***
The Merc carries an assortment of very random items. Small things, like basic groceries. Bananas, apples, milk, those sorts of things. Also, napkins with funny sayings. Individual bags of chips. Candles made by a local woman, who also sells her wares at The Orchard on Local Sunday. But the really special part of the Merc is their candy selection. They have everything, from Lemon Drops to that bitter dark chocolate that's become popular.
Wyatt is acting like the candy decision is on par with being the one and only person who gets to vote for the next governor of Arizona. "I just don't think you can go wrong with Twix," he says, holding up the shiny wrapper.
"Cow Tales all day," I announce, extending the fistful of candy.
"Pshh," he responds, the sound making his lips splay.
A young kid, maybe eleven, at the end of the aisle glances at us. He reaches for a candy bar and slips it into his pocket. I elbow Wyatt.
"That kid just put a candy bar in his pocket," I say under my breath.
Wyatt looks over. The kid meets our gazes, shrinking with guilt. "Come here," Wyatt whispers to him.
The kid gulps and glances around, then decides it's safe. He walks closer.
"Listen," Wyatt continues whispering, clamping a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Stealing is wrong. But, if you're going to do it, never put the candy in your pockets. They'll ask you to empty them. You have to put the candy in your underwear."
The kid makes a face. I can't even imagine what kind of face I'm making. Wyatt is seriously giving stealing lessons to a child?
"I know, it seems weird,” Wyatt assures him. “Put it in the waistband. Nobody is going to ask a kid if they can look in their underwear."
The kid nods, staring at Wyatt like he can't believe his lucky day. He moves to grab at his pocket and Wyatt stops him. "It's too late to change now. You have to commit. Go."
Like a frightened animal, the kid senses his chance to flee and takes it.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hiss when he’s out of earshot.
"Don't make it a thing."
"Uhhh… how can I not? You just taught a kid to steal."
"That kid already knew how to steal."
"You improved his method."
"Nope. Guaranteed he gets caught sometime and learns the lesson the hard way. I could've told him not to steal, and he wouldn't have listened."
"So teaching him was your next best alternative?"
"I didn't teach him." He gives me a look that says 'we've been through this already'. "Come on, let's go buy all this."
"Why not just steal it?" I mutter as I follow him down the aisle.
His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh.
The teenage boy behind the register rings up our stuff. He announces the total, but instead of paying, Wyatt leans forward. "So"—he glances at the name tag—"Carson, a young boy about ten or eleven just walked out of here with a candy bar in his pocket. I want you to pay for it."
Carson's lip curls. "What? No way." He starts around the counter, like he's going to go after the kid.
Wyatt's arms shoot out. "Hold it. I said you're going to pay for the candy bar."
"Like hell—"
"Take it out of the twenty bucks I saw you steal from the register when I was in here three days ago."
Carson freezes. Stares at Wyatt. Wyatt returns the stare, doesn't blink.
