The truest law that exists in this world is an ancient law: Actions have consequences. There’s always a price to be paid whether you have the money or not. The Charmer’s latest action is causing one hell of a consequence for Omar and Jasper.

The sun beats down on the dusty pavement as US Marshal Hank McCarthy walks his size 13 boots over to a can of coke and crushes it into the ground. The Marshal badge hanging on his chest catches the sun, and he takes his cigarette out of his mouth and flicks it on the ground, sending sparks flying. He pulls his cowboy hat off his head and starts fanning the wind, and squints his eyes while his face sours into a frown. In front of him are the remains of a roadside horror movie. One car torn to shreds, one gas station messier than the inside of a college microwave, and he’s holding in a piss so bad water is practically coming out of his ears.

After 20 years on the job, today feels like the second coming of the Alamo, and unfortunately, he’s Davey fuckin’ Crockett on the front lines. Fuck me.

 He pushes the door open, ignores the anemic ding, and glances over at the counter. Bob is still worked up, leaning over a wall of cigarettes, pulling what’s left of his hair out. Hank strides over.

“Alright, alright, looks like the tornado left the trailer park and found this place,” says Hank as he motions around the room as if he was a pastor and the mess was his church. He wears a smile so fake it wouldn’t fool a rattlesnake.

“Where were you?! I called 20 minutes ago,” Bob screams.

“What do you expect… you’re 15 minutes away from being 15 minutes away,” says Hank, still wearing that smug-ass smile. “I was workin’ on another case that brought me into the area, and all them local boys were busy, so you’re stuck with me.”

Despite Hank’s flippant tone, his gaze flicks around the room, taking in the chaos. Inside, Hank is doing everything but smiling. He’s seen these kinds of places before, and usually, they’re run by a junkie and robbed by a junkie. But if you ask him, they deserve to be robbed – it might do the world some good. After all, the last thing this world needs is another shitty gas station clogging nature’s wonder. And for this case here, being his last assignment ever was just another way the world was telling him it was time to retire. What a sour and shitty note to go out on.

“Public service, my ass!” Bob gruffs.

“Alright, alright,” Hank soothes, his voice as smooth as molasses. “What happened? One of your regulars swing by for their fix and decided to redecorate?”

Bob folds his arms, his weathered face creasing with anger. “Can’t you tell?! I’ve been robbed!”

Hank raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed from the pristine condition of the place. Who was the lucky bandit? Long-hair Dave again?” He reaches for a candy bar with practiced ease, the rustle of the wrapper the only sound in the tense silence.

Bob shuts his eyes, the crow’s feet around them deepening like canyons when he opens them again, a flicker of fear dances in their depths.

“No! It was a gang!”

Hank pauses like he isn’t sure what he hears.

“What was that?”

“A gang! A damn, fuckin’, handkerchief-wearing gang.” Says Bob.

Hank drops the candy bar and all around him, the world falls into complete silence. It’s as if Bob’s words were the only light source in a deep, dark hole and he can almost feel his cheeks tighten into a smile. In his mind, he just hit the fuckin’ lottery. This. This case would be a worthy one to retire too, not some bullshit paperwork. Fuck those brasshats.

Hank decides to play dumb. “A gang? Out here?”

“Damn right it was a gang! I mean, come on, what do you call four or five people ransacking the place?” says Bob, his eyes darting around the room like the eyes of a whack-a-mole game.

“You don’t say,” Hank scratches his chin. “That’s unusual for these parts.”

Hank reaches into his jacket and produces a radio. The harsh crackle as he switches it on seems to echo the anticipation building within him.

“Gentlemen,” he speaks into the receiver, his voice a low rumble. “We got a 568… all hands on deck.”

A sense of exhilaration courses through him. Fate, it seemed, wasn’t quite done with Hank McCarthy just yet. He was going to get one last thrill ride before the curtain fell. Hank turns his attention back to Bob.

“Ok. You say we got a gang. Well, let me take a look.”

Hank stalks through the wreckage of the gas station, his keen eyes scanning for clues. A glint of metal caught his attention – a security camera, encrusted with grime and neglect.

“This thing work?” Hank questions, his voice gruff.

Bob shrugs, his voice laced with annoyance. “It better, I’m still paying it off.”

Ignoring Bob’s grumbling, Hank continues to survey the scene. Toppled shelves, ripped packaging, it all painted a chaotic picture. He squeezes his eyes shut, picturing the dance of destruction that had unfolded. When he opens them again, a glint of steel sharpens his gaze.

“You got something to say?” Bob ventures clearly unnerved by Hank’s intense focus.

Hank offers a curt nod. “Tell me exactly what happened. And don’t leave out a single detail, no matter how small it seems.”

