2 Camilia Carbanado receptionist, Walleye fish jerky from the Niagara river,

Odds are, if you walked into the Wisscasset Carbanado X/C dealership you would find yourself face to face with Camilia, the receptionist. At least that is what her business card said, though the title did not do her justice. A New York City raised pure blood Puerto Rican, passion, grace, competence in equal parts, uncanny ability to multi-task, handling counter walk up customers, phone and Internet inquiries with seeming ease. Keesha valued her daily contribution to the extent that the "receptionist" was the highest paid employee in the company if you ranked by salary, (several sales people on commission had larger take homes).

Today, was a bit different though, we would be talking about it for years. Jamie walked into the dealership, just as it opened, sliding across the pristine floor, looking, but not really, at the floor model, (there was only one, part of the Carbanado X/C marketing statement). Ball cap pulled low, jean jacket unbuttoned ignoring the 6 ° C September morning, if anything was odd it was the orange jerky stick in his mouth. Walleye brain, fish from the Niagara river living in the post processing water. So many people taking drugs ascribing to better living through pharmecuticals, when they urinated, the unused drugs, the isomers, esters, ethers, salts and salts of isomers, esters and ethers all made their way to the river. Why they concentrated in fish brains, why Walleye were the champions at post processing is anyone’s guess, the scientists that study such things had their funding cut years ago.


He made his way to reception, pulled his jacket opened to reveal the butt of a revolver, "This is a stickup".

Camilia, glanced up, giving him a sliver of attention, still working the screen in front of her, "And you think our customers come in paying cash? When was the last time you saw anyone at any car dealer anywhere walk in with an envelope stuffed to the brim with Franklins? I have maybe two fifty in my petty cash drawer by the water cooler, help yourself to it and leave."

The would be robber looked confused, the anti-depressants concentrated in the jerky were muddling his thoughts. Too bad he couldn't see the situation for what it was, all of the walls were plate glass, security cameras in place, even though the business had just opened, employees were just arriving, they could all see him, they were all looking at him. Through the mental fog, he knew something was wrong, but he needed the money, he had been on jerk long enough, that it had gone from nice to must. Partly demanding, also whining, he said loudly, "I need money".

The rush of the moment, adrenaline, she could feel it. The Sig Sixty was close at hand, Camilia, president of the local Chicks that Carry club, was class A LTC #61,826 for the state. All of those training hours were distilling into a simple checklist, you only have one draw, use it, finger off the trigger till on target, center mass, fundamentals are all that matter.

Every employee on the showroom floor knew Camilia was a shooter, she had her Sho2tz ceramic plaque, "I carry a pistol because my rifle won't fit in my purse" next to a picture of her daughter. Not being trained combatants to workers did not realize they were calculating lines of fire, as they were taking cover, but in ways they could still see. Several of them were noticing the large, high mounted, "round the corner" mirrors for the first time and used their phones to take stills and videos.

Consciousness was starting to seep through the fish brain distilled drugs the jerky had placed in the hapless thief's system. He could actually hear the "Old West Song" from the Good the Bad and the Ugly playing in his brain. Then, her words, interrupted his train of thought, by this time Camila was standing and she had drawn. Though she had been trained to keep her eyes on the target, not the target's gun, she found her attention kept being drawn to the gun butt in his jacket. "Listen, you need to move really slowly. Hold your jacket open with your right hand, I want to get a close look at that pistol."

He started to open his mouth, his brain was telling him to try to talk his way out of the situation. "Don't talk, open it slowly or you die, right now, open it. Good boy, she said in a more reassuring voice like the one she used with her GSD. Keep your jacket open and use your other hand to slowly pull that pistol out. Good boy. Now set it down on the floor and move away.”

The fish brain cocktail confused Jamie’s mind, incorrectly assessing the threat as far less than it was. Each jerky stick was different, but this was a consistent side effect. I can take her like a fish on a lure he thought, he turned his shoulder away from her as he gingerly pulled the S&W revolver free from his jacket and set it down on the desk, not realizing he was telegraphing his intended move like WTQX.

Camilia was slightly flustered, she had said the floor, this was the reception desk, but she saw the flicker in his eye, the twitches in his neck, something was coursing through his partially piscine brain; she didn’t hesitate, she crossed her center line ,smashed the Sig Sixty onto his hand on the desk pinning it while she hip swung left open palmed the elbow the hand was attached to with all her might and was rewarded with the thunk of a shattered elbow. Everything happened in a millisecond, but it was plenty of for her brain to scream, just shoot, just shoot. She would get away with making the wrong move under stress this time.

Jaime stood up, took a side step away from the desk registering pain, he still had his back to her. Camilia slammed the semi into his back, put her finger on the trigger, no room for error at zero range. She quietly said, with as much control as she could muster, “don’t move”.


Two of the mechanics moved in, one with the biggest wrench Camilla had ever seen, the other with a couple large tie wraps. By the time the police arrived, the criminal, Jamie Dalton as they would learn later, was wrapped like a Christmas turkey.

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