By Lincoln Reed
Judy Suarez velcroed her orthopedic sneakers and gripped her SIG Sauer. “Of all the days.”
A shotgun blast thundered. Dust cascaded from the bingo hall’s ceiling as the report rattled through my bones. I scrambled beneath the table, hands over my head, mouth dry, heart pummeling my ribcage like a boxer punching a slab of meat. I really need a new job.
Judy crouched beside me on the linoleum floor. She winced and rubbed her knee. Apparently, our victory in last week’s doubles pickleball championship had come with a price, and—despite her proven method of ice, dark chocolate, and Magnum P.I. reruns—Judy’s joint pain hadn’t improved.
She breathed deeply through her nose. “Wish I could borrow your knees.”
I started dialing 9-1-1, but Judy gripped my arm. “Daryl, it’s rush hour. The cavalry ain’t coming. Not fast enough, anyhow.”
Judy may have lived her days as a script doctor in Hollywood, but her after-hours “private investigator” misadventures were starting to collect a body count—bingo nights not included. As such, being Judy’s assistant, I should’ve become accustomed to the art of cloak and dagger by now and bought a Peacemaker. Even though I didn’t believe in guns, in that moment, I sure wished I’d had the grit to use one. Bingo night was always packed with drama, but tonight was different. The players sitting at the tables around us didn’t stand a chance against an active shooter. We were their only hope, and I felt as useful as a catcher in tee-ball.
“On the ground!” A man’s voice roared. “I said, on the floor, Mister Magoo. I see any phones, I blast yah!”
Judy’s gray curls bounced as she shook her head, scowling with distaste. “You’d think after decades of TV shows depicting this very scenario, thieves would workshop some original threats.”
“Judy, please. Enough with the Dirty Harry stuff. We can’t solve this with bullets. We’re hostages. We’ll need a SWAT team.”
“Just give up the prize money, and we all go home,” a woman’s voice yelled from the other end of the room. “Don’t give me that look, lady! We all know the Mother’s Day pot is a thousand bucks. So, come on. Sooner we get the cash, sooner we leave.”
I glanced toward the exit sign over the door. Am I fast enough? Can I get Judy out in time before—
“Nobody likes a passive protagonist, Daryl.” Judy eased onto her good knee, gripping the gun with the skilled ease of a professional. “Besides, it’s bingo night. We might get lucky.”
Leaning on me as her human walking stick, Judy stood, wielding the gun with her right hand. Inside the community center’s humble cafeteria room, dozens of seniors sat frozen in folding chairs. In the middle rows of tables stood two figures dressed in black—a man and woman wearing ski masks. He shouldered a shotgun. She waved a revolver.
Judy led us straight toward the armed thieves.
The man aimed his shotgun at Judy. “You two, freeze! Drop the gun! Now!”
The Script Doctor turned to a woman wearing reading glasses and a red dress. “Afternoon, Marsha.”
Marsha kept her eyes on the robbers. “Judy.”
“How’s your daughter?”
“Never calls.”
“And the grandkids?”
Marsha wiped a tear from her eye as the man with the shotgun strode toward us. “Precious.”
“I said. Drop. The. Gun.” He scratched at his mask. “Now!”
Without flinching, Judy pressed the gun to Marsha’s temple. “Or you’ll what?”
Marsha flinched. Grimaced.
My pulse thundered in my ears. Was this how my life was going to end? Shot dead in a Los Angeles bingo hall? What was Judy thinking? Would she really kill a helpless woman? Had she lost her mind?
The thief must have had the same thought. He paused mid-stride and lowered the gun.
“You know what day it is?” Judy’s face darkened. “Well, do yah, punk?”
The thief’s partner caught up to us, toting the revolver. “Blast her, Joe!”
“Veronica.” Joe waved her away. “I got this. Get the money. Meet me out back—”
“Ah, Joe, is it?” Judy cocked her head. “Your mother named you Joseph, huh?”
Joe stiffened. Veronica groaned. “Lady, you don’t drop that gun, I’ll—”
“End her.” Judy’s finger inched toward the trigger. “Yeah. I’ll do it. This sweet grandma, this loving mother, what a shame it’ll be.”
The aggressive threat seemed to mentally disarm Joe.
“We all got one thing in common, Joseph.” Judy propped against me as terror trickled through my limbs. If I survived the next few minutes, I was already planning my resignation letter.
“And do you think yours would want you doing this?” Judy’s tone steadied. “What if Marsha here was your mom?”
Veronica huffed. “What a bunch of Hallmark baloney—”
A silver-haired bingo player known as Lucky Luke shuffled behind Joe’s vision and inched his way forward.
“Have you called your mother today, Joseph?” Judy’s voice softened. “Told her you love her? What would she think if she knew you were robbing this innocent old lady?”
Joe looked away in shame.
Thwap.
Luke swung his cane, swatting Joe over the head. The thief toppled. His shotgun clattered on the floor. Veronica whirled. Another bingo player tripped her with a walker. Veronica face-planted. Her revolver slid away.
Judy kept her SIG Sauer aimed at both thieves while I collected their guns. Marsha didn’t thank Judy, but the two women did share a knowing nod.
“Judy!” My body quivered as I leaned toward her. “What were you thinking?!”
“Screenplays only succeed with empathy, grasshopper. That’s how we win hearts. That’s all stories do, really. They remind us of the ties that bind. I told Joe a story. And, lucky for us, he listened.”
“And if he hadn’t? Would you have—”
“Oh, no, Daryl, of course not. My gun wasn’t loaded.”
Later, as the police escorted Joe and Veronica into patrol cars, Joe asked for his one call. He wanted to chat with his mom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Very clever!
Thanks for reading!
What a nailbiter! My favorite line without a doubt: “I felt as useful as a catcher in tee-ball.”. Great story!
Go Granny Judy! I enjoyed the mix of thriller and comedy in this piece :)
Thanks for reading! Glad you enjoyed the story :)
Love it, very well written
Thanks, Bonnie!
what fun!
Thanks, Laurie!
I love that Joe calls his mother at the end. Judy is a very wise lady…