There’s a feeling of pressure in his head, sometimes, when there’s just too many thoughts and not enough room for them. Robo can feel the sensation start in his fingers and crawl up his arms, the antsiness of needing to do something now.
“Mobo, I’m losin’ it,” he pleads. “Let’s pull a job. Right now. Today. Please?”
And Mobo says yes, because he can’t say no. First, because it’s his brother. Second, because he doesn’t want Robo going stir crazy. Third, because…
“Awright,” he agrees. “But only if I get to bust somethin’ up.”
Robo grabs him by the hand and practically drags him out the door. Twenty minutes later they’re storming into the Gold Rush casino with their guns out, blasting through the slot machines like a whirlwind. At night they can afford to be stealthy, but in broad daylight? In front of God and everyone? What’s the point?
Mobo grabs one of the machines, just hefts it up over his head and slams it down onto the floor. There are still a lot of old-style slots in Badville, and the coins shimmer onto the ground like a waterfall. Robo starts scooping them up, cackling, and Mobo moves on to the cashiers. He muscles people out of the way, jumps over the counter and jabs his gun at one of the clerks.
“Cash,” he barks. “Move it!” The poor girl’s terrified as she opens up the drawer and fumbles with the money, so Mobo shoves his arm forward and does it for her. He grabs the bills out of the register and moves on to the next one, tossing them all into his bag.
Robo whistles. Mobo looks up and hops back over the counter. He can see the bobbing black hats of the security guards a few aisles down, and he doesn’t waste any time. He picks up speed, turns and slams into them like a quarterbacker, sending them crashing to the ground.
He’s in the middle of putting one in a headlock when he feels the whump of two, maybe three nightsticks on his back. He’d grin to himself if he could, but instead he wheels around and grabs the cop in front of him and hefts him up just like he did with the slot machine. He sends them flying and then gets to work with the other two, sinking his fists into their stomachs and elbowing another hard in the chest.
Christ, this feels good, he thinks. I oughta get out of the house more often.
“Awright, let’s move it!” Robo orders. Mobo grabs his bag, turns and follows the jing-jing-jing of the coins until he meets up with his brother and they burst out the side door. They pile into their car and peel out, leaving the place a wreck behind them.
They go off the main roads and follow the river out of Badville. They go further and further until Robo stops the car, kicks the driver’s seat back, and lets out an enormous sigh.
“That was good,” Robo says. “That hit the spot.”
“Uh-huh,” Mobo agrees.
It’s suddenly very quiet, this far from town. There’s only a little wind, and out in the Midwest, they can hear the sound of cicadas in the trees.
“How long you wanna wait?” Mobo asks.
Robo takes off his glasses. “I dunno,” he murmurs. “Hour, maybe. Hour or two.”
Mobo pauses, looking at him, and then he puts his seat back too.
They sit there like that, still and quiet, with bags of money in the back and a hot breeze crawling over the fields.