text: As my fingers curl around the grip of the small revolver in my jacket pocket, I notice there isn’t as much pulsating anxiety driving through my body as the first time. Still some anxiety. But not the type that leaves me near paralysis. Armed robbery is bound to cause a little anxiety for anyone. Unless you’re some kind of a psychopath. But no psychopath am I. This is simply an emergency solution to a temporary problem. Rent went up, can’t hold a job, just lost my car to the finance company after they repo’d it. Not that I didn’t try to prevent that from happening. I hid that car at friends’ houses for a good month-and-a-half. But those bankers just wanted it more, I guess. It’s not like I ever thought I’d be here, doing this sort of thing. But I’m not hurting anyone. Yeah, the gun’s loaded just in case, but I have no intention of murdering anyone. I just need to get a few more bucks and clean out a bank account or two, maybe get some cash advances with a credit card. Just to get through this little rough patch. And I’m not targeting the most vulnerable. Not people like me. I’m going after rich folks that can afford to be a little lighter in the wallet. What I’m saying is that I’m basically a modern-day Robin Hood. Give me a good century or two, and I expect there to be a Disney movie featuring an anthropomorphic fox or some such similar animal lauding my exploits. And I just found my mark. Nicer navy-blue suit draped over his middle-aged body. Balding, with love handles to highlight his out-of-shape physique. And most importantly, a bulge in the back pocket where he keeps his wallet. I find a pace that leaves me traveling a consistent twenty feet behind my mark. The mark glances over his shoulder, but I don’t think he’s looking at me. Maybe checking traffic before crossing, I don’t know. The mark turns and heads east down Carson Avenue. I trace the same route and see nothing but a ghost town up and down the street. That’s what I expected this late at night. It’s showtime. I pull the revolver out and feel a slightly less than firm grip as a film of sweat my autonomic nervous system saw fit to produce coats my palms. Picking up my pace, I close the gap between me and the mark. “Excuse me,” I say in a voice meant to be commanding but soft enough to not draw attention. The mark stops. He turns and Mr. Peak Middle-Aged Male faces me. He has warm eyes and a slight upturned smile. “What’s up?” he replies. Then he catches sight of the revolver in my hand. I expect the same response I got from the first sucker I tagged a week ago in these same parts. And that’s what I got - for a second. A flash of surprise from the mark was followed by a grin that then grew into an outright smile. I see a glimmer - actually more of a sparkle - in his eye. Okay, now I’m feeling that anxiety. But I’ve got to stay the course. Summoning the most authoritative voice I can, I say, “Make it easy, man. Take out your wallet and phone, throw them down, and lie flat on the ground!” The mark just keeps smiling at me. Now he’s gently shaking his head side to side in a vaguely paternal manner - the demented but disappointed Father Knows Best. “I feel bad for you, but you’ve got to admit this is awesome,” he says in a voice that is commanding but soft enough to not draw attention. This is not good. “I’m not fucking around here!” - my voice cracking despite my best efforts to avoid it. With a disconcertingly jovial manner, the mark maintains his smile. “Neither am I. I’m seriously happy.” His voice isn’t cracking. In fact, I find myself fighting from being drawn in by the mark’s easy confidence. Before I know what’s happening, the mark makes a seamless gesture with his right hand that flips up the rear of that navy-blue suit and somehow leaves him holding a knife with a blade stretching to at least nine inches with the kind of serrated edge that screams, “No one here is getting out alive.” I make a move to cock the hammer of the revolver, but the mark speaks and I freeze. “You heard of the twenty-one steps? I take it by the look on your face that you haven’t. That’s alright. It’s just this theory that if I’m within twenty-one paces of you with an edged weapon, doesn’t matter if you have a gun because I can close the gap before you fire.” I want to cock the hammer, but I’m locked in place by some breakdown of my fight-or-flight mechanism. The mark keeps talking in this calm and steady voice that sends a crawl through my core. “Can I thank you? Seriously. I never thought this moment would come. I’ve been waiting for this for so long. And to have it be like this, with a built-in self-defense claim!” I remain at an involuntary standstill. I want to run, but the phrase “twenty-one steps” keeps running through my mind alongside imaginings of what that terrible blade could accomplish. “Not a man of many words? That’s alright,” the mark continues in a steady but chilling tone. “I’ve thought about this for so very long. Endless nights, really.” I glance over my shoulder, hoping for a passerby that might ward off the mark and give me room to escape. The streets remain devoid of human life. The mark gives me a once over. “I’m jealous - you’re going to get to experience what it’s like when your life leaves your body.” “Wha-” is all my vocal cords can muster. “Hey, take it easy. No pressure. I see you’re tense, and I’m truly sorry for that. I want this to be a life-affirming experience for both of us,” the mark says to reassure me. We stare at each other, my face in a grimace and his still sporting that easy smile. He is the first to speak after several seconds of silence. “One question before we get started. What do you think your insides look like? I’m betting kind of a blackish-blue, not red at all like in movies. What do you think?” His voice is now one of uncontained glee. Another pause and the mark speaks again to comfort me. “You’re really nervous, huh?” His soft eyes lull me in for a moment. “Don’t be, friend. It’s all going to be okay. This is going to be the ride of a lifetime.” My body finally registers something close to a survival instinct and my thumb moves to draw back the hammer of the revolver after all these interminable seconds conversing with the mark. Twenty-one steps are closed as quickly as the mark proclaimed when I first halted him. The blade cuts easily into my belly before exiting my body and reentering in the chest cavity.