Max remained poised to strike—lowered to the floor, watching the surly man as subtle growls rumbled from his core.
John Deere lifted his arm and pointed at the counter, revealing the piece tucked his waistband. “You know, some people might constitute what you’re doing right there as stealing. Afterall, someone could take that money, then no one would ever know the food and supplies you’re taking had been paid for.”
“People will think what they want then, I guess.” Russell patted his leg and made for the door. “Come on, boy.”
He walked around the man with Max trailing behind him.
“Hey, I don’t think we’re done chatting, pal.” John Deere said, raising his voice in frustration.
Russell pushed open the door, leaving the stifling heat of the store and the stench of the foul-smelling man behind him.