Donald Baker writes under his middle name. He has had his short fiction published in The Southern Cross Review, The Huffington Post and in Literally Stories. He is currently hard at work putting finishing touches on his first novel, Bob, P.I. and rewriting several short stories. He is also an active amateur photographer, an actor in community theater (yes even Shakespeare), and progressive spoiler of seven grandchildren. Somewhere in there he works when he isn’t laid off. He happily resides in Central Indiana with his family. He maintains an author website at http://www.sylbun.com. He can be contacted at: email@example.com
Blaine Washington cleaned the remainder of the makeup from under his eyes with a baby wipe before sitting down in front of the television in the small theatre dressing room. He tossed the plastic grocery bag of cash on the worn out sofa next to him. He had already replaced all of the costumes and props. His presence here would never allow suspicion. He was the stage manager after all and it was not unusual for him to be in and out of the theatre several times a week, especially now that he was unemployed. There was no danger of interruption this time of year as there were no upcoming performances in the works. He could sit here and count his haul in peace and see if the news was covering him yet. He figured that his score today was a good one, maybe a thousand.
The news anchor went on about a number of issues. At the top of the next hour the news started over again and Blaine was pleased to see that he had top billing. He smiled as the reporters gave him an excellent review.
“Our top story tonight, four more unbelievable robberies at small town Indiana yard sales. State and local Police seem stumped at this summer’s rash of yard sale hold ups in the state. All of whom seem to be committed by different men. Rhonda Lytle is in the field in Jefferson Indiana, 30 miles south of Indianapolis. Rhonda?”
Rhonda dutifully detailed the four hold ups in south central Indiana and gave descriptions of the four robbers. Then brought on the State Police spokesman who talked a moment before Rhonda asked a question. “All of these robberies, is this the work of a gang?”
“It would be an awful big gang.” The spokesman explained. “A dozen hold ups by a dozen different men. There is simply not enough money in this for an organized crime effort. This is individuals.”
“So, it is coincidence then that these crimes are taking place in a different area of the state almost every weekend. Always towns close together, and by different men.” Rhonda pushed.
“All of that is under investigation and I can’t comment. But we are telling people to please be aware and take precautions. These men are always armed and always dangerous. They will be caught.” The spokesman insisted to end the interview.
Blaine smiled, turned off the television and started counting the money.
It had started with him flat out of money and ideas. He had been depressed and more than a little desperate with his unemployment coming to an end. Fast food, retail, and warehouse work seemed to be the only jobs available and none of them would pay enough to live independently. He was bumming around a monster yard sale on the south side of Indy. Looking casually for anything the theater might be able to use. Maybe he could get the producers to spring for something he couldn’t pass up.
This was one of those massive multi-family sales that filled the front and back yard of the residence. Blaine found nothing for the theatre but did locate a Shakespeare coffee mug for a quarter that he couldn’t pass up for himself. He heard the two ratty dressed forty something women talking at the cash box while he browsed with mug in hand.
One of the women with stringy black hair and a large gap in her front teeth was talking. “Donnie done took six hundred to the bank. He’s gonna have to make another trip soon as they get back. I’ve taken in at least that much since he left.”
“Course you sold the riding mower since then. That’s most of it.” The other woman added. Her hair was much more kept and her teeth lacked gaps but she was dressed in clothes that needed thrown away. Blaine couldn’t help thinking that she needed to shop her own garage sale. He paid for the mug and went home.
At home he thought about the yard sale and the $1200 in cash. He found himself thinking of it often as he applied for jobs online at the library or used his food stamp/EBT card at the WalMart or as he sorted through the props and costumes at the theater. The thinking turned into what if. And the what if turned into planning. And the planning turned into a walk through. And the walk through turned into a full costume trial run. For him it was like Tech week in a production. He had sideburns, a brown wavy hair piece, a small scar on his cheek and a deformed ear on the same side. He dressed in a sport coat used in the last production of Arsenic and Old Lace. None of the clothes were his own and he looked much older than his thirty-two years. He parked on the next street then walked to the sale. He browsed and kept his eyes and ears open. No one seemed to think him the least bit strange or unnatural. He saw the cash box opened one time and judged it has a few hundred in it. He saw a half dozen opportunities to make his move with the prop gun in his pocket. Then he went home satisfied that his thinking was right.
