The Fahrenheit Twins (14 page)

As soon as he had a suspect, he would follow at a discreet distance. It was easier to spot someone who was thinking of stealing something than someone who’d already done it, so usually when he followed someone, he could expect to catch them in the act.

He’d been in this game a long time now, and he knew a thing or two. No one ever stole suddenly, on impulse, innocent up until the moment temptation whispered. They all came into the store intending to steal, it was just a matter of what and when. You could see it on their faces. Guilty as sin, from the word go.

Like any detective, Lachlan found the wiles of his quarry both impressive and pathetic. There really was no limit to what people would try. He’d had a guy with half a watermelon dangling between his legs, in a special sling pinned to his trousers and hidden by a long overcoat. He’d had an old lady with a pair of raw trout in her handbag. He’d had plenty of women hugely pregnant with disposable nappies, rustling as they moved. He’d had a guy with combat trousers, all the pockets bulging so hard with Pilsner cans he could barely walk. He’d had a guy nudging a frozen Christmas turkey along the floor to the cigarette kiosk, then kicking it like a football towards the exit.

Mostly, people would attempt smaller thefts with subtler gestures: a tin of herrings slipped into a coat pocket, a tiny bottle of vanilla essence hidden in a palm, a chocolate bar up the sleeve. There were signs everywhere saying DETECTIVES PATROL THIS STORE but it didn’t seem to make any difference.

Maybe no-one read those signs, the same way they didn’t seem to read anything else in the store – prices, labels, instructions, opening hours, the lot. People never seemed to have a clue where anything was even if they were right underneath a sign telling them. They would stand for ages next to a sign saying BUY TWO GET ONE FREE, and then they’d put two into their trolley anyway. At the checkouts, they’d offer loyalty cards from other supermarkets. Or they’d say, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just realised I don’t have any money.’

Thickos. Liars. Trust No One.

There was a girl in his sights now, and she was going to steal something for sure. She was only young, with a thick mop of unkempt golden hair and tight jeans. Her grey polyester top was loose though, ideal for concealment. She had big eyes and lips, no make-up. Like him, she had a few pimples here and there.

She was roaming all around the store, pushing her trolley down the middle of the aisles. She wasn’t examining the products on the shelves, she was examining the aisles and the people. Was she looking for someone? No way. There was a look people got on their faces when they were searching for someone they knew, someone they’d agreed to meet up with. This girl didn’t have that look. She didn’t care who any of the other shoppers were, he could see that. She was looking for an empty aisle.

Round and round the store she went, like a rat in a maze. He followed her, half-a-dozen steps behind. Despite his awkward gait, which used to trip him up when he’d been younger and less experienced, he pushed his trolley swiftly and smoothly. The girl was never out of his sight for longer than a few seconds. Sometimes she entered an aisle, sometimes she just glanced into it and passed it by for the next one along. The aisles she didn’t bother with were always the ones that had several other shoppers in them.

She came to rest at last in toiletries. Lots of people stole stuff here, mostly the more expensive brands of toothpaste, deodorants, lip salves. Lachlan used lip salve himself, because his top lip was prone to cracking, and his choice of brand was the same one that he’d caught several people stealing. Thieves went for quality. But quality cost them dear, if Lachlan was on the case.

This girl wasn’t interested in toiletries, however. She already had what she wanted, in her trolley. It was a long narrow refrigerated dessert, some sort of blueberry or apple Danish packaged in a silver tinfoil tray. She fetched it out, holding it vertically in her fingers. Held like that, side-on to his gaze, it looked like a musical instrument – like one of those recorders he’d been excused from playing at school.

The girl looked right and left, slowly enough for him to melt out of eyeshot at the crucial instant. Then she leaned close to the shelves, as if straining to read the minuscule guarantees printed on a packet of something-or-other.
If not completely
satisfied
, blah blah blah.
This does not affect your statutory
rights
. What were statutory rights? The right to remain silent, the right to one phone call … Yes! She was doing it now – a gyration of both elbows and a backward thrust of her pear-shaped buttocks.

