"Hello?"

"Is this Amy?"

"This is her."

"Did you get my tape?"

"I got it and I watched it. How much do you want for the original?"

"I like your directness, but do you think someone reduced to robbing convenience stores at gunpoint would be able to purchase such a daring piece of cinema verite?"

"Very funny. But I don't care for blackmailers with a sense of humor."

"Tsk, tsk, Amy. Don't think of me as a blackmailer. Rather a benefactor. After all, if it weren't for me you'd be seeing yourself on whichever TV station could pay most. And you realize--"

"Look, just tell me how much."

"Don't ever interrupt me again, Amy. That tape could still find its way to the media and the police. Armed robbery is a felony, you know."

"But how much?"

"Be on the southwest corner of Fourth and Crescent at 4 pm tomorrow. Bring the gun in a bag or your purse. Wear a T-shirt tucked into shorts. Make them too tight to hide a weapon. And an umbrella; weatherman says rain."

"What if I don't show up?"

"You know better that to ask that, Amy. Goodbye."

Amy Starling pressed PLAY on her VCR remote. She saw her electric blue Toyota convertible parked outside the Shop-N-Save almost directly under the security light. Why did she have to park there? She heard the gunshot. She had been shaking, and that idiot clerk didn't think she had the nerve to shoot, but did she have to put a hole in the wall a few feet from her head? She saw herself running out of the store and ripping the ski mask off her head. Why did she have to take that damn thing off? She heard herself whoop as she hopped into the convertible and tore out of the parking lot. As the camera zoomed in on the tail, she could clearly make out the license plate through blue tire smoke. AMY STAR. Why did she have to do such a stupid thing? She heard the cameraman whisper a single word: "Shit."

"Shit," Amy muttered as she sank onto her bed. "I am in deep shit." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lemon yellow teddy bear propped against her pillow. "What the fuck are you staring at?" she asked. But the bear just smiled cheerily back at her.

Dressed as ordered, Amy paced back and forth on the appointed corner at the appointed time. Between drags on her Marlboro, she compulsively extended and collapsed her umbrella as she stared intently at every car that slowed as it approached her corner.

She should just leave. Maybe she could stall the blackmailer. After all, it was five after four and he wasn't here. If he was going to extort money, or whatever he wanted from her, he ought to keep his appointments. She could string him along and get the tape from him without too much trouble. But he sounded very serious on the phone. Never mind, if she couldn't get herself out of this jam he had her in, then Daddy could. But how could she explain the tape to her father? Damn it! She couldn't think she was so worked up over this whole mess. How did she get in this and how would she get out? She took another hit of nicotine to keep herself from screaming in frustration.

She recalled the conversation she'd had last night with Rufus.

"Ru, I need your help."

"Sure, what's up sweetheart?" Even through the telephone receiver, his voice sounded oily.

"There's somebody who's giving me some trouble. Can you take care of him? You know, mess him up a little?"

"Depends on what's in it for me, baby."

Amy shuddered at the leer in his voice. "Ah, I was thinking, you know, the usual?"

Rufus' laugh was sickening. "Naw, baby, a blowjob got you the gun. If your problem's too big for that, then I think we're gonna to have to come up with somethin' even better than that mouth of yours. Exquisite as it is."

"How about twice, then?"

"Now you got talent, girl, I admit that. But every time I see you in one of those little dresses of yours I just can't help thinkin' `bout the little snatch they hidin'. I think it's about time I got me a taste of some of that."

Amy's nose wrinkled at the thought of Rufus with his hands on her, of him inside her. But. "Okay."

"An' maybe you'll take care of my cousin too. He's been hard up since his old lady kicked him out."

That was the final straw. "Fuck you, Rufus! I'll take care of my own problem before I'll spread for any of your scuzzy friends! And from now on, keep your smelly dick and your ugly face away from me! You got that?!"

The only thing she'd heard from Rufus was cruel laughter.

Finally, twenty minutes after her arrival, a pea green Volvo of indeterminate age pulled up to her corner. "I believe you're waiting for me," the driver said through the open passenger window. She bent down to look at him. As far as she knew, she'd never seen him before in her life. He had sandy hair and wore wire-frame glasses, but looked otherwise utterly nondescript. He was only a couple years older than herself.

"You're fifteen minutes late," she complained.

"I told you to be here at four; I didn't say when I would show up. Did you bring the gun?"

"Umm, yes," she replied, holding up her purse so he could see.

"Hand it to me through the window." She opened her bag and started to reach inside. "The whole purse, Amy. We are in public, remember."

