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Prologue

     Apalachicola’s darkness, sporadically broken by the placement of streetlights, allowed the woman to walk undetected to the Royal Petroleum convenience store. As she reached for the handle to open the door, she saw the Florida Highway Patrolman inside, talking to the RP clerk. Neither noticed her at the entrance.
     Instinctively, her hand went to the wicker shoulder bag with the pistol and explosive inside. For a moment she considered changing the plan, but quickly realized it wasn’t possible. With the scheme started and promises made, her group was too far along and the timetable couldn’t be altered. Money had changed hands, and the players hidden in the shadows were prepared to react to the news. After a quick glance up and down the deserted street, she pulled on the grip and entered.
     “Good evenin’, ma’am,” the clerk said. “You made it just in time. I’m gettin’ ready to lock up.”
     She forced a smile, “Can I get somethin’ to drink?” She gestured toward the rear of the store, and the clerk nodded.
     “I didn’t see a car pull up,” the patrolman said, and she felt his eyes looking her up and down.
     “I walked over,” she answered. “It’s a nice evenin’ for mid-January.”
     “Yes, ma’am,” the clerk said. “It’s Florida winter.”
     She turned away and walked to the drink coolers, as the two men continued their conversation. She heard the employee say, “RP’s closin’ this location at the end of the week. They want to reopen as an independent before the end of next month, but meantime, I’m out of a job.”
     “The television says all’s good in Florida,” the cop said. “I thought RP’s public relations campaign and their billions well spent had ‘em on the run over the oil spill?”
     “They haven’t won anythin’ in Apalachicola,” the clerk grunted. “No oil on the beaches ‘round here, but the oystermen and fishermen blame RP for the low harvests. They’re not buyin’ excuses about reduced fresh water flow, or any other theories with an RP logo on ‘em. People in this community stick together against oil companies, and it doesn’t matter I’ve lived here my whole life.”
     She stood with her back to the men, pretending to study the offerings in the refrigerators, and listened to the two worrying about this week’s paycheck and next week’s bill. Both unaware in a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter. Slowly, she moved her hand into her bag and found the grip of the Glock 42, silencer already attached and ready. “What are you goin’ to do?” the cop asked.
     “I don’t know,” the clerk replied. “Before I took this job some years back, I harvested oysters, but I’m not sure anybody in this town would hire me. I’m guilty by association.”
     “How about RP? Are they givin’ you any severance?”
     “Shit,” the clerk said. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am.”
     She turned back to the two men. “Oh, that’s okay,” she said. “I forgive you,” and as she said it, her hand removed the pistol from the bag. The patrolman slapped his holster, but before he could free his weapon, she’d fired two rounds into his face. His heart stopped before he hit the floor.
     She moved the weapon toward the clerk, but the shock of the moment immobilized him. “Why’d . . . why’d you shoot’em in the head?”
     She knew he didn’t really want to know. “I couldn’t take a chance he had a vest.”
     “Lady,” he stammered, “is this a robbery? I don’t have access to the safe.”
     “It’s not a robbery,” she said.
     “Then, why’re you doin’ this?” he pleaded.
     Bewilderment and fear showed on the man’s face. His eyes darted at his surrounds, and she knew his mind forced him to search for a weapon. The adrenaline rush from finally taking action against RP made her almost euphoric. But, as she watched the clerk, she realized the price to be paid, and it saddened her. “Justice,” she replied. “Someone has to pay.”
     “Wait!” he begged. “I’ve a wife and two kids.”
     “That’s too bad,” she said, as she pulled the trigger twice more and watched him fall away from her. Casually, she glanced outside to confirm the absence of activity. Off-season in the small town produced very little traffic, and as midnight approached, the streets were clear in all directions. Then, she walked to the counter where the two men lay to confirm her work. Most of the cop’s face splattered across the floor, and the clerk’s eyes, open and lifeless, stared at the ceiling.
     She removed the C4 from her bag, knelt, and placed it on a shelf under the cash register. After adjusting the timer on the detonator, she stood and walked to the front. Movement still lacking in the streets, she opened the door and headed for her car parked a short distance away.
     Just as she reached her vehicle, she heard the explosion and turned to see flames light up the Florida darkness. She smiled as she got into her car, and putting the key in the ignition, started it. She took the cell phone from the bag and texted one word – Done. With a toss, the device landed on the passenger seat, as slowly the vehicle moved down the street and away from the town. In the distance the sound of sirens further disturbed the night.