Life After Theft
Page 43
But it was time to start taking merch back to the stores that were bigger. And had multiple bags of stuff.
Claire’s was first.
Sure enough, the girl behind the counter was much shorter than me and looked like she was younger than me too. A lot younger.
“Yes?” she asked in a squeaky voice after I stood at the counter for about five minutes trying to get her attention.
“Hi,” I said with what I hoped was an extremely nonthreatening smile. “I’ve got something for you.”
She watched wide-eyed as I placed the first gallon-sized storage bag on the counter.
“Do I know you?”
I looked down at her, confused. “Oh no, these aren’t for you personally—they’re for the store.”
“The store?”
“Yeah. I’m returning some things.”
“Um, do you have receipts?” she asked doubtfully.
“Nope, these are free.” I placed the last bag on the counter and smiled. “Have a nice day.”
“Wait!” she called. “Come back.”
Sucker that I am, I turned. Stupid me. “Yeah?”
She hesitated, opening the bag and sifting through the contents, lifting a few items. “I don’t even recognize most of this stuff. How old is it?”
“Uh . . .” I glanced sideways at Kimberlee.
She shrugged.
“Two, three years some of it . . . I guess.”
She held a pair of silver hoops up to her scanner. Nothing. “I don’t think I can take this back,” she said. “It doesn’t even register on my computer. How am I supposed to sell it?”
I shrugged. “I just thought the store should have it, that’s all.”
“Do you know how long it’s going to take me to inventory all this?”
“Sorry, not my problem,” I said.
“Wait, I really can’t take this stuff,” she said, coming around the counter and trying to dump it back into my arms.
Oh, no you don’t.
I hurried my step a little more and reached the double doors at the same time she did. “Really, you should—” She sucked in a breath as my bag hit something big and solid.
I turned around and found myself facing a white shirt with a blue badge-shaped logo on it. Perfect. Just perfect.
Twenty
TURNS OUT MALL SECURITY HAS its own little interrogation room. Okay, so it’s not really an interrogation room; but it sure felt like one as I sat on a chair with two security guards looking down at me.
“Now, son—”
“I’m not your son,” I insisted in a surge of bravery.
The two guards exchanged a meaningful glance. I’m sure the meaning was something along the lines of stupid smart-ass kid. “All right, Jeff, I need you to tell us again why you have a backpack full of women’s jewelry. And a car full of brand-new clothes.”
“How do you know about my car?” I asked. Way to stay cool under pressure. Fail, fail, fail.
“We’ve been watching you. Clutching at your backpack, looking nervous, browsing aimlessly. You may as well wear a sign that says thief. You kept walking outside to your car, and coming back. So we checked it out. There’s a lot of merchandise in there. Would you like to explain that to me?”
This is so embarrassing. “I have a . . . friend . . . and she’s a girl,” I added stupidly. “And a couple of years ago she went through this theft stage. She’s had a change of heart and I agreed to help her give the stuff back.”
“Uh-huh. And your friend apparently doesn’t have a name.”
“Of course she has a name,” I snorted. “I’m just not going to give to you.” Because then I’ll look like a loon, and it won’t be juvie where you toss me before you throw away the key.
The guards shared another long look. “Stay strong,” Kimberlee coached from the corner. “They’re not cops; they can’t do anything except escort you from the premises.”
I took a long, slow breath.
“Or call the real cops, I guess.”
I could hardly look at Kimberlee, I was so mad. She was the master thief; couldn’t she have given me some kind of, I don’t know, pointers on not getting caught? Or at least not doing stuff that makes the mall security follow you around?
Big Guard pulled out a notebook. “Okay, kid. I need her name and you’re going to give it to me.”
“I would love to, sir, but I’m afraid I gave my word to keep her identity anonymous.”
“Kid, you have to tell me.”
“No, I don’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I have the right to remain silent.”
The two guards stared at me for a long time as Kimberlee laughed raucously from her corner. I shot her a glare.
The security guards told me to stay put and left the room. I heard them muttering on the other side of the door but I didn’t get up and try to spy. Honestly, I don’t think I could have gotten up at the moment if I tried. Kimberlee may have been in this room a dozen times, but I’d never been in trouble like this. Never.
The bigger guard came in and crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Joe’s calling the police and they’re going to send someone over to take you home. To make sure you get there and tell your parents what you’ve been doing.”
Crap.
“I don’t want to see you back at the mall for a few weeks. And I don’t ever want to see you causing trouble again, or the cops’ll do more than just take you home. You understand?”