Bob launches into his story, his voice exploding with frustration. Hank listens patiently, absorbing the details like a sponge. When Bob finished, only one question hung heavy in the air.

“What about the car outside? Where are the bodies?” asks Hank.

Bob shrugged. “Beats me. If it’s not in my gas station, it’s not my problem.”

“Some work ethic you have.” Rifles Hank.

Bob shakes his head while Hank scratches his chin, as a thoughtful frown creases his brow. “Mind showing me that security footage?”

Bob, flustered, led him to a cramped office. The air hung thick with the smell of stale coffee and something vaguely like despair. Mountains of wrappers and dog-eared Playboys threatened to topple over, a testament to Bob’s organizational skills.

“You keep a real tidy place,” Hank remarks dryly.

Bob bristles, but Hank quickly extinguishes the fire.

“Give me some space. This is an official crime scene now, thank you.” Hank fixates his gaze on the flickering images on the monitor. The grainy footage shows a group of young men and women, their faces obscured by bandanas, ransacking the store with the grace of a hog in high heels. It was almost comical, like a poorly choreographed heist scene from a cheap movie. Except for one detail…

One of the figures, an old man stood still amongst the chaos cascading around him. He wasn’t yelling or smashing things like the others. Instead, he moved with a strange calmness, almost like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Hank leans closer, scrutinizing the image. There he was, bending down to pick up a can of soda. Something wasn’t right. Ain’t no one is this calm in these situations.

“Why is he so calm?” Hank mutters, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice.

He froze the frame, the image locking onto Jasper’s face.

“Something ain’t right,” Hank murmurs, feeling the knot of dread in his stomach tightening. He impulsively reaches for his cigarettes.

He unpauses the tape, his eyes glued to the screen. There, in a split second, he saw it. Jasper wasn’t just picking up a soda. He was grabbing another figure, a smaller one bursting with nervous energy, shoving him roughly into the back of the gang’s van.

“That little fella didn’t want to go,” Hank grumbles, his voice low and dangerous.

He pauses the frame again, the image capturing the raw terror on Omar’s face as he was shoved into the van.

A new light flickers in Hank’s eyes. This wasn’t just a simple roadside robbery. This was a kidnapping. Could even be human trafficking. A slow smile stretches across his face, like a predator who had finally scented his prey. This was a worthy case indeed.

Outside the store, the sound of sirens pierce the air as more cops arrive. A hint of panic blooms on Hank’s face. If he didn’t act soon, there would be no way he could keep this case. And there’s no way in Hell he’s going to let some other sucker have all the fun, no matter what the rules say.

“Hold onto this,” he says, handing the tape to a newly arrived officer. “We got a kidnapping on our hands. I’m gonna go get the jump.”

The Officer frowns.

“Aren’t you going to brief us?”

“No time..” says Hank as he rushes to the door.

The officer frowns and mutters, “What the fuck.”

As he approaches the door, a flash of white catches his eye. A small business card, nestled amongst the debris was laying close to the counter. Two words were printed on it in bold red lettering: “The Charmers, with a number, (440 330 0216)

“You know anything about this?” asks Hank turning to Bob.

“The Hell is that?” Says Bob.

“A business card.”

Bob’s face instantly turns red.

“Yeah, that’s the card of that little bastard who ransacked the joint.”

Hank smiles, then shakes his head, “don’t you think you could have told me that when I walked in?”

Bob shrugs and struggles for words as his embarrassment kicks in. “Well I…uhh…”

Hank shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it – common sense ain’t everyone’s thing.”

Bob’s face sours to a frown.

“You’ve done enough, thank you,” Hank smirks.

Bob shakes his head.

Hank glances back down at the card and thinks this wasn’t just going to be any chase. This was going to be a charming one.

He stuffs it into his pocket and makes his way outside. As he approaches his cruiser, a glint catches his eye. In front of him, was a can of coke crushed next to the wreckage with the tab ripped off.

“What a bunch of fuckin animals,” Hank mutters as he slides into the cruiser, feeling like a new man.

He starts his car, feeling the engine roar to life, and glances back at the card, knowing he just found his golden ticket.

And all he had to do was follow it straight to the jackpot.

 

Please, like, comment, share and tell me what you think. For context, this what happens after this: The Gas Station Confessions – tonysbologna : Honest. Satirical. Observations

What’s missing is a chapter you haven’t read is the part where, we find out the people ransacking the gas station is a group called The Charmers

This is a chapter from my new book, I’m sharing for feedback. For those that have been reading, Jasper and Omar have a cop on their tails throughout the book – this is my B-Plot.

 

Would love to know what you think! 

 

Thanks so much for all your feedback, it means more than you know!