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side by smaller shops, a Vitamin Cottage, a Rite Aid. Miriam isn’t due to work for thirty minutes. Tracey spies a Starbucks on the corner. I accept her offer of coffee and she walks away to get it while I wait in the car.
    I look around the parking lot. Ralphs is open twenty-four hours. It’s seven thirty in the morning and there are half dozen cars parked close to the entrance. Tracey and I checked to make sure Miriam’s ex didn’t beat her to work this morning, but his car is not among them. Neither is Miriam’s.
    At seven forty-five, Miriam pulls in. I recognize her by the picture Tracey showed me. She’s early. I glance in the rearview mirror, toward the coffee shop, but don’t see Tracey. No matter. I turn my attention back to Miriam.
    She resembles her sister, same hair color, same eyes and mouth. They are both thin. The difference is in their height. Tracey is five-nine, Miriam, five-two, if that. A gazelle and a greyhound. They carry themselves the same way. With confidence. Miriam walks straight into the store, not looking right or left. She knows Tracey is coming today and she knows her ex will be close behind, but her bearing is unflinching.
    I watch the entrance to the parking lot. No cars pull in for five minutes after Miriam’s and the one that finally does is driven by a gray-haired senior in a big SUV who heads for a handicapped space by the door.
    I see Tracey now, starting toward me from the coffee shop. At the same time, the unmistakable crack of a rifle echoes across the parking lot.
    It’s muffled.
    It came from inside the store.
    I jump out of the car and run toward the store entrance. In one motion, I’ve unbuttoned my jacket and drawn my .38 revolver. I flatten myself beside the big, glass doors and peek around to look inside.
    It’s early enough that the store isn’t filled with midday shoppers. Still, there’s chaos inside. The two dozen or so people I see are flinging themselves behind checkout counters, store displays, a pyramid of canned goods—anything that can provide cover.
    Then there’s only one person left standing. His back is to me. He’s dressed in a duster and black jeans. He moves to my left, out of my line of sight, but I catch a glimpse of the rifle before he disappears from sight. An AK-47. The weapon of choice for every fucking punk these days.
    Tracey is suddenly at my side. “What’s going on?” She’s pulled her weapon, too.
    I shake my head. “A robbery?”
    She pulls a cell phone from her pocket.
    A voice from inside. “Miriam. I know you’re here. Come out or the next time I shoot, it won’t be in the air.”
    Tracey’s fingers freeze on the buttons. “Jesus. When did he get here? Weren’t you watching? Didn’t you see him drive in?”
    Her voice is sharp with recrimination, but I understand. It’s her sister. I place a hand on her arm.
    “He must have already been inside. But I did see Miriam arrive. She was early.” I gesture to her Tracey’s phone. “Make the call.” Then, “Is there a back way in?”
    Tracey nods, phone at her ear. “An office door.”
    “If Miriam is in the office, try to get her out the back.”
    She nods and disappears around the corner, talking to the dispatcher as she goes. I maneuver for a look inside. Someone is approaching the shooter. A man. He’s wearing a suit and tie with a little nametag pinned over the jacket pocket. His hands are in the air and he’s talking quietly.
    I can hear every word.
    “Abe, you remember me. I’m Steve Robinson, Miriam’s boss. Please put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt anyone. I know it. Miriam knows it, too. But she’s scared. She won’t come out.”
    He’s talking in a calm, steady voice. He’s got guts, I’ll give him that. At the same time, I know Abe is here on a mission. I could easily use vampire speed and strength to take him down, but in front of all these witnesses?
    “Come on, Abe, give me the gun and it will be over. You haven’t hurt anyone yet. We