“Empty the cash register, now!” Marcus Jones said to the visibly terrified Indian woman behind the counter.
Jones pointed the small revolver at the woman’s head for emphasis.
When she didn’t move, Jones gave the woman a hard stare before briefly eyeing the camera in the ceiling corner of the 7-Eleven.
He saw the red light blinking, indicating he was being recorded and was relieved that he remembered to wear his ski mask.
The decision to rob the convenience store had been last minute, after getting high and playing Grand Theft Auto with his best friend Jamal, and right now Jones was beginning to regret it. But it was too late.
It had been Jamal’s idea to begin with, and he had suggested it while the two were playing the video game in his sister’s apartment, less than an hour ago. Marcus was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to do it in the first place.
Marcus turned his attention back to the Indian woman. She was heavy-set, perhaps in her early thirties, and she still stood frozen.
“Now!” Jones screamed. His voice echoed louder than he had planned, and the woman jumped.
She hit several buttons on the well-worn cash register, and the cash drawer popped open.
Marcus quickly hopped over the counter and began filling the pockets of his jacket.
“Take what you want, just don’t hurt me,” the Indian woman managed to say to Marcus, her voice barely above a whisper.
The woman’s words rattled Marcus, and he could hear genuine fear in them. He watched her cower in the corner, knocking over a rack of cigarettes in the process.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in response. “I just want the money.”
Marcus continued to fill his pockets with cash until the register was empty. He hoped his friend and literal partner in crime Jamal was having luck in the back room.
“I got the safe. Let’s bounce,” Jamal yelled from the back, as if answering Marcus’ thoughts.
Marcus turned at the sound of the voice and saw Jamal emerging from the storage room carrying a duffel bag.
Jones noted that the duffel bag swung heavy, hopefully full of cash. Jones breathed a sigh of relief underneath his mask, before he hopped back over the counter and followed his partner out the door.
“Get in, get in,” Jamal screamed as he got behind the wheel of the 2012 Toyota Camry, Jamal’s mother’s car.
Marcus hopped into the passenger side as Jamal put the keys into the ignition and started the car. Marcus noted that his hands were shaking.
Jamal put the car in gear, and the 2012 Toyota Camry spun its tires before roaring out of the parking lot and onto Crenshaw Boulevard. They had gone three blocks when both men dared to rip off their sweaty ski masks. They carefully scanned the streets and saw that no one was watching, before looking at one another. They both smiled.
“Slow down, slow down,” Marcus said to Jamal, after they had fled another six blocks. Marcus’ eyes scanned the streets one more time.
People stood at bus stops, moved along the sidewalks, in and out of shops and apartment buildings. No one paid any attention to the Toyota Camry, or the men inside. No one knew that they had just robbed a 7-Eleven. Marcus took one last look behind them—no cars were in pursuit.
Jamal eased off the accelerator, allowing the car to slow to the speed of traffic. The two young men, both only twenty-two years old, still held their breath. They listened carefully for several more minutes. No sirens. They let out sighs of relief.
“We did it, bro,” Jamal said to Marcus, and the two men high-fived one another.
“How much was in the safe?” Marcus asked.
“Five thousand. Give or take.”
“Holy shit!”
“Told you we could hit that place and walk!”
“You mean run!”
Both men laughed.
“We’ll be safe at home in ten minutes like nothing happened.”
The Camry was abruptly rammed from behind, pitching both men forward in their seats.
Jamal oriented himself after the impact and immediately looked in the rear-view mirror. “What the fuck…” was all he could say.
Marcus looked through the rear window to see who or what had rammed into the back of their car.
It was a brand new Cadillac Escalade. Its front grill was smashed from the impact into the rear of the Camry. But that’s not what had Jamal’s attention. What had his attention was that the vehicle had no driver. There was no one inside the Escalade at all.
The Escalade accelerated and rammed them again. The impact was much harder this time, and it caused the Camry to slide sideways into traffic.
Jamal attempted to correct the Camry’s direction, but the force was too great to stop the slide. That was when the second car hit.
Both men were jarred again when the Toyota Camry was broadsided just behind the driver’s side door by another vehicle. The second vehicle was a brand new Tesla Model S sedan, and it too had no driver.
The force of the collision sent the Camry spinning off the side of the road, and the vehicle came to a stop when it slammed against a fire hydrant.
The impact caused the rear passenger door to break open. The duffel bag from the 7-Eleven robbery jettisoned from the Camry and split open when it hit the sidewalk. Cash, snacks, and soda bottles spilled onto the street. Then the hydrant began to leak.
Jamal and Marcus crawled out of the vehicle, dazed and confused. They looked at the Escalade and the Tesla. Both vehicles suffered considerable front-end damage but were still functional. They sat idling, passengerless and seemingly sentient like predators working in coordination, and now waiting to go in for the kill.
“What…what the hell just happened…” was all Marcus could say.
Marcus Jones heard the siren chirp of an approaching LAPD patrol car, and he broke from the shock of the moment.
He realized he still had a gun in his hand.
“So let me get this straight—you’re saying that the driver’s of the Escalade and the Tesla fled the scene,” Captain Vanhelter said to Officer Rodriguez.
“No, sir. I’m saying that witnesses reported seeing the vehicles operating with no drivers.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Were they stolen?”
“Possibly. But again, witnesses reported no drivers in either vehicle. First calls in saying so came in about four blocks from the accident.”
“Where were the vehicle owners?
“The owner of the Escalade was out of state. The investigation at his home showed that the alarm had been turned off, and the garage door had been left open. Owner claimed that he’s sure he left on the alarm and shut the door before he left.”
“Someone they know took it for a joyride? Someone who had the keys and alarm codes?” the Captain offered. It was the only thing that made sense to him.
“All keys were accounted for and away from the vehicle. It gets more strange, sir,” Officer Levy added. Both patrol officers stood at attention across from the desk of Vanhelter. “The Tesla driver. He claims he watched it happen.”
“Watched what happen?”
“He reported that his car simply activated and took off out of his driveway, with no warning whatsoever.”
“He just watched it leave the driveway?”
“That’s what he said, sir.”
“Impound the vehicles.”
“Already done, sir.”
Vanhelter turned his attention back to Rodriguez. “And you said you got a text message about the robbery in progress?”
“Yes, sir.”
“From who?”
“Unknown.”
“We can unlock an unknown number pretty quickly, officer. You should have done that by now.”
“Yes, sir, but I couldn’t, because the text did not come from a telephone number. It didn’t come from any number at all.”
“Are you saying it just appeared on your phone?”
“Yes, sir. Tech guys said they couldn’t trace the source.”
Vanhelter gave both officers a look.
“We’re just as baffled as you, sir. We had barely left the motor pool when I got the text. We decided to check it out and came upon the scene.”
Vanhelter rubbed his face. “Okay fine. I’ve seen weirder things. And the perps?”
“Couple of kids. First offenses. Stupid. We’re holding them until the parents and public defender get here.”
“Should we contact the manufacturers of the vehicles?” Levy asked.
Vanhelter shrugged. “No. We’ve got enough shit to do. Let’s just be glad we caught them. Put it all in the report and file it. If the Feds want to investigate it, it’s up to them. We simply don’t have the manpower. Dismissed,” Vanhelter said, waving his hand.
Rodriguez and Levy looked at one another briefly before exiting the captain’s office. They waited until they moved past the desks and ringing phones, through the front doors, and out of the building before speaking.
“So what do you think happened?” Levy finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Rodriguez answered, “but I have a hunch. And there’s one person I know who can confirm it.”
“Who?”
“A friend with the Block. And I’m hoping she’s where we were headed to before I got the text.”