The wallet was AWOL. They searched pockets, floor, under the counter shelf. Asked Joe, he shrugged. Then Joe remembered moody Thad had shifted behind them. Thad was now in the parking lot, walking swiftly. Joe mentioned this and "Mario" yelled out the door.
Yes, public transport, the affordable getaway.
Perhaps Thad assumed two Mexicans would be satisfied with simple recovery of their money. Maybe he felt secure in daylight. Probably he realized both of them combined weighed less than his double-cheese baby fat.
Sadly, Javier and Mario were neither appeased nor forgiving. Fifty feet and closing. Thad hopped up and down, a criminal Baby Huey urging his bus to speed, barely a block away.
They gave him a royal ass whipping. The bus raced past. Cars slowed to look, women and children covered their eyes. Trucks honked. Drivers lowered air-conditioned windows to yell approval. Joe hurt himself laughing. Police from the substation sirened up and ordered Javier and Mario away.
Thad got his ride. Squad car, downtown. Excuse enough for the store to ban his sullen, hateful attitude permanently.
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