"Right. Sorry." She had to keep calm. As long as she didn't make any stupid mistakes and kept her wits about her she was going to be okay. She passed the purse to him. He reached inside and pulled the gun out, careful to keep his hands below the car's windows. She noticed he was wearing latex gloves.

"Browning. Nice. I assume you wiped your prints from it?" She nodded her head. She wasn't stupid. Then why were you robbing a store for less than you spend on lunch in a week? she asked herself. "Did you wipe the magazine too?"

"I never touched it. It was loaded when I borrowed it."

"I see." He ejected the clip and wiped it on his pant leg. "Wouldn't want someone else to go down for your crime, would we?" He put the clip back in the weapon, replaced the gun in her purse and put it in the back seat. "Hop in."

Amy hesitated. "Where are we going?"

"Elsewhere. Get in."

She got in the car and shut the door. The driver didn't pull away from the curb. They just sat there, and Amy grew even more nervous. She looked over at her blackmailer expectantly. "Buckle up," he said, "and put both hands on the dash." When she'd done as ordered, he pulled away from the curb. Afraid to look over at her blackmailer (kidnapper as well?), Amy kept careful track of the route they took. She was surprised when the car pulled into the driveway of a small house in a lower middle class neighborhood not far from her own home. "Stay in the car until I call you," the blackmailer told her. He reached back and retrieved her purse, then got out, taking the keys with him. She thought for a moment of getting out and running home, but he still had the original of that damned tape. She couldn't leave until she had the tape. He went inside the house and, after a few moments, came back out. He waved her in, so she got out of the car and went in the house.

Like her kidnapper, the house's furnishings were neat but not remarkable. She followed him into a kitchen/dining area and took the seat he gestured her to. Her purse sat on the counter at his elbow.

"Want a drink?" he asked.

She hadn't noticed how dry her mouth had become since she first met this man and she nodded. "Do you have any beer?"

"Cola or orange juice?"

"Orange juice, please." He took a glass from a cupboard and opened the refrigerator. She saw him reach past most of a six-pack of Miller Lite to retrieve a plastic pitcher. He was still wearing the gloves. Why? Was this somebody else's house? He poured for her and set the glass on the table in front of her. He leaned against the fridge and watched her as she sipped, arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face.

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" he asked.

Amy shook her head. "Should I?"

He laughed. Not a mean laugh, it sounded almost regretful. "Probably not. Wait here while I get something."

He went toward the back of the house and she heard something scrape across a floor. He had left her purse on the kitchen counter.

Quickly, she went to her purse. The gun was still there! She pulled it out, but had a second thought. She looked at the bottom of the handle part and saw that the clip was still in place. She crept down the hall toward the sounds of her blackmailer. She found him in a small bedroom going through the disorganized contents of an old steamer trunk. "Give me the tape or I'll shoot."

He looked up at her, looking oddly not at all startled. "No," was all he said.

"I mean it," she said and raised the gun so it was pointing at a spot on the wall a couple of feet above his head, just like she had done with the woman behind the counter at the Shop-N-Save. She braced for the recoil and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. The trigger wouldn't budge.

The blackmailer smiled and took the gun from her hands. "Let me guess. The guy you borrowed this from told you just to point and pull the trigger, right?" Not knowing what else to do, Amy just nodded. "Did you ever hear the saying `a little knowledge is a dangerous thing'? No? You were carrying this gun around for the past three days with the hammer back and the safety off." He pointed out a small selector switch on the gun. "It could have gone off at the slightest jar. I could've pulled up to that corner today and found you with a hole in your side. Yes, really." He smiled a smile that was not quite evil. "But thanks for putting your prints back on the gun."

Stupid stupid stupid, Amy berated herself. Out loud, she asked, "What if I'd known about the safety? Or what if it hadn't worked? You would've shit your pants." Despite her own embarrassment at not knowing anything about the gun, she smiled at the thought of her blackmailer's humiliation.

He smirked back at her. "That's an ugly mouth for such a pretty face. Lesson one for the day, Amy: the simple things always work. Besides, the first three rounds are blanks." He ejected the clip and thumbed two cartridges from it, then pulled back on the weapon's slide. Amy watched the brass cylinder arc gracefully through the air. It thudded quietly to the wooden floor. "You've had things too easy, Amy. Unless you smarten up, I'm always going to be two steps ahead of you." He held up an oversized book and gestured her back down the hall. "But on to more pleasant things."

