The bills were piling up. And if there was one thing Joan’s father had taught her, it was that the simplest solutions were always best.
      Of course, the whole thing started to seem a bit more complicated if she let her mind dwell on it. It was the middle of winter. The cold slush might slow her down enough for the police to catch up to her. Worse yet, the trail of footprints could serve as fresh evidence.
      She shook her head. Most of these crimes went unreported, and were investigated about half as energetically as a newspaper crossword puzzle. After doing the deed, it was best to just clear your mind and book it.
      There were probably more positive endeavors for a graduate school student to turn her mind towards. But Joan had never liked people much, and the tuition department was getting antsy. Besides, she had her eye on a new DVD player, and it wasn’t going to pay for itself.
      She leaned against the brick wall and made her best effort to look nonchalant. This effort was subverted by her right hand rigidly clutching the outline of what-just-might-be a knife under the folds of her jacket. Streetwise passerby gave her a wide berth, but she didn’t worry. Only one person had to make a mistake.
      Joan congratulated herself on her choice in alleyways. It was perfect, the kind of place that the protagonist’s love interest would be threatened in a bad superhero movie. The key difference was that the real New York City had a shortage of spandex.
      After an hour waiting in the ally, Joan’s patience began to wear thin. She began to feel like the world’s greediest fisherman.
      A second hour passed, and her mind began to wander. She doubted it was standard mugger protocol (or that they would use the word protocol) but she started counting the bricks on the opposite wall. This began as a mild diversion, but swiftly overtook finding a victim in her mental focus. Enough so that she almost missed it when someone actually walked by.
      Even through his heavy winter clothing, Joan could tell the man was out of shape. To sweeten the deal further, he constantly tapped his pockets and darted his head to the right and left, as if he expected his wallet to take flight at any moment. His left mitten clutched an overpriced map of the city. At any other time and place, she would have criticized his paranoia.
      He made the turn into the alley, continuing the male tradition of the loosely-planned shortcut. Joan tried not to fidget as he walked past her.
      Once he had bumbled far enough into the alleyway, Joan turned to follow him. It was showtime.
      She had rehearsed it in her head a dozen times. The world would move in slow motion. She would casually remove the cold steel from the stealthy folds of her jacket. Then a single world would leave her lips: “Stop”. The mark would freeze, and turn to see the mysterious thief nonchalantly holding his life in her hands. He would shudder, and she would smirk. “Your money or your life.” she would say, slickly alluding to the highwaymen of old. The victim would be struck by her class and education.
      Then she’d buy a DVD player.
      She tried to match the slick knife-drawing motion of her imagination, causing the weapon to slide out of her hands. It landed blade first in a patch of ice, which led to Joan spending several seconds pulling it out. She narrowly avoided cutting her own face when it came loose. The man was a fast walker with long legs, forcing Joan to move at an awkward jog to catch up with him. When she finally overtook him, she was breathing heavily from the insertion. It occurred to her that she was the one really out of shape.
      “Stop.” she wheezed between breaths.
      “What? I can’t hear you.” said the stranger. He seemed far more interested in the map than the woman with the knife.
      “I SAID stop.” said Joan, reclaiming her breath. She raised the ice-sheathed weapon and waved it in little circles.
      The victim raised an eyebrow. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
      “What? No. Focus.” said Joan with annoyance. She frowned; something was mission. “Oh. Your money or your…life.”
      The victim remained calm and curious. “I could swear that I’ve seen you somewhere before.” he said, scratching his bald head.
      “Hello? Robber? Knife?”
      “Do you work at the bank?” he inquired earnestly. He held his chin in a stock thinking pose and continually shifted the angle he looked at her from.
      “No, I don’t work at the bank. If I worked at the bank, I wouldn’t be robbing you! With this knife! RIGHT NOW!”
      She knew she couldn’t deal with actual violence. As tempting as it was, to cut off his thin, talkative lips and ridiculous eyebrows, she was running out of options. She paused at the last thought. The description was a bit too familiar.
      “C.J.?”
      “Joan? Wow, how have you been doing?! I haven’t seen you since graduation!”
      “I’ve been better.” said a dazed Joan, swept under the absurdity of the situation. It had been years since she’d seen anyone from high school. She didn’t imagine it would be like this when it happened.
      “Sorry to hear that. I’ve been doing pretty well myself. Put on a bit of weight since my last tour ended, but that’s just life.”
      “I suppose it is.” said Joan, at a loss for words. She slid the hand with the knife behind her back. It felt vaguely embarrassing, like a gaudy piece of jewelry.
      She struggled for a topic to fill the silence. “What was your last tour like?”
      “Oh, the Gulf is hell. I’m glad to be back.”
      “R-really.” she stammered. “Are you adjusting well?”
      “It’s funny. I feel a bit naked without my helmet. You always had to wear it, in case someone got a bulls eye with a rock. Had to keep your temper too. They can throw stones at you, but shooting back…isn’t recommended. I’m sure you watch the news.”
      She nodded, even though she didn’t.
      “But enough about me."
      “I’ve had some trouble making ends meet. I guess. Nothing like your problems.”
      “That’s unfortunate. I’m sure things will turn up.” He patted her encouragingly on the shoulder.
      Joan considered saying something, thought the better of it, and nodded.
      “Anyway, I’m running late. I’ll see you later.” said C.J with a smile. He walked past the rigid would-be highwaywoman.
      Joan exhaled. He was finally leaving.
      “Oh, and Joan?”
      “Yeah?”
      “I carry a gun.”
      Joan froze.
      “I don’t recommend trying this with others. They’ll be less…understanding.”
      He left her standing in the alleyway, confused and alone.