Lachlan pushed his trolley round the corner, letting it squeak all it liked. The girl turned to face him, her face blank and arrogant, like a Hollywood movie actress.

She’d done a good job with the Danish, he had to admit. It wasn’t poking out through the fabric of her top, although her breasts certainly were. He’d seen plenty of people with products falling out of their clothing as they walked, smack onto the floor at their feet. That wouldn’t happen to this girl. She’d stowed the Danish inside her jeans, inside the waistband, right next to her flesh probably. Her sex parts were liable to go numb if she didn’t make her getaway pronto.

‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said. ‘Would you mind coming with me for a minute?’

She stiffened, folding her arms across her front.

‘Why?’ she said.

‘I think you know why,’ he said, without emotion.

Leaving her trolley, she walked beside him along the aisle, her face ghastly pale. He took her to the storage bay behind the delicatessen, and into a little windowless room. There was a desk, a chair, a telephone, a filing cabinet, and a fire extinguisher. The bare essentials. Lachlan closed the door.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I think we both know what you’ve got inside your trousers.’

Sullenly, the girl reached inside her clothing and pulled out the Danish.

‘Have a seat,’ said Lachlan, indicating the desk, ‘while I phone the police.’

‘Please, no,’ she begged in a small voice.

Lachlan looked her up and down. She had the classic gun-to-the-head expression, and sweat glistened on her clasped hands.

‘There’s one thing you can do to make me forget the whole thing,’ he said. ‘I think you can guess what that is.’

In silence she undressed, pulling her top over her head, exposing her white midriff slightly marked in red by the sharp tinfoil edges of the Danish. Her breasts, barely contained in a faded flesh-coloured bra, were as big as Mrs Weymouth’s, a strange sight on such a young body. She left the bra on, but took her jeans and panties off in one motion, hooking her thumbs into the two sets of waistbands. Her pubic hair was golden.

‘The bra too,’ he said.

‘Please,’ she said.

‘Do it,’ he said.

She unhooked her bra, and finally her breasts were revealed, round and perfect like pale pink melons.

‘Turn around,’ he said, ‘and put your hands against the wall.’

He grabbed the cheeks of her bottom and exposed her slit. His erect penis slid in easily, and he ejaculated in about two seconds.

The girl was wheeling her trolley towards the checkouts now; he’d better close in fast or she would get away. It was company policy not to apprehend shoplifters at the checkouts, to save other customers embarrassment.

‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said.

‘What for?’ she challenged him, sullen like in his vision of her.

‘Would you mind accompanying me,’ he said.

She frowned and bit down hard on her lower lip. She was much better-looking than he’d thought. She had long blonde eyelashes which were only visible at close quarters. Her eyes weren’t a standard colour, and they shone with feelings he couldn’t identify. Then, suddenly, awkwardly, she smiled, and reached inside her clothing. The stolen Danish was yanked forth, momentarily distending the fabric of her top like that alien baby bursting out of somebody’s stomach in that
Alien
movie.

‘Here,’ she said, holding the somewhat buckled package out to him. ‘Sorry.’

Nonplussed, he took hold of it. The tinfoil part was chilly and damp, but the cardboard lid was already warm. Warm from the heat of her flesh.

‘Look, I’ve given it back, OK?’ she said, nervously, tossing her hair off her forehead. ‘Let’s just forget all about it. I can’t afford it anyway.’

Lachlan examined the Danish at a glance.

‘No one will want to buy this now,’ he informed her. ‘Its edges are all crumpled. It’s as good as wrecked. We’ll lose money on it.’

Anger and anxiety flashed across the girl’s face.

‘Jesus, what does a crappy frozen dessert mean to
you
?’

Lachlan tossed it back into her trolley, unmoved.

‘It’s for sale. You didn’t pay for it. That’s theft. My job is to hand you on to the police. I’m just doing my job.’

