Jimmy Hanson slipped on his Boba Fett helmet and stared at himself in his mirror. He pulled out his plastic blaster and pointed it. He looked pretty badass. This Star Wars party would be pretty outrageous—of course, all Jen’s parties were.
Jimmy guessed he was getting a little old to be dressing up and running around with blasters and light sabers, but what the hell, he was four days from graduating with honors. He had a real job lined up. There was plenty of time to grow up and start paying off his loans. If he were lucky, he’d have enough left over to eat a real dinner more than once a week.
Jimmy figured he could walk to Allie’s apartment. He headed down Commonwealth Avenue, enjoying the early May air. Still cool, trees just starting to bloom.
A couple of people honked, and he waved. He figured he’d stop and pick up a couple of bottles of wine and a pint of Jameson’s for himself. He took off his helmet and ducked into a store.
Jimmy never could decide whether to pick up red or white, so he grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and was heading for the pinot noir when he heard shouting. He peered around the Captain Morgan display to see a short guy in the front of the store waving a gun and the terrified clerk behind the counter.
“Gimme your cash. Gimme your cash now!”
Jimmy set the bottle of chardonnay on the shelf and crouch-walked toward the front of the store. A woman in an orange sweater stood frozen by the counter, and he could almost hear the kathunk of her heart.
“We don’t keep much money in the till, man.”
“Stop lyin’, bitch!” The man with the gun paced a little before he reached over and dragged the woman against him. “I’ll blow her brains out. I’ll do it. Just watch me.”
The woman began to scream.
Do something. What would Boba Fett do?
Jimmy reasoned that Boba Fett probably wouldn’t do anything since he was a character in a movie. However, since he was dressed in character, and Boba Fett was a badass character at that, Jimmy felt he should do something.
He wanted to jump up, but his body wouldn’t obey. If he moved the gunman might get startled and shoot. Jimmy didn’t want to see the woman’s brains spattered all over the counter.
“Gimme your cash!”
Jimmy’s phone began to ring. The familiar Star Wars Theme echoed in the store.
“What the hell?” The gunman let go of the woman who slumped to the ground, and Jimmy grabbed a bottle of whipped cream vodka. Before he could quite register what he was doing, he had tossed it as hard as he could.
It exploded in a rain of glass and alcohol over the gunman’s face. He dropped the gun on the counter and began to scream.
“Jesus Christ, what was that? My eyes! My eyes!”
While the clerk grabbed the gun, Jimmy dialed the police. The woman in the orange sweater crawled to the door, pulled it open, and ran down the street screaming for help. Soon a small crowd had gathered on Commonwealth Avenue.
Jimmy didn’t tell anyone about the incident. It sounded too incredible, and he figured no one would believe it, until it made the front page of the Boston Globe. Then he stared at the photo of himself in his Boba Fett helmet, the clerk, and the woman in the orange sweater. The paper identified him as Bob Hanson, and that was fine by Jimmy. He didn’t consider himself a hero.
The next day, a case of whipped cream vodka arrived at his dorm.