There's very little an armed gunman can do to treat a heart attack victim. I mean, sure, my .38 came in quite useful for its intended purpose - scaring the shit out of the variety store clerk - but when said clerk falls to the ground clutching his chest and turning a rather startling pale blue/gray colour, the gun has really outlived its usefulness.
It was late at night, about 3 am. No sense robbing the place when it's going to be busy. It was just me and him. "Him" being a tall, rather rotund white guy in a Maple Leaf jersey. I pointed the gun at the guy and before I could say, "Don't move", he falls to the floor and starts twitching.
I'm not totally heartless. Sure, I could've just grabbed what I came for and ran, but shit. Someone has a heart attack right in front of you, least you can do is try and help. As I've made it my life's goal to do the least I could, I knelt beside him and lifted his head onto my lap.
"Hey man," I slapped his cheeks, and his eyes focused weakly on my face, "you got any pills, something I can give you?"
He shook his head 'no' ... or maybe it was a spasm. Beats me. I was out of my element the moment his fat ass slapped the floor. I was at a loss, and it wasn't like Tubby McHeartpopper was helping much.
I emptied the cash register, then tossed it through the front window. The alarm bell sounded immediately. I grabbed a couple of cartons of smokes and shrugged down at him apologetically. "The alarm will bring the cops. Sorry about the heart attack."
I turned away from him to pull the DVD out of the security camera recorder. That's when the fucker shot me in the back. I was like, what the fuck? Here I am trying to help - putting my self at risk of being arrested, I might add - and the bastard waits until my back is turned and shoots me.
I dropped down to one knee, turning to see his sweaty, pale face. He was still holding the gun - a .22, thank God - in one hand, but another spasm caused him to drop it to the ground.
“Lucky for me,” I gasped, my bruised ribs aching with each indrawn breath, “I come prepared.” I pulled myself to my feet, lifting my jacket so he could see the Kevlar vest beneath it. "Lucky for you, I'm not a vengeful guy. But still, shooting a guy in the back is kind of prickish, so..."
I pointed my gun at his knee, then paused. "You really need to get some exercise, so I won't cripple you." I raised the gun slightly, and shot him in the left bicep.
I looked up at the sound of distant sirens, then smiled down at the clerk. "I gotta go. Hit the fucking treadmill why don't you?"
He nodded weakly as I left.
Funny how some people live their lives so poorly that when confronted by an angry man with a gun, the most dangerous thing in the room is still their own overworked heart.
