Gatekeeper

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"That's five dollars even."

Arnie Weller looked over the shoulder of the balding man holding out a ten-dollar bill and checked on the whereabouts of the young woman he'd seen entering a few minutes earlier.

"Out of ten," he automatically chanted, not bothering to meet his customer's eyes. Where was she? He turned to the cash register, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in a blur. He caught the spring-loaded drawer against his hip as it opened, quickly made change, and proffered it to the man.

"Want a bag?" he asked, back to surveilling the rear of the store.

There was a telling pause from the customer, forcing Arnie to reluctantly focus on him. "What?"

The man smiled. "I bought gas."

Arnie stared at him, at a total loss. "Sorry. Have a nice night."

Shaking his head, the man slipped from Arnie's line of vision, through the double glass doors to the right, and into the night, where his pickup was parked beside one of the gas pumps.

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