“A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.”
- Graham Greene
Pierrot pulled up his pants. He peeled his mask, wallet, phone and keys off the slick tile floor between his feet. He put the mask on, pocketed the rest and left the stall.
He ran a hand through his hair at the mirror and wet his hands under the tap. He wiped them on the back of his jeans on the way out of the bathroom and stepped into the food court.
The mall seemed relatively busy, considering the pandemic. Pierrot strolled to a “you are here” map display and examined the layout. His first stop, an ATM, could be found in a Newsstand. The Uniqlo was near entrance 3. He got his bearings straight and started off.
The Newsstand was small and crammed with snacks, magazines and cheap paperbacks. The clerk poked at Candy Crush, elbows on the counter. Pierrot moved to the back of the store to the ATM.
“Have a good day,” mumbled the clerk through his mask, without looking up. Pierrot left the store.
In Uniqlo, he picked out a pair of cheap black cotton gloves and two beanies: one orange and one blue.
“These gloves are final sale due to Covid, but the hats, thirty days with receipt,” said the cashier.
“Thanks,” said Pierrot.
In the luggage store, he scanned the wall of backpacks.
“Can I help you find anything?” asked an associate, sidling up behind him.
“What’s your cheapest backpack?” he asked.
“Cheapest… ah, that would be our Roquet series, just down here by the floor,” she said, pointing to a dusty row of shitty-looking polyester bags by the floor.
He bought one of those. In Walmart, he bought a black windbreaker. At MEC, he bought an eight-inch fixed blade fishing knife.
He sat on a bench in the mall and checked Google maps. His train back to the airport left at 8:45. It was 6:58. The 103 express bus left at 7:50.
He killed 35 minutes looking at Instagram and then put on the black jacket, the orange hat, and the gloves. He reached into the backpack and unsheathed the knife, leaving it resting inside, and began walking toward Michael Hill Jewellers.
“How ya doing today?” said the saleswoman, standing at the edge of the store in heels and a pencil skirt.
“Great, thanks,” said Pierrot, smiling wide with teeth. “I’m looking at engagement rings.”
The saleswoman beamed. “Awe, congratulations! We have rings right over here.”
They strolled over to a glass-topped case, glowing with white light.
“Some great rings here, feel free to take a look,” said the saleswoman. Her name tag said Charlene. “Do you have an idea…?”
Pierrot chuckled nervously. “I have to check my phone, for that,” he said, pulling out his phone. He noted the time: 7:36. He pulled up a few pictures of gold engagement rings.
Charlene leaned in, adjusting her mask over her nose. “Ah, I see. You like the yellow gold?”
“She does,” said Pierrot, sheepishly.
She laughed lightly. “Well, you can see two gold rings here and here, and we have a few others in this case,” she said, gesturing.
“Okay,” said Pierrot. He stepped to the other case and looked at the rings. His heart thumped. Charlene studied him.
“Okay?” she asked gently.
“Yeah,” said Pierrot. He checked his phone again: 7:39. “Can I also see wedding bands, uh, for men?” he asked.
Charlene showed him a case near the register.
“Okay,” he said, looking. “And I would I be able to get it sized as well?”
“Of course,” said Charlene. She looked under the counter for the ring sizing guide.
“No, no,” said Pierrot. “I mean, do you adjust them to the size?”
“Yes, we do,” said Charlene. “Most jewelry stores should do that for you.”
“Okay,” he said, looking at the rings. “And do you do it here on site?”
“Here at the store,” confirmed Charlene, nodding, as Pierrot checked his phone: 7:41.
“Where?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
He looked around the store. “Uh, where do you size the rings?”
“In the back,” she said.
7:42.
“Can I see?”
“What?”
“Can I see where they get sized?”
Charlene looked toward the door to the back room.
“Uh, sure, I suppose that’s all right,” she said. “It’s just back here.”
She turned toward the door. He reached into his backpack and grasped the knife inside and followed her to the door. She opened it. A workbench and a large safe were inside.
He shoved her inside, pressing the knife against her back through the thin polyester Roquet backpack. “Don’t say a word,” he whispered.
“Oh,” whimpered Charlene, trembling.
“All the gold,” said Pierrot. “All the gold.”
“I can’t, I can’t open the cases and — ”
“Not the cases. The stock. Wedding bands. Let’s go.”
“Uh,” stuttered Charlene.
“Charlene. Let’s go. Come on,” he said, taking her shoulder and pushing her toward the safe. “Fuck Michael Hill, right? This is easy.”
She nodded and knelt to the floor in front of the safe. Pierrot checked the time. 7:44.
Charlene pulled out a small unmarked cardboard box and held it out to Pierrot. He set it on the workbench and slit it open with the knife, and began stuffing handfuls of gold wedding bands, each in a tiny plastic bag, into the backpack.
Charlene handed him another box, then another. “That’s all. That last one is 10 karat,” she offered.
“What are these?”
“18 karat and 12 karat,” she said.
He nodded, stuffed all the rings into his bag, and left the store, moving fast.
7:47. He pocketed his phone and walked toward the bus terminal.
He reached the door and stepped out into the fresh air, pulling his mask down off his nose. 7:49. The bus idled at the stop. He unzipped the jacket and stuffed it into a trash can, together with the orange hat and the sweaty gloves. He put on the blue hat, stepped onto the bus, and found a seat near the back.
The bus slipped away onto the street. Two police cars roared by, to the mall, lights and sirens blaring.
