Free Colonel Rutherford's Colt by Lucius Shepard

Buy-Rite shirt, though more efficiently, Rita tracked her progress, watched her slip two bottles of children’s vitamins, a couple of toothbrushes, a Pokemon action figure, and a motorcycle Barbie into her voluminous purse. That Ms. Snow was stealing for her kids spoke to Rita, who recalled having to go Christmas shoplifting for her own kids after her ex-husband had run off. Maybe, she thought, sweet little Loretta wasn’t all weak tea and trembly chins. One thing for sure, she was no great shakes at petty theft. Before stuffing an item into the purse, she would lift her head and peer about the store, her hand poised above the thing desired, and after acquiring it, she would hurry away from the site of the theft, head down, clutching the purse to her chest, the picture of guilt. Assuming this was not her first such foray into crime, it was amazing that she had not been caught—to Rita’s mind, Ms. Snow did not have the look of someone who had ever been caught.
    As Ms. Snow turned into the candy aisle, hovering by a selection of imported chocolates, Rita spotted Mister Buy-Rite homing in on her, moving stealthily along a cross-aisle. Rita quick-footed it down the aisle adjoining the one in which Ms. Snow was stationed. When she reached the cross-aisle she kicked the bottom of a stand supporting a pyramid of vacuum-packed cashews. The pyramid collapsed. Cans clattering, rolling in every direction. The sound alerted Ms. Snow. She gazed wildly about, then hustled toward the exit. The Buy-Rite guy stood glaring at Rita, hands on hips.
    â€œSpill on Aisle Four,” she said. “Sorry.” She picked up one of the cans and inspected it. “Damn! This is cheap! I’m gonna get some of these for my husband.”
    She caught up with Ms. Snow in the parking lot—the woman was fumbling with the keys to an old Toyota wagon, its every ding and scar showing under the strong sunlight.
    â€œHey, Loretta!” Rita called.
    Ms. Snow wore a hunted look, as if she were seeing not Rita, but some terrible and unfeeling authority.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Rita said, coming up beside her. “You’re in the clear. The junior G-man back there’s too busy picking up his nuts to bother about you.”
    The woman’s expression changed to one of perplexity.
    â€œDidn’t you see him?” Rita leaned against a Ford SUV parked next to the Toyota. “Skinny little fart in a Buy-Rite shirt. He was coming to bust ya, honey. That’s how come I knocked over the nuts.”
    Denial came and went in Ms. Snow’s face. “I . . .” she said. “I don’t . . .”
    â€œAin’t no thing,” Rita said. “I’ve stole for my kids. But if I was you, I wouldn’t do no shopping here for a while. Fact is, you need to work on your technique before you go shopping anywhere.” She tapped Ms. Snow’s purse. “Don’t make such a big production out of it. Just grab what you want . . . or maybe walk around with it, see who’s watching before you stash it. Most of your store ferrets are looking for someone acts suspicious. You steal something right in front of them, they’ll never notice. Like here . . .” Rita held out the can of cashews she had been hiding behind her. “Your kids like nuts?”
    Seeming dazed, Ms. Snow nodded.
    Rita handed her the can and pointed to a latte cart in front of a Safeway across the street. “Let’s you and me get a cup of coffee. I’m paying.”
    They crossed the street, ordered an Americano (Rita) and a double tall latte (Ms. Snow), and stood in the sun beside the cart.
    â€œBest thing to do,” Rita said, “is just strip the packaging off and steal what’s inside. That way, even if they stop you, they can’t tell where the hell you got it.”
    Ms. Snow sipped, peered at her over the lid of her coffee.
    â€œYou ain’t talking