He’d need to lift and swipe fast before the person realized their wallet was gone and froze their card with a thirty-second phone call to their bank.
He was able to move like oxygen. Silent, fluid, and in and out as necessary.
His first mark was a construction worker standing outside the diner, waiting for his friend to finish paying his tab. He had a trusting face and the kind of relaxed posture that came with the environment.
Scar started walking with his head down, face hidden by a swath of white.
The guy smiled wide and threw his hand up in a greeting at someone across the street. Scar brushed past him, grazing the man’s shoulder.
“Oh, sorry, friend, didn’t see ya,” Scar muttered, never breaking stride.
His talking was a distraction while he slipped two fingers into the man’s back pocket, clutched the edge of leather, and slid it free without a whisper.
“No problem, buddy. Have a good one,” he called out, oblivious that his wallet was already ten paces away.
Scar ducked into the alley behind the gas station, which had no surveillance or foot traffic, only the stink of a dumpster that smelled as if it were emptied once a month.
He flipped the wallet open and quickly scanned the contents.
Thirty-four bucks, two Visas, a debit card, a gas card, a pack of Juicy Fruit gum, and a hole punch coupon for the local creamery.
Too bad. The guy was just two punches away from a free whizzy cream.
Scar pulled out the driver’s license.
Dale Carmichael, forty-eight, dusty-blond hair, big cheesy grin, and a face only a mother could love.
Good.
Men like Dale never canceled fast. They didn’t believe anything bad could happen to them, especially not in the daytime. Instead he’d spend the rest of the day retracing his steps.
Scar pocketed the cash, kept one Visa, tossed the rest into the trash, and walked out of the alley chewing on a stick of gum.
The first rule when shopping on someone else’s dime was to make each transaction short but sweet and not be greedy. Only get the essentials. Not many noticed twenty dollars here, sixteen dollars there, missing from their account.
It’d be dumb to buy a five-hundred-dollar wardrobe from Christy’s Clothing Barn, or two lumberjack T-bone breakfasts for sixty dollars at the Dusty Fork diner—regardless that he was hungry enough to eat it all.
The keyword was: necessities.
He hit the general store first. There was one employee, a young guy with his head buried in his phone.
There were two cameras, both facing the register, so all he had to do was keep his body at an angle.
He touched as little as possible, bypassing a cart and propping his items in the crook of his arm.
He chose a two-pack of disposable razors, toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste, three energy bars, a basic black hoodie, a pair of no-name denims, wool socks, and a black beanie to hide his hair.
The kid rang up his items and gave him his total, barely sparing him a glance. “Twenty-one, eighty-five.”
Scar swiped Dale’s card, scribbled an ineligible signature on the receipt, and was out the door before the ink could dry.
He cleaned up in the gas station bathroom and changed into clothes no one would remember.
He used the cash to buy a cup of black coffee and a prepaid phone with enough minutes to contact a couple of his boys when he got to Chicago.
So far, he was making good time. He wanted out of Tyrell as fast as he’d come into it.
Renting a car was too risky, and stealing one was an even worse idea.
