Free Like a Woman by Debra Busman

at the lot tonight at ten, okay?”
    â€œCool,” Jackson nodded. “But I want to eat something first. You know how this shit gives me an appetite.”
    Taylor grinned over at Jackson—skinny and tough, always eating like a horse, always down for an adventure.
    â€œWait here. I’ll get us something.” Taylor would do this one alone. If waiting for a bus was difficult when they were together, stealing with a black girl was virtually impossible.
    Taylor crossed over to the corner market and made a big production of buying a couple of apples to cover putting sardines and cheese down her pants. “Ya got any of them green apples?” she asked the grocer when he looked her way. “You know, those Granny Smith’s?” He half-nodded to her and she was able to shift the sardine can and cheese from her sleeve to her pants while he led her down the produce aisle, backs to the cameras. Taylor and Jackson ate happily under the huge sycamore tree, watching the traffic inside Roger’s Outdoor World.
    Pretty soon Jackson had it figured out. “See that white fool with the pimples and suit? He’s the dick, okay. Let me handle him. Those other two jokers in red vests must be the manager and the clerk. I got them too. Now tell me where you need to be.”
    â€œI figure to be somewhere over near that door in sporting goods,” Taylor said.
    â€œSporting goods? What kind of shit you be needing in sporting goods?” Jackson frowned, raising her upper lip, narrowing her eyes.
    Taylor just smiled. “I got my eye on something for you, baby.”
    â€œDamn, I don’t need nothing outta no sporting goods store. Unless, of course, you’ve got your eye on that nice black ten-speed bike over there. I could use me one of those fine things.” Jackson raised her right eyebrow. “But hey, I’ll just do my thing and you do yours.” She finished off the last of the sardines. “C’mon. Let’s do it.”
    â€œWhere you gonna be?” Taylor asked.
    Jackson laughed. “There’s only one place for a black girl in a sporting goods store and that’s in the firearms section. It just makes white people crazy to see a nigga anywhere near their guns. Those boys will be on my ass like white on rice and you can do whatever it is you’re needing to do so bad you can’t hardly stop grinning. Go on in and check it out and I’ll come in about three or four minutes.”
    Taylor stood up and tucked in the pink ruffled blouse Jackson called her “white girl stealing shirt.” She combed her hair, something she never did unless she was going to steal, and gave Jackson a wink and a grin. She left her the bulky jacket and headed over to Roger’s Outdoor World.
    â€œCan I help you, little lady?”
    It just killed her when these fools called her “little lady” or “ma’am.” This shirt is fucking magic , she thought to herself.
    â€œYes, sir. I was kind of hoping to find a nice case for my daddy’s hunting knife. It’s his birthday coming up.” Taylor thought about Jackson’s favorite knife that her brother had brought her from Ghana—the intricately carved black handle and the flashing six-inch blade that she kept so damn sharp it cut right through the oily rags she wrapped around it. Taylor had planned on getting her a fancy leather case, but now that Jackson laid down a dare on that damn ten-speed bike, there was only one thing to do.
    She followed the bald head in the red vest over to the cabinet where they kept the knives and cases, noticing that the bikes were not only not chained together but they were also ridiculously close to the side entrance with an overhead sign reading THIS DOOR TO REMAIN UNLOCKED DURING BUSINESS HOURS .
    Damn, there is a god , Taylor laughed to herself. This is gonna be too fucking easy. It looks like there’s even some air in the tires .
    â€œOh, sir,