Free Moon Underfoot by Bobby Cole

meetings all day, and she had heard a rumor that he was going to be fired. Everyone was on their best work behavior. The young, big-breasted, tattooed cashier who the manager had been lusting over was visibly upset. She’d been crying. Walter thought the store hadn’t operated this efficiently since he began working there.
Hell, I might have even done Kroger a favor
, he rationalized.
    Walter did feel bad for what he had done to Kroger, even though their business insurance would likely cover the loss. Most people didn’t realize how philanthropic the company was within their respective communities and that they were the number-two retailer in the country. Walter figured that given the right setting, pitched to the right Kroger executive, they probably would donate to his foundation as much as he had stolen, provided the foundation was legit. Right now, however, he didn’t have the time or the life expectancy for legit. If the foundation ever got cash flush, he’d pay back the grocery giant. Kroger had a secret IOU with his foundation. That thought made him smile.
    During Walter’s shift, as he helped customers find the correct aisles for products they needed and straightened the blue buggies, he marveled at how his group of old-timers had pulled off the theft. Their plan to steal no more than two-thirds of the cash from the weekend bank deposit had worked for two reasons. First, the deposit initially appeared to be intact, and it would take some time to determine exactly what was missing; and second, the manager had created the perfect opportunity by concentrating on the stripper giving him lap dances in the back office—the private bump and grind necessitating the temporary disabling of the office’s security cameras.
    Walter had studied the store’s timing. He knew when and where the money moved, when the dances occurred, and, most importantly, when the security system went down.
    As a trusted associate and because of his age, Walter was almost invisible to the other employees. His most valuable attribute was that he was trusted. He could go anywhere without question. Early in his tenure, Walter had ingratiated himself to management by always running errands for the manager and assistant manager and doing odd jobs away from work; consequently, it was not uncommon for him to be around when receipts were tallied.
    That busy weekend’s sales receipts, including cash, were piled on the manager’s desk, to be organized and counted, and then picked up by armored truck on Monday. Sunday evenings were prime lap-dance times, since the manager’s wife would be at church. After the stripper slipped out the rear door and the manager went to the restroom, Walter simply walked into the office carrying an empty barbecue-grill box and hurriedly filled it with most of the cash. He carried the box to a concealed space behind several pallets of merchandise, and with a big yellow label, he identified the box as being customer pickup to ensure that no one would attempt to put it back into stock. He then placed the box in the appropriate spot in the hold bin and returned to bagging groceries.
    Earlier that morning, Lucille had purchased the last matching grill with cash and then returned it late that night, complaining that it was missing the bottom grate and the handle. As if they had read the script, customer service paged Walter to exchange it, which he did with the one stashed in the back. When he returned to the customer-service counter, Sebastian was pitching a fit about some incomprehensible injustice that completely overwhelmed the manager and the customer-service staff. When the customer-service representative saw that the grill boxes were the same, with Walter holding the receipt, she waved the old woman through without a second glance. The automatic doors opened, and the cash went out.
    Walter had almost headed straight to the back to take a blood pressure pill. He could feel his pulse in his ears, which had begun to ring.