Claire’s was first.
Sure enough, the girl behind the counter was much shorter than me and looked like she was younger than me too. A lot younger.
“Yes?” she asked in a squeaky voice after I stood at the counter for about five minutes trying to get her attention.
“Hi,” I said with what I hoped was an extremely nonthreatening smile. “I’ve got something for you.”
She watched wide-eyed as I placed the first gallon-sized storage bag on the counter.
“Do I know you?”
I looked down at her, confused. “Oh no, these aren’t for you personally—they’re for the store.”
“The store?”
“Yeah. I’m returning some things.”
“Um, do you have receipts?” she asked doubtfully.
“Nope, these are free.” I placed the last bag on the counter and smiled. “Have a nice day.”
“Wait!” she called. “Come back.”
Sucker that I am, I turned. Stupid me. “Yeah?”
She hesitated, opening the bag and sifting through the contents, lifting a few items. “I don’t even recognize most of this stuff. How old is it?”
“Uh . . .” I glanced sideways at Kimberlee.
She shrugged.
“Two, three years some of it . . . I guess.”
She held a pair of silver hoops up to her scanner. Nothing. “I don’t think I can take this back,” she said. “It doesn’t even register on my computer. How am I supposed to sell it?”
I shrugged. “I just thought the store should have it, that’s all.”
“Do you know how long it’s going to take me to inventory all this?”
“Sorry, not my problem,” I said.
“Wait, I really can’t take this stuff,” she said, coming around the counter and trying to dump it back into my arms.
Oh, no you don’t.
I hurried my step a little more and reached the double doors at the same time she did. “Really, you should—” She sucked in a breath as my bag hit something big and solid.
I turned around and found myself facing a white shirt with a blue badge-shaped logo on it. Perfect. Just perfect.
Twenty
TURNS OUT MALL SECURITY HAS its own little interrogation room. Okay, so it’s not really an interrogation room; but it sure felt like one as I sat on a chair with two security guards looking down at me.
“Now, son—”
“I’m not your son,” I insisted in a surge of bravery.
The two guards exchanged a meaningful glance. I’m sure the meaning was something along the lines of stupid smart-ass kid. “All right, Jeff, I need you to tell us again why you have a backpack full of women’s jewelry. And a car full of brand-new clothes.”
“How do you know about my car?” I asked. Way to stay cool under pressure. Fail, fail, fail.
“We’ve been watching you. Clutching at your backpack, looking nervous, browsing aimlessly. You may as well wear a sign that says thief. You kept walking outside to your car, and coming back. So we checked it out. There’s a lot of merchandise in there. Would you like to explain that to me?”
This is so embarrassing. “I have a . . . friend . . . and she’s a girl,” I added stupidly. “And a couple of years ago she went through this theft stage. She’s had a change of heart and I agreed to help her give the stuff back.”
“Uh-huh. And your friend apparently doesn’t have a name.”
“Of course she has a name,” I snorted. “I’m just not going to give to you.” Because then I’ll look like a loon, and it won’t be juvie where you toss me before you throw away the key.
The guards shared another long look. “Stay strong,” Kimberlee coached from the corner. “They’re not cops; they can’t do anything except escort you from the premises.”
I took a long, slow breath.
“Or call the real cops, I guess.”
I could hardly look at Kimberlee, I was so mad. She was the master thief; couldn’t she have given me some kind of, I don’t know, pointers on not getting caught? Or at least not doing stuff that makes the mall security follow you around?
Big Guard pulled out a notebook. “Okay, kid. I need her name and you’re going to give it to me.”
“I would love to, sir, but I’m afraid I gave my word to keep her identity anonymous.”
“Kid, you have to tell me.”
“No, I don’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I have the right to remain silent.”
The two guards stared at me for a long time as Kimberlee laughed raucously from her corner. I shot her a glare.
The security guards told me to stay put and left the room. I heard them muttering on the other side of the door but I didn’t get up and try to spy. Honestly, I don’t think I could have gotten up at the moment if I tried. Kimberlee may have been in this room a dozen times, but I’d never been in trouble like this. Never.
The bigger guard came in and crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Joe’s calling the police and they’re going to send someone over to take you home. To make sure you get there and tell your parents what you’ve been doing.”
Crap.
“I don’t want to see you back at the mall for a few weeks. And I don’t ever want to see you causing trouble again, or the cops’ll do more than just take you home. You understand?”
