The stick up man was on the curb, looking frantically from side to side, his face obscured in the light by a ski mask, muttering under his breath. Then, at the sound of the car peeling out of the alley, he stepped from the curb into the icy street moving his feet gingerly from side to side towards the middle of the street. Before the car could make it back to him, his feet flew out from under him, gun sliding beneath one of the parked cars.
           “He’s down.” And then they were sailing over the bumpy ice, landing on top of the thief.
           “We’ve got him,” someone shouted as they circled the downed thief, snagged by the rough patch of ice.
 
Sirens could be heard rushing to the scene and Trina spotted her mother in the doorway, standing next to her father and crying. Trina doubted this would be something they could keep from grandma.