Not far from the theatre, a fellow named Danny was driving lazily around the city. His best friend, Marco, was riding shotgun. Danny had just pulled up to a stop light when his phone rang. Without thinking about it, Danny pulled it out of his pocket and checked who was calling.
“Hey,” Marco protested. “You can’t be on the phone while driving.” He jerked his head toward some people who were strolling by outside. “Be a role model, Dan.”
Danny snorted. “It’s my ex.” He frowned, debating chucking the phone out the window. Then he relented. “And we’re at a light. Shit, she hates me. I should answer this.” He accepted the call with a frown.
“What do you want?” Danny asked crossly.
No one answered. There was just muffled noise.
“Ha,” Marco laughed. “You were so worried and it was just a pocket dial.”
“God dammit,” Danny grunted. “Although, that figures: it’s opening night at her theatre.”
He was about to hang up when a voice shouted in the background over the phone. “This is a robbery! Throw your valuables into the aisles and no one gets shot in the face!”
Danny grabbed the phone and hastily muted his side of the conversation. Marco looked over at him, wide eyed and alarmed.
“I thought they were doing Macbeth,” Marco said.
Danny scowled and tossed Marco the phone. Then he reached over to the dash and flipped on the sirens. “They were,” he growled before tearing through the intersection.
Marco yelped and grabbed the arm of the door. Then he reached forward to grab the radio: someone had to contact dispatch, and Danny was too busy burning rubber to make the call.