“Please point your gun at me if it helps you relax.”

  The kid’s eyes darted from the father shielding his whimpering children with his body to her. It wasn't particularly easy to tell behind the battered Dyneman mask, but the kid couldn't be more than a nine-year-old boy or a malnourished preteen girl. Nicki could see their hands shaking, tremors making the reflections of the fluorescent lights overhead waver over the pistol's polished surface. Everything about them screamed desperation, from their body language to the crack in their voice, and didn’t that just make this whole situation more dangerous?

  Nicki found herself staring down the barrel of the gun a second later. If anything, the kid looked more frightened than ever. A deep breath confirmed it. She could smell the pungent tang of adrenaline and cortisol coming off the kid in waves, but Nicki’s racing heart began to slow. At least now, if things went south, she might blow her cover, but she’d live. She couldn’t say the same for the rest of the store’s clientele. Catching the other kid's eye, Nicki gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Better?” she asked. The kid didn’t answer, just watched Nicki with a wild-eyed gaze. “Hey, it’s just me. One person’s easier to deal with than five, right?”

  The kid nodded.

  “Now, you don’t look like the sort of kid who does this kind of thing,” Nicki said. “You look scared to death, about ready to pass out, and like you would rather be anywhere but here doing anything else. So, I'm just guessing here, but you've gotten mixed up in something and don't know what else to do.”

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  The kid's breathing hitched, and they blinked rapidly behind the empty eyes of the mask.

  "How am I doing?"

  “Just shut up and hand over the money,” the kid snapped. They shifted their weight from one foot to the other, widening their stance like they were rooting themself to the spot.

  “Alright. Alright,” Nicki soothed.

  She turned her head just enough to glance back under the counter and nod to the station attendant. He looked worse for wear, but he moved just enough to open the drawer and begin removing bills. Nicki turned her attention back to the gun-wielding preteen.

  “Okay, money’s coming,” she said. “Look, I just want to know what’s wrong. I was a street kid too once. I know how hard it can be, and we rough kids gotta stick together, right?” Nicki gave the kid the best approximation of a big sister expression an only child could manage.

  “You can’t help.” Behind the bad Halloween mask that looked like it’d been shoved behind shoes in a closet for years, the kid's eyes flicked to the clerk and back. “So stop trying to act like you care.”

  The clerk finished gathering the cash and held out a fat wad of bills while trying to keep as much of himself behind the counter as possible. The masked child stepped around the people on the floor, careful to keep their gun trained on Nicki. They snatched the money away from the clerk and backed out the door.

  “I’m sorry,” they said as the glass door swung closed, then turned and bolted.

  Nicki cursed under her breath. She hollered for the clerk to call the cops as she dashed out the door.