Liquor Store Lust  by Garrett Socol                                                      

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            When Suzy Herzog of Aurora, Ohio turned seventeen, she was working part-time at the local glassblowing studio while garnering excellent grades at Aurora High. 

           When Suzy turned eighteen, she held up a liquor store and changed the course of her life. 

           With her silky black hair, dark almond eyes, and legs that seemed to reach Mexico City, Suzy radiated seductiveness without even trying.  Her best friend Jeanette Midgen told her she was gorgeous enough to become a model, but Suzy’s heart was set on going into beveled glass design.  Except for climbing trees and rolling around in soil, glassblowing brought Suzy the most pure, unbridled feeling of euphoria she’d ever known.  

           The liquor store heist was executed out of desperation, and it seemed like a smart stratagem at the time.  Suzy needed a substantial sum of money to pay for the upcoming tonsillectomy of her nine-year-old sister Nadine.  The tonsils had grown so large that Nadine could hardly swallow, and the strain was causing such fatigue and soreness that the girl sometimes required help getting out of bed.  The stalwart school nurse insisted the tonsils be removed immediately, but Suzy was too proud to confess that her dirt-poor parents could barely pay the rent let alone cough up the cash for an in-patient medical procedure.

*

           Tonsils, or the removal of them, did not rank high on the priority list of Ryoko and Rolf Herzog, both of whom trudged through their lives in a cloud of haze.  Usually inebriated and drowsy (if not out cold) by the time their daughters got home from school, they shirked their parental responsibilities to such an extent that food was often sacrificed for booze and cigarettes.  Before she was old enough to understand, Suzy noticed the eleven-ounce tumbler in Ryoko’s hand from noon until night, and she wondered why her mother was always thirsty.  It wasn’t until much later that she realized she was being raised in a household marinated in rum.  

           Though the Herzog home wasn’t what anyone would call traditional, it seemed like every family in the neighborhood contained at least one offbeat element; that was why Suzy never felt sorry for herself.  Vonda Williams’s dad occasionally donned women’s clothing and wandered through the mall.  Sleazy pictures of Daphne Polk’s bleached blonde mother had surfaced on the internet.  (How they got there was a matter of fierce debate.)  Gwen LeRoy’s father once crammed his eight-month old son into the freezer (next to a tray of ice cubes) to cool the baby’s fever.  (The LeRoy patriarch was later arrested and placed in a mental health facility.)

           Suzy had never broken the law except for stealing a single Peppermint Pattie from Bart’s Candy Emporium (the minty confections were two cents apiece), but she was only eight at the time.  Still, she felt guilty about it for weeks and lived in almost constant fear of Bart and a policeman belatedly coming to the door to haul her off to jail.  Suzy certainly didn’t want to live in paranoia again, but she couldn’t bear the suffering of her baby sister.

            Though Suzy looked nothing like Nadine (who inherited the features of her German father), the bond between the two girls couldn’t have been stronger.  Nadine loved her older sibling so fiercely that her devotion bordered on worship.  The girls often took part in lengthy, conspiratorial conversations, usually focusing on their neglectful parents.  “Just because they drink a lot doesn’t mean you should drink when you grow up,” Suzy told Nadine again and again.  “You see what it does to them.  Turns them into zombies.”

           A dozen scenarios were considered before Suzy decided to resort to robbery.  She applied for a bank loan, but the request was denied by the hard-boiled branch manager Dirk Bragg.  (Suzy couldn’t help thinking his name sounded like “Dirtbag.”)  She implored her neighbor Zelda Brindle to lend her the money, but the adventurous octogenarian was saving for a trip to the Holy Land.  She pleaded with her Aunt Gert and Uncle Otto for financial help, but Otto’s hours at the slaughterhouse had been drastically reduced, and Gert was unemployed due to a hip injury resulting from a freak fall off a ferris wheel.  

