She hangs up and I pretend to scroll on my phone while I watch the trash can. The minutes pass. Five past twelve. Then ten. More people stream toward the food court to grab lunch, making it harder and harder to see.
My hackles rise when a wiry, small figure steps from the crowd.
A flat cap shadows the man’s features. With a rolled-up paperunder his arm and a large messenger bag over his shoulder, he looks like an overgrown newspaper boy. Casually, he walks up to the trash can.
My jaw drops in horror.
Crocs. He’s wearing Crocs—in sport mode.
Wow. That can’t be the guy extorting Tally for a million dollars, right?
The stranger drops the magazine in the trash and takes out the bag, looking inside.
Oh, itishim.
That’s… almost disappointing?
I push off the wall and pocket my phone, sauntering toward him. This’ll be easy as pie. The guy seems like a wimp. If he doesn’t come with me peacefully, I have to avoid drawing innocent bystanders into the mess. That’ll be the biggest problem.
The dad with the two children walks away from the kiddie carousel and toward me. I slow down, not wanting to drag him into my business. The tiny baby in his carrier is fast asleep and his other kid rides on his shoulders.
The little boy grins at me, babbling. I’m not the best with kids, but I smile back. Only a monster wouldn’t.
The criminal in Crocs hasn’t noticed me yet. He’s mesmerized by the contents of the bag, which actually consists of a single layer of fifty-dollar bills and cut-up copies of ‘Gossip Grove’ underneath.
I’ll wait until the fella with his kids has gone, then a few steps more and I’ll grab the blackmailer by the scruff. The toddler squeals as his father walks by. A gust of cool air from the AC brushes over my head.
Oh, that feels good.
I run a hand through my hair and freeze.
Where the fuck is the wig?
I spin around, seeing the toddler wave at me with ablond mop of hair. His dad hasn’t noticed anything and steps into the elevator, the doors closing slowly.
I turn to the blackmailer. He’s staring at me. Horrified. Mouth open. He looks how I must’ve looked when I saw his Crocs.
Shit. My cover has been blown.
Huh, that mole by his right nostril rings a bell. And then the Crocs, too… Wait, this is the slimy asshole who harassed Tally at the ‘Bottles & Boots’ in Pine Bluff!
The guy jerks, twists, and starts running. I bolt after him. For a small guy in his late 40s, he’s surprisingly quick, weaving through shoppers like an obstacle course.
I’m a few steps behind. Heart pounding, I stretch out my arm, my fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. He takes a sharp turn around a stall selling pretzels and I’m too slow to react.
I run straight, trying to cut him off when a lady with a stroller comes out of a toy store to my right. Cursing, I swerve, narrowly avoiding a crash. The woman shrieks and I shout a breathless apology.
Fuck, the asshole is getting away!
Suddenly, the saleslady jumps out of the department store, brandishing the perfume bottle like a loaded gun. “Sporty Man, the new fragrance by Lager Karlfeld!” she shouts enthusiastically and presses the plunger rapidly—right as the blackmailer runs past her.
“Ah! My eyes!” he howls and starts coughing.
I vow to come back later and buy a bottle of perfume from this lady cause her aim is seriously impressive.
Rubbing his eyes, the man stumbles too close to the sporting goods store. The wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man smacks him right in the face and knocks off his flat cap. Parents gasp and cover their kids’ ears as he yells something decidedly notPG-13.
Heisfast—but he’s also kinda bad at this. His ability to keep a hold of the fake money bag should be noted, though.