Blaine planned more and with one week left on his unemployment he made the move. This time he was in the town of Monrovia and had a blond wig pulled back in a pony tail, sun glasses, and orange to green reversible jacket, and an LA Dodgers ball cap. His makeup was light but he sported a new nose. He figured that the orange jacket and ball cap would be remembered and that was what he was going for. His take was over $250 and he reversed the jacket, stuck the cap, sunglasses, prop gun and wig in the plastic grocery bag with the cash. Then combed his hair straight back all while walking quickly through the adjoining yards to the next street and his car. He heard no commotion so he figured that the woman had given him the five minutes as he told her. She had considered others and he was encouraged by her thoughtfulness. Blaine had told her when he started to leave that he would shoot an innocent person, maybe a child if she didn’t give him five minutes before sounding an alarm.
Two hundred fifty dollars tax free was good but it wasn’t enough. Blaine did his due diligence and scouted local online newspapers for yard sale ads. Two weeks following the first time, he went in the middle of the afternoon to Tipton, then Atlanta, Arcadia and at last Cicero. The news remarked that the robberies were in a straight line and was no doubt the work of a gang. It went perfectly as he removed the distinctive parts of his disguise, stopped after each job and switched costumes in the car, then drove to the next target. That night after returning all of the costuming and props to the theatre he counted out $1167 in cash. He paid the landlord and filled the car with gas, then started planning for the following Saturday.
The next time it was two sales in the far north of the state with a haul of over $1200 and he didn’t hit the other two targets as he didn’t want to push his luck. Two weeks later it was far west, around the Terre Haute area. Four stops and a big load of over $2000 cash. Then the jobs in the central part of the state. All five news stations in Indianapolis were buzzing and The Yard Sale Bandits were a hot topic. He laid low for four weeks, even taking on a part time job. But his research remained constant as planned. He went to Jefferson, Whiteland and Greenwood, Indiana and came home with a disappointing $900. He knew that he would need to roll the dice and go out again soon.
He planned the hits for the east central part of the state. It was farm country and small towns but they had sales advertised, big sales. Knightstown was to be first but Blaine made the decision to back out of the job once he looked around. Too many redneck men hanging around and one of them had given him the eye. He purchased a table lamp then left. He would go to the next place near Rushville, then jog over to Connersville, then up to the Cambridge City site before jumping on the interstate and back to Indy. He saw the Big Yard Sale Ahead sign at the side of US 40 caught his eye and he slowed down. He saw another sign pointing down a side road. It would be unplanned but he had missed out on Knightstown and wanted to make up for it.
It was a big sale and he drove past then turned around on the next street and circled behind. It was a good setup: few houses, not far to walk and he could cut through a home construction site to the next street. He checked his disguise, it was flawless, he looked like an orange haired character from the Revenge of the Nerds movie. His costuming was complete right down to the picket protector and tape on the glasses.
The sale looked well picked through and he was the only customer. There were two women in their sixties sitting in lawn chairs in the garage watching a television. He browsed close to them and feigned interest in an electronic dart board. It was worse for wear and looked like junk to Blaine.
“I’ll go ten on that.” One of the women called over to him. “Still works, only has two darts to it.” Blaine nodded to her and saw the cash box on the garage floor between them. The other woman said something to her and they started a conversation during the commercial break for Family Feud.
Blaine decided to go for it. It was a big sale that was picked over so there must be some cash. He sidled closer while looking at the men’s shoes lined up in the garage, then stepped up to them and pulled the prop pistol, partially obscured with the sleeve of the jacket.
“Give me the box.” He said calmly. The women looked at him placidly.
The woman on the left had bluing hair and terrible false teeth. She snorted in amusement. “You’re one of them Yard Sale thieves, huh?” Blaine stared in reply and pushed the prop pistol out further. Neither woman reached for the box between them.
The brassy haired woman on the right grabbed her purse off the table and put it in her lap. “You don’t want my pocketbook too, do you?” She asked indignantly.
“No, the box. Put it on the table now.” He insisted in a low voice.
“I don’t think he would use that thing.” The blue haired one said.
Blaine looked at her in disbelief, no one had argued with him before, then he turned back to the other woman. The brassy haired one now had the smallest pistol Blaine had ever seen pointed at his head.
The look of disbelief was still on his face as he lay arms spread wide on the concrete driveway. The glasses had flown off somewhere behind him. The prop gun slipped from his fingers and he stared at the summer sky. The small hole in the center of his forehead trickled a thin line of blood into the orange wig.