Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Jon & Bobby's Tale - 5
On a sunny Saturday morning in the crowded supermarket, the busiest day of the week, everyone there froze at the sound of a gunshot.
A big guy, in dark clothes, with a black balaclava covering his face, stood at the no.1 teller's station, brandishing a shot-gun.
The ceiling-mounted security camera shattered and fell in a hundred pieces.
"Nobody moves and nobody dies!" yelled the guy in an excited, high-pitched voice. (Probably off his face!)
"You move," he swung the gun down and pointed it in Dulcie's face. He threw a tote-bag down in front of her. "Fill that up. I want all the cash and credits in your till and all of the others too. Move it! You're quick or you're dead."
White-faced and trembling, terrified, Dulcie opened her till and began filling the bag.
"Get a fucking move on, Woman!' the guy screamed. He swung around, scanning his shot-gun around the crowded but motionless store.
The instant his back was turned, the stock-boy, Jon, rose from his knees where he was working up at the far end of an aisle. He had a plastic supermarket bag containing one large can of pet food and he swung it around his head like a sling-shot and released it.
The heavy can, in its flapping bag, flew down the length of the aisle, over the customers' heads. It struck the gunman in the back of his head and laid him out, like David felling Goliath.
The rest of the store was shocked and still as he ran down behind it. He snatched up the dropped gun and stood pointing it down into the face of the big man now lying face-up on the floor, groaning.
"You move one muscle and I'll blow your fucking head off!" Jon snarled.
The guy didn't move. It was obvious that the kid meant what he said.
"Dulcie, get the police. Now!" he demanded. She pushed the alarm button under her desk.
Softening, but still holding the gun steady, he looked down again. "I'm sorry about this. That was a cowardly thing to do, hitting you from behind, and I'm sorry. But you just can not do this. This is Mr. Craddock's money and he, and his staff, work hard for every cent they make. You can not just come in here and take it. Nobody can."
Three policemen arrived. Two of them hustled away the villian and the third took the gun from the still-angry youth. David Craddock came running in from the street and flung his arms around his crying daughter. "Dulcie!"
He turned and looked over her shoulder at his newest employee. "That was bloody incredible, Jon. Thank you. It doesn't seem enough, but I really do thank you."
Jon flashed a small, embarrassed grin. "Just doing my job, Mr. Craddock, just taking care of your business. That's what you pay me for."
"That was far more than doing your job. Foiling armed robberies and saving the boss's daughter is not in your job description you know."
"Well, it should be. Dulcie is not just the boss's daughter, she's my friend. Right, Dulcie?"
"Damm right I am, Jon-boy. I'll be your friend forever. Thank you."
"No probs, Dulcie,' he smiled.
The aging policeman, Sergeant Jamieson, (he was getting close to retirement), smiled and offered his hand. "Bloody amazing, Son. I wish that I was here to see it. Looks like we've got another hero in our midst."
"I'm not a hero, Sergeant. That was the act of a coward, attacking from behind like that."
"Somebody had to do something, and you did it. I know a hero when I see one, Jon, and I'm looking at one right now."
"No you're not. You're just looking at me."
"Damm," he grinned. "Stubborn little sod aren't you? Call me Paul - heroes call me Paul."
"I'll call you Sergeant Jamieson then," the kid shrugged.
"Super-stubborn! David, can we use your office? I'll need to take some statements so that we can wrap this up."
"Yes, of course, Paul. Come this way. You too, Jon. We need your statement most of all."
They left a computer/note-book for all the witnesses to record their names and addresses, and walked through to the office. The policeman looked back at the boy. "That really was amazing, Jon, but what if you missed? Did you think about that?"
"I don't miss, Sergeant. Not when it matters. I never miss."
Before they reached the office, Sherry and Jacquie, his landladies, came running in and rushed up to him. "Jon! Ohmigod! We've just heard. Are you all right, Boy?"
"I'm fine thanks, Sherry, Jacquie. I was never in any danger."
"Well, maybe you weren't, but my cousin was. Thank you, Jon. You're a hero!"
"I'm not . . ." He stopped and listened to the excited voice of the announcer on the radio above him.
"It's all go today, Folks! We've just heard from the Surf Patrol out at Carver's Beach. There's a school of dolphins in the water out there - a huge school and they're coming in really close too! That's not something we see every day. If you hurry out there, you'll get a good look at them.
There's reports coming in too of an attempted armed robbery at Foodworld. It's all over now, apparently, but stay tuned and we'll keep you up to date - on Point West, Westpoint's number-one radio station."
"Dolphins!" Jon hissed. "They're lucky that I'm not there."
That drew him several wondering looks. What did he mean by that?
They'd just sat down, in the office, when the announcer stopped the music and yelled excitedly on the radio in there.
"Newsflash! Newsflash! There's an emergency. There's been a shark attack at Carver's Beach! People going out to see the dolphins have been attacked by a large shark.
Several people have been injured and one man has been taken - it's feared that he may be dead. Everyone get out of the water at Carver's Beach. Get out of all the beaches - there's a killer shark out there!"
White-faced, Jon leapt to his feet.
"Damm! I should've known. They're doing it again, Paul! Sorry everyone - I've got to go now. I'll talk to you later."
"Wait, Jon," said Dulcie. "Where do you have to go? And, who is Paul?"
"Paul was my brother. My stupid, wonderful, hero of a big brother. Fucking dolphins killed him too. I've got to go."
"What do you mean, you have to go?" Sergeant Jamieson blocked the doorway. "The radio said that was a shark attack. Dolphins don't kill people."
"Dolphins use sharks. Don't you know anything? Get out of my way! I have to go - this is my world."
He still didn't understand what was going on, but Paul Jamieson remembered another incident from long ago, and he got out of the way. You don't try to stop heroes when they're on a mission.
The boy shot out through the door. Through the office window, they could see him running out through the crowded Supermarket. He paused and grabbed a large serrated carving-knife from the kitchen display and waved back at the window,
"I'll pay for this later," he yelled. Then he was gone.
He ran out of the Supermarket, down the side street, across the quiet railway yards and over to the wharf on the riverside, ripping his clothes open as he went. At the wharf, he stopped, kicked off his shoes, shed every stitch of clothing, picked up the knife again and clenched it in his teeth. He dived off the wharf and disappeared into the river.
It was later reported that some people saw a slender pale-skinned youth emerge from the south bank of the river. He climbed the rock-wall, crossed the road, streaked across Westpoint's small airport and plunged into the surf at Carver's Beach, still brandishing his carving knife. He went under the waves and wasn't seen again.
Half of the town, it seemed, headed out to Carver's Beach. But, after the ambulances had gone, there was nothing to see there. No-one else got into the water - "Stuff that" - they weren't that stupid.
From the beach, people saw, or imagined that they saw, things happening out there beyond the breaking surf. Several heads came and went, they couldn't have all been dolphins. Some people were sure that they saw seals out there.
Eventually boredom set in. There was nothing happening and nothing to see. The crowd drifted away and went home.
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