Crumbly looked away when she glanced at the counter. She might be eighteen, but probably not. It was better not to think that way especially since he was aware the government was out to get him and other like-minded patriots standing in the way of the coming New World Order.

Thinking about the government, another possibility entered his mind. She might be a plant: someone sent to seduce and trap him. The more he thought about it, the more this seemed the most logical reason for the young woman to be hanging out alone during the lonely hours of his shift at the Stop and Shop. The fact she made no move to seduce him did nothing to dissuade him from concluding this was why she was here.

Not that it would matter. He was close to making his statement. The forces at work to destroy the America he loved were about to find out that real patriots wouldn’t be going down without a fight.

She ate the donuts and drank the juice, spending a lot of time staring at her phone while she did so. Crumbly couldn’t blame her for not hurrying out the door. It was cold outside and the Stop and Shop was the only place open in Grizzly Falls this time of day.

The girl finished her food but didn’t leave. A few more customers came in, people grabbing a cheap, quick, unhealthy breakfast to eat on the way to work while they gassed up their cars. She waited until the store was empty and approached the counter.

Crumbly reminded himself not to let her tempt him and then said in his best customer service voice, “How can I help you?”

She grinned. She had nice teeth.

Instead of answering, she put her arm on the counter and turned it so the tattoo of two arrows crossed over a skull in a circle of barbed wire on her inner forearm was visible.

“Nice tat,” he told her.

“Look familiar?”

Crumbly had to jog his memory for a second but then it struck him. “A guy I used to do business with him had a similar tat. It was on his arm too.”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Business? Like you sold him lotto tickets and Mountain Dew?”

“Another kind of business.”

“Yeah, what kind?” Her grin widened, but it did not reach her eyes.

“NoneYa.”

Her grin turned into a mocking laugh. “NoneYa business? Clever.”

“I have my moments.” Crumbly crossed his arms over his chest.

“The tattoo wasn’t similar, fat boy. It was exactly the same and the business was the exchange of cash for explosives.”

Crumbly wasn’t sure what to say. He’d been careful about who he told about the explosives. He trusted no one he told would talk out of school. Even if they had, he hadn’t mentioned the kind of tattoos the seller had.

“Nothing clever to say, fat boy?” she pressed, her tone mocking.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

The girl cocked her head. “Or what?”

“Or I slap that grin right off your pretty face. Maybe I keep slapping you until you don’t have a pretty face anymore.”

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, she looked more amused. “Do that and the next person to visit you with this tattoo won’t be near as polite or pretty as I am.”

“Do you want something?” Crumbly asked, his patience thinning.

“Yeah,” she said her voice dropping to a serious tone. “The man who sold you those explosives made a mistake.”

Crumbly looked at the security camera and then back at her. “This isn’t the place for this conversation,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Why?” she shot back. “You worried someone might find out what you’re up to?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I already know, and if I know, it’s not much of a secret.”

Crumbly’s jaw clenched. “What do you think you know?”

She tilted her head, studying him like he was an insect under a microscope. “Come on, a dude like you? A guy who spends his off hours in QAnon and New World Order chatrooms? A guy who has literally called Timothy McVeigh a martyr and a hero? What might a dude like you want with that much C4 and detonators? It ain’t for clearing stumps outside your mom’s house.”

“It’s my house,” he muttered.

“Whatever. The point is, you’re going to blow something up. Probably someones too. Honestly, whatever it is, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

“It might.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, her voice hardening. “Because you will not do it.”

Crumbly smiled and remembered what he had thought about her before. He’d decided he was wrong when she showed him the tattoo but now, he was convinced he wasn’t wrong at all. He was wrong about the seduction. She was taking a different route, trying to get him to confess.

Crumbly shook his head. “Okay. Since I wasn’t going to do anything in the first place, no problem.”

“Excellent. Since you don’t need all that C4, I’m sure you’ll be glad to give it back.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Fat Boy. Don’t stress, we’re going to pay you all your money back plus ten percent for your trouble.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She sighed, tapping her fingers on the counter. “Come on, Fat Boy, this is the carrot. Take it like a good rabbit. You don’t want to see the stick.”

Crumbly looked her over and shook his head again. He let out a fake laugh before he said, “If Manny told me this, I might actually consider it, but you? Sorry kid, you just aren’t very scary. Which begs the question, why did whoever you and Manny work for send you?”

She shook her head and laughed back. “We’d prefer to stay out of the federal spotlight. I appear to be any other punk kid passing through this god-forsaken little town on my way to somewhere better. Manny, on the other hand, looks like a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound ex-con who sells stolen military-grade hardware because that’s exactly who he is. This way, things can get done and no one gets hassled by the man. Trust me, if the stick comes to visit, it won’t be me and you won’t see him coming until it’s too late.”

Crumbly shifted his weight, his discomfort starting to show. He didn’t like the way she talked; so calm, so confident, like she was untouchable. “What do you mean federal spotlight?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“We figured it out, and honestly, we don’t care. Unlike the feds, who do care about this kind of thing a great deal. If we can put together what you have in mind, odds are if someone else hasn’t already they will soon. I’m probably saving your fat ass from a world of hurt. You should pay me the ten percent.”

He snorted. “So, you really think the feds are watching me?”

“I think it’s possible.”

He folded his arms, leaning back slightly as if to put distance between them. “You’re making my case for doing something. The government is out of control.”

The girl shook her head again. She’d been warned he was a zealot who might want to be a martyr. She tried to reason with him anyway. “Could be, but come on, you’re going to kill people, innocent people most likely. Is it overreach that they might want to stop you?”

