At the weapon’s appearance, Jeremy freezes.
“Get that shit up out the drawer,” snarls the gunman. Jeremy understands the gunman knows his business. The unrelenting rile will disorient the cashier, shake him.
“Hurry, get the bills from under the drawer.” The pressure demonstrates professionalism.
“Yes, sir, right away.” The cashier plays his role well, too, moving fast, head down, not looking at the gunman.
Jeremy draws his knife, opening it behind his back. “Asshole,” he bawls and drives his blade into the gunman’s hand. The piece bounces. The gunman bursts through the door, squalling.
All have played their parts with élan.