At the checkout, Harry whipped out a pistol. “Cash. Now!”
Frank the shop owner shot his hands up while the chick in the high school uniform frowned. “Piss off,” she scoffed.
Harry roared in laughter. His tummy cramped. Still, he kept his pistol up. “Just… hand over your wallet.”
She pouted. It was kinda cute if nothing else. She inched back, rested her hand on the counter and squinted. “I’ll hunt you—”
Harry lost it. There were tears. He rubbed his eyes… then pain. Then the cold hard floor. The girl loomed with a raised donation jar.
More tears followed.