Thief at Heart [On Hold.]

Chapter 8

 “SECURITY!” the girl screamed, blood gushing from her nose.

"Well, don't you sound congested," I murmured. "Tissues are on aisle three." I examined my knuckles, interestedly. I hadn’t broken the skin: too many years of beating people up for that. You had to be tough to survive in my neighborhood. People would hold a door open for you just as quickly as they would shoot and rob you.

Glancing sideways, I saw Michael sigh and look at me disapprovingly. “Again, Camille?” I just beamed at him for a second – before I felt my arm taken in a firm, unyielding grip. I sighed and went along with it. Michael followed as I was dragged to the manager’s office, set down in a chair, and glared at. I sat properly in my seat. This would have to be done very carefully. A small mistake could send me to jail. Michael was in the seat beside me. I could sense the rigidness in his posture. It was invisible to everyone, but me – I knew him too well to miss small details.

“So,” the manager said, facing us. He was an older man, somewhere in his mid-thirties. The girl I had punched was nowhere to be found. “You have assaulted one of my employees.”

“Incorrect,” I said immediately. I spoke with a purposely sweet, Southern tang.

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Leaning forward a bit, I glanced at the nametag on his chest. My name is DEREK. How may I help you?

I fought a snort. “Well, Derek, you’re employee verbally attacked me, first.”

“What did she say?”

“She insulted midgets and said many, many awful things about my height and appearance.”

“Hmph.” He didn’t answer me. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Michael. “And you, young man. What was your part in all this?”

Michael’s eyes were wide and innocent to a fault. “Sir, I had no part in any of this. I came from the church choir – you know, St. John’s, on Main? – and they asked me to sing an inspirational song somewhere, in public. So, I came to your store, sir. I just want people to know the love for Christ we experience at St. John’s.”

He finished his speech by bowing his head respectfully. I had to stop myself from saying an appreciative, “Nice.” Michael and I had to notice small details – part of the profession, but he was really so much better at it than I was. I just now noticed the ornate, gold cross on Derek’s chest. He fingered it as Michael spoke.

“Alright, son, you can go.” Michael beamed, did a little bow, crossed himself, and left. “You, miss, however, have much to account for.”

I widened my eyes when I looked at him. “Sir? I sincerely apologize for my behavior. It was…inexcusable. Momma would be so ashamed if she knew.” I looked down at my lap, as tears welled in my eyes. “I hope that you could forgive me, sir.”

Just then, the door to his office burst open. A wild-eyed, dark haired girl blew in, looking around like a maniac.

“Derek! You didn’t call the police on this crazy ass – “

“Dominique!” He reprimanded her quickly. I recognized her quickly. There were heavy bandages draped on her nose. I tried to fight my laughter. I lost. But, I tried to cover up the noise as heavy coughing.

“Sorry,” I said, looking down as my eyes watered with the effort of keeping back a seizure of laughter. She looked like she had just gotten a nose job, not a nice fist to the face. I widened my eyes. “It’s the phlegm.”

Dominique began raging again.

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can leave," he said to me. "There’s an officer outside. He’ll take you to your house.”