Stepping into the café, I groaned. The queue was a mile long. This wasn’t good. After the morning I’d had, I needed a quick fix.
Drastic times called for drastic measures.
Stepping outside, I popped the trunk and rummaged around. Pulling on my balaclava, I headed back inside.
Ignoring the long line of irate caffeine addicts, I placed a pint-sized travel mug on the counter, alongside my sawed-off shotgun.
“Hand over the Americano and no one gets hurt!”
I needed to hurry. My gang was robbing the bank next door, and I was supposed to be driving the getaway car.