She stared him straight in the eyes, defiantly at first, then with a slow flush of fear as she glimpsed the impenetrable, steely sureness in him.

‘Please,’ she said then, licking her lips in naked distress. ‘I’ve been done for this twice already. Once more, and they’ll put me away for sure. I just got hungry for something sweet, that’s all. I don’t have much money.’ She gestured limply. ‘It’s hard sometimes.’

He drew a deep breath. How to explain to her that life was tough for everyone, everyone in the whole wide dirty world? A bit of slack in one place resulted in a tightening of the screws further down the line. If he let her go, Mrs Weymouth would probably find out about it, and he’d lose his job. Then before you knew it he’d be no better off than this girl was now. He’d lose his car and everything. Conceivably he and this girl would end up standing next to each other at the Job Centre, looking lost and hopeless. There’d be a position going as a store detective and she’d probably get it, because women got everything nowadays.

‘I’ve got a job to do,’ was how he summed up these complexities.‘ Come with me please.’

‘Wait a minute,’ she said, her hands trembling as she stepped closer to him. ‘I– I could let you have sex with me.’

‘What?’ said Lachlan. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Her eyes were shiny, darting back and forth like fish. Against the odds, though, no one had steered into their aisle yet; they were still alone. And she – so close to him that he could see the pores in her skin and the frightened pulse-beat in her pale throat – she raised her whisper loud above the Muzak, deadly serious:

‘I could let you fuck me. In the car park. In your car. I know you’ve got one. I’ve seen you driving around the town. Your sound system must be about two million watts.’

‘Look …’ he said, his voice hoarse all of a sudden.

‘I could take all my clothes off,’ she hissed urgently. ‘You’d see everything. I’d do whatever you wanted.’

He cleared his throat, blushing hot.

‘I can’t just walk out of the store,’ he said. ‘It’s not allowed.’

‘Jesus, don’t you have tea breaks or something?’ she squeaked, almost hysterical, then got hold of herself. ‘Whenever,’ she assured him. ‘Just come out whenever you can, and I’ll meet you there.’

He gaped at her in disbelief, and she stared back at him imploringly. An old lady trundled round the corner, took one look at them, and passed by, embarrassed. Supermarket life was circling them, waiting for their aisle to be cleared of intimacy and return to normal.

‘You must think I’m stupid,’ said Lachlan.

‘No, look,’ she said in desperation. ‘Look: I’ll give you this …’ She delved a small pink hand into a pocket of her jeans, and pulled out a key-ring with several keys jingling off it.

‘It’s all my keys,’ she assured him breathlessly, holding them up by the plastic Bart Simpson trinket that linked them. ‘The keys to everything … my front door, my back door, everything … this little one’s for my bike – it’s parked just outside – you can see it through the window, there, look!’

With his narrowed eyes he followed where she was pointing, and, sure enough, there was a bicycle blurrily visible through the wall of plate glass, just under the giant affiched letters saying

‘I can’t do without these keys, do you understand?’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t even get home. I
have
to have them.’ She pressed the keys against his dangling hand, and let them go. Instinctively he grabbed them rather than let them fall to the ground; it was a reflex action.

She put both her soft palms on his right shoulder and lifted herself up on tiptoes to murmur in his ear. ‘You’ve got me right where you want me. I’ll be waiting.’

And she ran off, leaving her trolley behind.

Lachlan steadied himself for a few moments, aware that inside his clothes he was soaked with perspiration. He wiped his forehead and mouth, inspected his sleeve. The news was not good. God knows what the customers would think, seeing him in this state.

The first thing to do was get rid of the Danish – if Mrs Weymouth saw it she would go ballistic. Furtively, heart pounding, he rushed the damp and damaged specimen to the frozen goods section, fearing the old woman’s eyes on him with every step. He hid the Danish under others of its kind, piling the straight and perfect ones on top of it three layers deep.