PaulTwo Thieves (Part 3)
March 19th 2007 19:52
We play music from the countries in which our goods are crafted. I had on my 16th Century Indian chants. On quitting the jewellery cabinet for the clothing racks, Ronnie's fingering became even more intricate and exaggerated.
She muttered comments, stood on tiptoe, peered intently, nodded to herself and hummed along with the sitar.
The sound was awful, her tuneless drone spectacularly out of sync with music she could not possibly have known. Yet she persisted. And it grated.
At last there was nothing left to explore. She approached the counter, her wretched face wreathed in an oily smile.
'Gottapen, darl?'
'Why?'
'I juswanna getta few prices down, ferwhen I come back.'
Yeah. Sure. I leaned back to witness the pantomime. It began where she had - the front of the shop. I winced. Christ, she was going to do the grand tour again! This time taking notes!
I had nothing on her. All I could do was watch, wait, and listen to her murder my music. Ten agonising minutes later, three school girls breezed in like a cool change.
Ronnie looked up sharply, straight into my eyes. The kids can take what they want, Ronnie, but you shall have nothing!
She crouched over a pile of rugs. Her paper bag cleavage sagged open, incongruously large on her wiry frame. The sheer sadness of the ploy, if it were one, almost made me look away.
Then the giggling girls sought my attention. I spun abruptly. Yes they could try on the f*cking sarongs. As I looked back, Ronnie's scoop-necked leotard slapped back into place.
She stood and turned, her attitude subtly different. I spotted the faint lump between her breasts. The fruit of her labour. My pulse leapt and I swallowed. A thief in the shop! With the goods still on her! Apprehend her this instant! Go!
I stalled, terrified. I hadn't actually seen the act itself. What if I were wrong? What if it were a... a tumour on her chest? How would I confront her? What were the rules of citizen's arrest? Would I be able to hold her captive and call the cops? How long would they take? What if she were armed? With a blood-filled syringe? Would the neighbours help? Was her boyfriend outside? Oh Jesus! I can't do it!'
To be continued...
She muttered comments, stood on tiptoe, peered intently, nodded to herself and hummed along with the sitar.
The sound was awful, her tuneless drone spectacularly out of sync with music she could not possibly have known. Yet she persisted. And it grated.
At last there was nothing left to explore. She approached the counter, her wretched face wreathed in an oily smile.
'Gottapen, darl?'
'Why?'
'I juswanna getta few prices down, ferwhen I come back.'
Yeah. Sure. I leaned back to witness the pantomime. It began where she had - the front of the shop. I winced. Christ, she was going to do the grand tour again! This time taking notes!
I had nothing on her. All I could do was watch, wait, and listen to her murder my music. Ten agonising minutes later, three school girls breezed in like a cool change.
Ronnie looked up sharply, straight into my eyes. The kids can take what they want, Ronnie, but you shall have nothing!
She crouched over a pile of rugs. Her paper bag cleavage sagged open, incongruously large on her wiry frame. The sheer sadness of the ploy, if it were one, almost made me look away.
Then the giggling girls sought my attention. I spun abruptly. Yes they could try on the f*cking sarongs. As I looked back, Ronnie's scoop-necked leotard slapped back into place.
She stood and turned, her attitude subtly different. I spotted the faint lump between her breasts. The fruit of her labour. My pulse leapt and I swallowed. A thief in the shop! With the goods still on her! Apprehend her this instant! Go!
I stalled, terrified. I hadn't actually seen the act itself. What if I were wrong? What if it were a... a tumour on her chest? How would I confront her? What were the rules of citizen's arrest? Would I be able to hold her captive and call the cops? How long would they take? What if she were armed? With a blood-filled syringe? Would the neighbours help? Was her boyfriend outside? Oh Jesus! I can't do it!'
To be continued...
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