Easy Crime 02

De: Dell Sweet

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

The air hung thick and heavy, a humid blanket clinging to the skin even in the pre-dawn chill. The city, normally a cacophony of distant sirens and rumbling traffic, was unusually quiet, punctuated only by the rhythmic tremor that vibrated through the very foundations of the buildings. It wasn't a major quake, not yet, just a series of unsettling shudders, a prelude to something far more destructive. This was the kind of morning that scraped against the nerves, a low hum of anxiety that tightened chests and made even the most hardened criminals pause.

In a cramped, dimly lit apartment above a failing laundromat, Robbie didn't pause. He sat at a scarred kitchen table, a map of Harrows Grocery spread out before him, its faded lines illuminated by a single bare bulb hanging precariously overhead. Around him, his crew shifted restlessly, a collection of shadows and nervous energy in the flickering light.

Marva, his wife, sat opposite him, her face a mask of quiet determination. Years spent by Robbie’s side had honed her into a lethal instrument, a woman who could wield a silenced pistol with the same effortless grace she used to stir a pot of chili. Her loyalty was absolute, a fiercely protective wall around her husband and his ambitions.

Cappie, a whirlwind of restless energy and simmering rage, fidgeted with a switchblade, the glint of the blade catching the light. His prison tattoos, faded but still visible, spoke volumes of a violent past. He was a loose cannon, unpredictable and prone to outbursts, a dangerous wildcard in even the most meticulously planned operation. Drugs coursed through his veins, a jittery cocktail of anxiety and aggression that fueled his recklessness.

And then there was Murder, a newcomer, a ghost in the periphery. His name itself was a shroud, a carefully constructed anonymity that spoke to his ruthlessness. He sat silent, observing, a watchful predator assessing his prey. His eyes, dark and unnervingly still, held a chilling intensity that hinted at a past far more brutal than even Cappie's. Robbie had found him through a contact down in the city’s underbelly, a whisper of a name, a legend whispered in hushed tones among the city’s criminal element. He was a wild card Robbie was banking on.

"Harrows," Robbie began, his voice low and gravelly, the words cutting through the pre-dawn stillness. He tapped a finger on the map. "Easy in, easy out. Graveyard shift. Minimal staff. Minimal security. Perfect."

His words were a carefully crafted tapestry of calculated precision, a symphony of criminal planning. He detailed the escape routes, the blind spots, the timing of their arrival and departure, every detail meticulously planned down to the second. He didn't need to raise his voice; his authority was inherent, radiating from him like a palpable force. His crew knew better than to question him.

"Marva, you handle the customers. Keep them calm, keep them quiet. Any resistance, you know what to do," Robbie stated, his gaze unwavering. He addressed Marva as a partner, not as a subordinate, recognizing her worth and her skills. It was a silent testament to their shared life, a grim partnership forged in the fires of the criminal underworld.

"Cappie, you’re on lookout. Make sure nothing unexpected shows up," Robbie instructed, his gaze shifting to Cappie, a silent warning lacing his tone. He knew Cappie’s volatility was a risk, but his impulsive nature could also be a weapon.

"Murder," Robbie finally turned to the newcomer, his tone devoid of any warmth. "You’re with me. We hit the registers, clean and efficient. No unnecessary violence, unless absolutely necessary. Understood?" Murder’s response was a simple nod, his eyes never leaving Robbie's.
The plan, a meticulously crafted blueprint of chaos, was laid out...