Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

He put the phone back on the stand and moved over to the next. I could smell the sweat of fear on him. Evidently he needed to get the next payment to the dealer ASAP. The store detectives didn’t know I was hunting the same prey they were. I tried to figure out how to warn them to stay back.

I snuck over to the other side of the phone display, and this time the junkie noticed me.

He lurched and bumped against the phone shelf, and a cell phone hurtled from his pocket and slid across the floor. I managed to grab it before he could, even though my fat suit made it hard for me to bend over. “I’m thinking you haven’t been a good boy,” I murmured as he tried in vain to yank the phone from my hand. He was my height, about five-nine, but seemed shorter, sunken down, as if his bones had been softened by the drugs. He didn’t have enough meat on him to feed a hungry dog.

“Give me my phone!” he rasped. I noted that the guard had taken off. Evidently he had more important tasks.

“Don’t even try. You swiped it, anyway.”

“I did not! Just look at the screen! It’s mine! That’s Paula’s gravestone . . .”

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