161 / 194
145
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 . . .”