The Recipe, Borrowed (Part I)

by Dusk Soul

HIGH STAKES HEIST

Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin watched the pair waltz, one after the other, through the doors of the Goodwill store, followed after a pause by a sheepish third in tow.

The ringleaders were clear, an unshaven manic eyed man sporting formal attire, ridiculous Mary thought. He was already soaked in sweat on this [90 degree California afternoon]. He probably carried a knife.

After his regal entrance, in strode the gorgeous beauty wearing a tank top and shorts; much more practical given what Mary knew about the pair. She’d seen this act prior.

Now, the third member in tow was a mystery to her, she didn’t recognize the face, but she knew the type. A three days scruff grew across the shadowed visage. Mosquito bites on his arms, a result of the inexperience of sleeping in the local park.

Perhaps he had awoken with ants crawling across him after lying down in an ant path. Afterward she imagined he had moved to the only available and unoccupied space and source of comfort, in the form of the alcove’s brick wall. Next, he would try and fail to fall asleep in clear view of the multiple [black widows’ webs], barely a half arms length from his face.

It was clear, that he had been roped into this ordeal, however it was also clear he had been convinced by the beauty that his part was integral. He must be a sucker for charm and good looks, she thought. Naive, perhaps.

The five finger discount.

That’s what this was. The two ringleaders had come prepared, even waving about the props in their hands. A half drunk bottle of soda for the girl, and a Monster Energy drink for the manic guy; Mary was supposed to assume that these were purchased legitimately, next door, at the grocers. They weren’t. They were stolen. Shop lifted. Could she blame them? They were, after all, houseless.

The third also had had a prop, then again, perhaps not. Perhaps, he had purchased this with the last 3$ dollars he had to his name on his lonesome birthday. Perhaps, the others had pressured him to steal it, but he had found himself chickening out at the last minute. She suspected this because he’d thrown it away in the trash can outside, it had been empty after all, she thought. The drink had looked to be one of those kombuchas. He must have been thirsty. She almost felt pity for the guy. Almost.

Mary picked up the page phone, and pressed 1 for a general announcement.

“Percy to the front. Percy to the front.” She spoke, and heard her announcement delayed and staticky over the store intercom system. Her voice sounded hollow and weary and unimpressed. Percy was the store manager, he was most likely in the back, sorting through donations, that, or busy with a phone call. Maybe he was processing an application of some such new younger model that was sure to take her job.

Now, the guy, the third member, the sheepish one, the one who looked like a lost puppy; not so much walked, as stumbled into the store. Not knowing where he was, or what he was doing, he reminded her of the fool. He also looked a bit zoned out. Like he was in some sort of stupor or trance. [Not unlike a zombie]/[He wasn’t.]* He was on drugs, she thought. Probably, he had been sold fentanyl, “rebranded” and “re-marketed” as a lesser drug, heroin or something of that nature. He was in over his head. That much was clear.

Not knowing what to do next, he idly followed in the beauty’s wake over to the t-shirt section. He spoke with her for a minute or so, as she tilted her head away and rolled her eyes to herself. All whilst going through the racks like a pro she was. Shirt after, shirt, hanger after hanger. However, when she noticed Mary’s scrutinies. She paused, then naturally she playfully pushed at his shoulder, then tapped up his arm with her fingers in a flirtatious manner. She whispered something seductively in his ear.

With reluctance, he glanced over to the display case counter behind which Mary stood, next he stared at his feet, finally he nodded in obedience.

Oh dear, this one didn’t like the dishonesty, Mary thought.

Mary knew this bit. He was to be the distraction. While he came over, and asked to see some item in the display case, the others, looking over their shoulders all the while, would ransack the store.

The girl, no doubt, would start in the t-shirt section, move to the long sleeves, then to her prize; jeans and the leather jackets. The other manic looking man would serve as a temporary look out, but probably lift a sport coat or three by the looks of him.

All in ascending sizes. By the time, manic man was done, he’d look like a cross between the Michelin Man and the Talking Head’s David Byrne in his big suit coat. By the wild look in his eyes, the only jacket he needed was the one of the straight variety.

That, or they would surreptitiously wander, one at a time, over to the changing rooms, then layer up in the stall, and make a “swift” getaway. Leaving the poor sap, the newbie to his own devices. She started to wonder, if it was worth it for them? What did they get out of it besides the thrill? How, in their minds, did they justify themselves? Perhaps, they didn’t.

It was of course a Good Will, and it was true that all the items were donated, however the asking prices weren’t unreasonable, and the proceeds went to a good cause, she thought. So, how is it that someone would find this to be an ideal target for shoplifting? Perhaps, they thought, they wouldn’t be prosecuted. Maybe, they didn’t care.

Somber now, kombucha guy approached. Slow. Very slow. Not slurring his words, rather mumbling them with near incoherence as a result of the drugs. However, he startled her when he asked his first question,

“How are you doing this morning?”

“Well.” She replied somewhat shortly.

“Oh.” There was an awkward pause.

“Can I help you with something?”

She made a drawn out look toward the exit, kind of nodded in that direction; hoping he’d take the hint.

Perhaps, he would chicken out for the second time today. However, she noticed something in his eyes, a sadness; not only that, she became aware that he wasn’t acting this sadness out. It was true, it was pain, it was deep. In her the emotion resonated, she allowed it to pass. Again, she felt a pang of pity pass, however the moment was short, and he ruined it the moment he nodded off.

“I said, can I help you with something?”

He opened his eyes with sudden alertness now.

“Yes.”

“With what?”

He wobbled a bit before seeing, then asking in sudden amazement,

“What is that?”

“That?” She started playing the game. Purposefully pointing to the wrong item. She loved the game. Wasting time wasters time.

“No. That. The one to your right of the one your pointing at. I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“Oh, that.”

Again, she noticed. He was not feigning interest. He was not acting. He was genuine in his fascination of the object. There in his eyes crossed a glimmer of hope, hope and something more. A sign, perhaps? What was the meaning there?

After all it was a weapon. He didn’t seem the violent type. Rather something between curiosity and recognition had taken hold.

“That is a spear tip.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“It looks familiar.”

“That’s impossible, its antique, & its been here about seven years. So have I.”

“It looks like its been galvanized.”

Weird, she thought. Kombucha guy, the junkie, has a vocabulary?

“Yes.”

“It looks like the spear tip of…”

He was cut off mid sentence, as the door alarm began to sound off on the grand Exit of the inflated suit jacketed manic man, who was wielding one of those stupid combs. The ones that looked like a switch blade.

“Anyone comes after me, I’ll give ‘em a comb over!”

He yelled, laughing maniacally, as he leapt out the door. The beauty had long gone, so had two of the leather jackets, one of which Mary had been saving up for herself.

The newbie was dumbstruck and dumbfounded. Instead of nodding off, he thanked Mary and wished her a better day. He walked out and off, this time in the opposite direction from which he had come. The opposite direction in which the manic man, and the beauty had gone.