The three men froze as they heard the scrape of the lock opening. No one should have been in the pharmacy storage room at this time of night. A tired old man stepped in, pulling a janitor's cart. His eyes opened wide as he took in the three of them, standing in front of the open drug cabinet, each holding a bag half filled with narcotics. One of the thieves pulled a gun. The old man dropped his eyes, saying, "I didn't see a damn thing. I ain't even been in here yet." Heart pounding, he took a step back.
The man with the gun said, "Hold it," hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. The old man looked just like his grandpa Jack. He hadn't thought about his grandfather in years. He had thought about the plan: get in, get out with the drugs, no witness, no conviction. It worked like a charm until tonight. The other two looked at the old man, and back to him, trying to look tough but looking as scared as he felt. Stealing the pills was almost a joke - now this shit had gotten real. He nodded to the bags.
"Finish up and get out. You heard the man who wasn't here - no one saw a thing."
To the old man he said, "Might as well be comfortable while you're not here," and pulled over one of the desk chairs. Keeping his eyes on the floor, the old man sat. It was dark in the room - just lit by the streetlight glow through the windows. The man probably couldn't ID them even if he wanted to.
He heard the other two zip up full bags. Without turning he said, "Go on. I'll catch up."
The engine was already running when the gunman got in. Without a word, they pulled out. A mile later, the window rolled down so a brass casing could be thrown onto the otherwise empty street.