Scooby Doo

… did not want to stay up, and was proving to be more of a hassle than Morris would have liked. The issue with those boxers was not something he needed right now, and it was begining to give him a headache. Linda’s deep wheezing between sharp cries of pain was beginning to take its toll on Morris’s brain as well. Someone had yet to make a move, however. Everyone was merely staring at Linda. She sat on the floor rocking two and fro trying to grab on to the wound. The hole in the back of her thigh sprayed blood with every squirm and convulsion, but unable to reach far enough to put a stop to the bleeding, Linda finally sat still and whimpered in her own small puddle thigh blood.

Morris let out an audible sigh. The silence finally gave his pounding head a chance to relax. It was time to size up the situation. He had to think if he was going to leave with any shred of dignity to spare. Old man, on the floor, check. Girl, next to the old man, smells like pee, check. Fat lady, bleeding on herself, check. Counter boy, hitting the silent alarm under the desk, check. Shit!

“Hey!” Morris screamed. “What are you doing!?”

Bobby couldn’t help but grin. “Whoops,” he shrugged. “Might want to leave before you get in twubble,” he said with a pouty lip.

“That’s it smart ass!” Morris yelled, pulling up his pants with one hand and moving to pick up the Beretta. He tripped on the sobbing girl and came tumbling to the floor, right onto Linda’s leg.

“Oh, you son of a bitch!” Linda shrieked in pain.

Bobby, seizing the opportunity the minute the criminal hit the floor, scrambled over the top of the counter. Eye on the gun he started to run, but his first step landed right in Mountain Dew and sent him crashing down “Oh, you son of a bitch!” along side Morris.