           One Sunday morning in Jeanette Midgen’s den, Suzy was searching for a pair of scissors (to trim Jeanette’s hair) when she came across a sleek little pistol that belonged to Mr. Midgen.  Struck by a bolt of inspiration, Suzy knew what she had to do.  

            A few minutes before midnight on Thanksgiving eve, the determined teenager climbed into her parents’s beat-up Volkswagen Rabbit.  Clutching the steering wheel with sweaty hands, she roared down the dark, deserted road.  It was a breezy night, but unseasonably, unreasonably warm, June weather in November.  Suzy looked summery and alluring in a sea green camisole top and khaki cargo shorts.  

           Pulling into the empty parking lot, Suzy was relieved to see that the fried chicken franchise, beauty salon, and 24-hour Laundromat were closed.  A coarse wind blew through her lustrous mane of hair as she marched toward the liquor store.  She expected the place to be open because she had inquired about holiday hours the previous day.  What Suzy didn’t expect was the guy behind the counter: killer smile, dark blond hair tumbling toward his shoulders, large tat on his right forearm.  The cleft in his strong chin transformed his face from wholesome to soulful.  “Hey,” he said, his blue eyes lighting up at the sight of the leggy customer.  “Can I help you find something?”  The name tag on his black T-shirt read Troy, and the name fit as snugly as the shirt. 

           Suzy felt a river of warmth flow through her, like a sugar rush only not as shocking.  The rest of the world seemed to disintegrate into gray dust, and all she could see was Troy’s obliging smile that suggested they already shared a secret.  No one had ever looked at her with such blazing intensity; it felt as if his gaze singed her flesh.  “Is anyone else here?” she asked.

           “Only you,” he stated with intensity.  

           “Could you lock the front door?” she coyly asked, her heart thumping frantically.

            The eager employee dashed over to the glass entrance, and Suzy was riveted by his smooth, agile body motion: a cheetah silently charging through the jungle.  She imagined the two of them climbing trees and watching the world from a balcony made of bark.  “Done,” he proudly announced after bolting the door from the bottom.

           The wind outside whistled like a tea kettle spewing steam.  “Can you turn the lights down?” Suzy asked.

           “Done,” he declared after turning the fluorescents off.

           “Let’s go behind the counter,” Suzy said.

           Troy Smith took Suzy’s hand and led her to the small area surrounded by glossy magazines, candy bars, and bottles of booze.  His hand felt warm and big, his touch firm yet gentle.  The moment he let go, Suzy pulled out the pistol from the front pocket of her cargo shorts.  “Take the money from the cash register and load it into a bag,” she ordered.   

           “What are my options?” Troy asked after a moment of hesitation.

           “Do what I say, or breathe your last breath.”  Suzy could hardly believe these horrifying words were emerging from her mouth.

           “That’s like Hobson’s choice, huh?”

           “Is he the day manager?” Suzy asked.

           “No, that’s Hansen.”

           “Take the money from the cash register and load it into a bag,” she repeated. 

           He grabbed one of the large brown bags piled below the counter.  Then he opened the register and removed the bills.  “Done,” he said.

           “Throw in a couple of those little bottles of Bacardi,” she ordered, thinking she would need to secretly spike her Thanksgiving cranberry juice as Uncle Otto mutilated the turkey.

           “Done,” Troy said.  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

                 
            “Because my sister needs her tonsils taken out,” she explained.  “Now take off that T-shirt and those ripped jeans.  Then kneel on the floor.” 

           Troy stripped in five seconds flat.  “Done,” he said, naked as the day he traveled down his mother Eunice’s uterus.  He got on the cold, white-tile floor as his nubile partner peeled off her clothing.  Slowly, she descended to face him.  His kisses were hard and hungry, as if he’d been in solitary confinement for months, and they tasted of dry roasted peanuts.  Soon he was on top of her, wiggling and grinding, as her right hand ran down the back of his wiry but firm body, shoulder blades to buttocks.  “Do you have medical insurance?” he inquired.