The book turned out to be her freshman yearbook. The bastard had gone to her own high school! While she leafed through the book, looking for his picture, her blackmailer explained "the facts of life" (as he termed it) to her. The video had been shot by a college buddy of his. He had just been fooling around with his new toy when he saw a masked figure enter the convenience store across from his apartment and had taken advantage of the situation. Just more of her bad luck. The video was in a safe place, under the control of another friend. The gun would soon join it. If this second friend didn't receive a call every Wednesday at six, the package would be mailed to the police. If Amy had him beaten up, or if she tried to kill him, or even if she just made him feel like the phone call was more trouble than she was worth, her life would be ruined. Her father couldn't help her. Rich girls caught doing bad things could do wonders for an ambitious DA's career, especially when Daddy was a big deal in the other political party.

"Is all that clear?"

"I guess so," she answered. She would never have gone to her father for help anyway. Not unless it were absolutely necessary, that is. "Where are you in this?" She held up the yearbook.

"I was a junior."

She flipped to the appropriate pages and finally saw him. Robert Wade Evanston. "I think I remember you. Bobby Evanston, who used to mow our lawn, right?"

The blackmailer -- Bobby -- nodded. "Your father let me do yardwork to earn some money for college. More of a favor to my dad than anything else. I saw you a few times, but I did the work on weekends and you were always a popular girl. I think I remember every time you walked out the front door. Do you have any idea how beautiful you were?"

Of course she knew what she looked like. He must have seen her expression and knew what it meant. "No, I mean do you know how close to perfection you seemed? It was almost painful to look at you, those few times I saw you. You weren't sexy and you didn't try to be, at least not when I saw you. You had this aura of innocence about you. You even smiled at me a few times. You were just... beautiful." He was being awkward, but Amy felt flattered despite herself.

"Then you came to my high school and I found out what a bitch you really were."

Amy opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand and the look on his face made her close her mouth again.

"Marcia Watkins. Kiesha Jefferson. Joel Merks. Recognize them? Friends of yours right? At least they used to be. Until you got Joel Merks fired and jailed because you convinced him to cover up your shoplifting, until you drove Marcia to leave school because she told you she had made out with her cousin at a slumber party. And what you did to Kiesha was unspeakable."

"I didn't know she'd be so sensitive. All I did was."

"Shut up. Even if you were that obtuse you should have at least have apologized to her. In public. But you went on as though none of your shit touches you. That's three lives you ruined, except maybe for Marcia if her parents speak to her again. And how many other people have you hurt out of carelessness or maliciousness?"

"So what do you want?"

Bobby leaned against the wall and looked down at her, not as though he owned her but certainly as though he was considering the purchase. "I haven't decided quite yet. First, tell me why you held up that store."

"I don't know."

"What are you, four years old? You had to get the gun, drive to a part of town you probably don't go to very often, pull on a ski mask and point that gun in somebody's face. Surely there was some reason, no matter how inchoate, floating in the recesses of what passes for your mind. Daddy not giving his princess all the attention she thinks she deserves? Did you want to get caught so he'd be humiliated?" She shook her head in denial. "Was it just stupid kicks? To see if you could get away with it?"

She nodded dumbly, ashamed -- ashamed! -- to look him in the eye.

"Well, looks like you couldn't. How much money can you get hold to without anyone finding out?"

"If I sell some things... twenty-five, maybe thirty thousand dollars."

That obviously stunned Bobby. His eyes popped open and his jaw dropped. He looked so cartoon-like Amy had to fight the urge to laugh. In truth, she could have gotten closer to fifty if she sold some of her jewelry, but like her father said, the first offer is never the real offer.

"Whew, that's a lot of money. More than I expected, to be honest."

"Then we have a deal?"

"Not in the slightest."

"But."

"It's a lot of money, all right. Too much, in fact. It's more than I'll make this entire year, but you could probably get it for me in a week, right? And no one would know and it wouldn't make the slightest dent in your life. That's your problem."

"Look, Bobby, being poor wouldn't make me a better person, and it doesn't make you better than me."

"First of all, I go by Robert now. Rob to my friends. Second, I have nothing at all against rich people; I'm sure they're as decent as the general population. In fact, I hope to be one myself some day. I just meant that you've had things easy and you've taken it for granted. It's spoiled you to the point that you think all problems go away if you throw enough money at them. Fourth -- no, third, it isn't my relative poverty that makes me superior to you. It's the fact that you're a felon and I am not."

"Extortion's a felony," Amy retorted grumpily.

Bobby just smiled down at her. "You're right. Let me correct myself. My superiority comes from the fact that I haven't been caught."

"Yet."

"Well, if I am, maybe the prisons they put us in will be close together. Maybe I'll even see your bus on its way to highway cleanup." If he went down, she was going too, and she wouldn't like it.

He lifted her from her chair by the elbow and guided her to the front door. "You can find your way home from here, can't you? Be here tomorrow after school. Wear something sexy."

He had decided on the purchase after all.

The End