“They started it…”

She held up her hand and he stopped talking. “Look, I will not get into a chicken and the egg debate with you about this. The thing is, we don’t want to be in the domestic terrorism business. Manny made a mistake and I’m here to correct it. I agree, none of that is your fault, which is why we’re paying you the ten percent extra to sell the shit back to us.”

“Sell what back to you?” Crumbly asked, his stomach tightening. She had to be a fed, this whole thing reeked of a setup.

She looked like she might have more to say, but just then the door to Stop and Shop jingled, and a pair of customers walked in. “How about a pack of Marlboro Lights and we continue this conversation later?”

“You old enough to smoke?” Crumbly asked not trying to hide sarcasm in his voice.

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course I am. You think any ID I show you is going to be real, anyway?”

Crumbly got her cigarettes. She paid cash and then got out of the way.

He thought she might leave, but she turned around and sat back at the table. When Linda, the lady who worked the morning shift, walked in, the girl marched outside. Crumbly hoped she’d figured out he would not crack and had left.

But when Crumbly walked out after the shift changeover, there she was, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. The sun was rising, casting pale yellow light over the parking lot. The morning chill had started to lift. She didn’t bother with her jacket.

Crumbly glanced at the old van filling gas. They’d been there a while. He figured the tank must have been on empty, but other than that, he didn’t give them another thought.

The girl was waiting for him and it annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

“You know you’re not fooling anyone,” he said to the girl.

“I’m not trying to fool anyone. Who do you think I am? A fed?”

“Possible…” He shoved his hands in his pocket.

She smirked. “A fed who knows you bought a bunch of explosives and knows who you bought them from? If I had that knowledge, why would I be offering you money instead of slapping the handcuffs on you?”

“You need my confession,” he shot back, his tone clipped.

“I need a confession to arrest you? Seriously?” She shook her head, letting out a short, humorless laugh. “Why wouldn’t I scoop you up and have some jack-booted thugs beat it out of you at a black site?”

That hit a nerve. Crumbly, who very much believed the government had secret black sites and jack-booted thugs to do that very thing to patriots like him, wasn’t sure what to say.

“I need you to agree to sell us back the explosives,” she continued, her tone firm now. “Look at it this way. You’ll make money that you can use to buy even more next time. You can blow up all the federal buildings you want, but do it without us being involved. We do enough shit the government frowns on. We don’t need some Fat Boy playing soldier adding some Y’all Qaeda homegrown nine-eleven shit to the list.”

His jaw clenched. “Y’all Qaeda? Homegrown nine-eleven? Fat Boy playing soldier? Maybe you should watch your mouth. Slapping the pretty off your face is still an option.”

She blew smoke in his face and laughed. “You’ve got no fucking clue who you’re dealing with. Is this your way of saying you choose the stick?”

Crumbly’s hand balled into a fist. “Keep talking and I’ll show you the stick.”

“Ten percent, unless you hit me. Then someone like Manny, only scarier, comes knocking.”

Crumbly lowered his fist. “How do I know you’re not full of shit?”

Her expression didn’t waiver. “Show me you still have it, and I have my people wire you a down payment. Say half.”

Crumbly shook his head. “Half in my account?”

She nodded.

He started walking, but stopped. If she was telling the truth, it made some sense. He could find someone else to sell him explosives and end up with a profit. If she was full of shit, he could make her wish she’d never heard his name. He figured that might be more fun than making the ten percent.

He turned and said, “You coming or what?”

She didn’t move. It was her turn to think. That he might be planning to do her some harm had to cross her mind. He was getting ready to say something else when she started moving toward him.

Before they reached his truck, his phone buzzed. He almost ignored it, but decided to check.

There was a text from a friend, neighbor, and fellow patriot.

It read: The Feds are raiding your house. Run to the hills, we’re fucked.

That’s when Crumbly spotted the men in black carrying machine guns pouring out of the van with the empty tank.

“What the fuck!” he screamed, his eyes darting from the armed men to the girl.

He was glad he’d brought his gun. He didn’t always, but the closer he was to using those explosives, the more paranoid he had become. Seeing all the men with guns coming at him, he realized he hadn’t been paranoid enough.

Crumbly looked at the girl. She was a fed after all. He was getting ready to go down in a blaze of glorious gunfire when it occurred to him the feds wouldn’t shoot one of their own. He grabbed her, pulled her to him, and pressed the barrel of his .357 hard against her temple.

Crumbly thumbed back the hammer as he shouted, “Stay back!”

The Feds in front of him did as they were told. He could see men coming around on each side of the Stop and Shop come to a halt as well but not before putting him in their sights.

“What the hell are you doing?” the girl said.

“Shut up.”

“Let me go, you fucking idiot!” she yelled as she tried to pull away.

Crumbly told her, “Be still,” and then to the feds he said, “Stay back.”

“You’re going to get me killed.”

The gun went off before he could tell her to be quiet. He didn’t mean to but with her squirming and his finger on the trigger, it happened. He let her drop and for a moment forgot he was surrounded by armed men because it’s hard to think about much else when your face is covered with brains and blood.

He wiped his face and saw the lifeless body of the girl missing half its head. It occurred to him he had indeed knocked the pretty right off her face.

The look on Crumbly’s face said he didn’t mean to pull the trigger, but whether or not it was intentional, the gun had fired and removed the top half of the young hostage’s head.

He said, “Oh shit, I’m sorry,” and the men with guns made those his last words.