Pocketed two cassettes.
Then pleaded disability.
"I'm on medication. I have short term memory problems."
That was a new line, which neither Greg nor Trina bought.
Police were summoned, perp written up, escorted away. One of the arresting officers advised the coworkers before departing.
"This will take forever. This kid's daddy is an attorney. Probably where he clipped that excuse about medication and mental challenges."
"Oh, he was a slick one," Greg concurred.
"Daddy will string the case out as long as he can. Hoping I relocate elsewhere, or you guys move to new jobs."
"We're both in school," Trina said.
That was awhile ago. The case was forgotten.
"I was looking for something on the shelves but you don't have it."
I offered to phone another store, then phoned Berry and Hulen. Neither location stocked the CD in question.
I was on Register, but business was slow. Walked over to the Phonolog, flipped through titles, then artists.
"Here it is," I told the man. "Older title. On the Bullseye label, though. I think they're a subsidiary of Rounder."
"What's that mean?"
I explained the procedure, we did our business.
On the way out the door, he triggered the front alarms. Pretended to pat his pockets, then ran like hell.
James walked down from the Manager's Booth.
"Mmm Mmm Mmm," humming away, "You get a good look at him?" he asked.
"Mid thirties, brown hair, brown mustache. Five foot seven, a hundred fifty pounds. Blue jeans, green plaid shirt. Ran down the sidewalk. Didn't see a vehicle."
"What a jerk," James sighed. "Nothing to be done now."
I withdrew a folded slip of paper from my shirt pocket.
"Also got his name, address and phone number. Mister Nibbles here, placed a Special Order."
"Ha ha ha," James chuckled. "And you don't believe in Karma."
James phoned the Cops, they walked in fifteen minutes later. Took our statements, and took the Special Order slip.
Unlike physicians, cops make house calls.
Couple of months later.
Greg and Trina received a court summons regarding Mister Forgetful. Almost a year had passed, the trial date could be postponed no longer.
Outside the courtroom, the punk approached. Flanked by Daddy and a paralegal. Noticed Trina waiting on a wooden bench.
Face registered shock, panic, defeat. The kid with memory problems remembered her.
He chickened out.
By the time Greg arrived, a plea bargain had already been agreed with the judge.
Neither Greg nor Trina gave testimony.
Trina's golden comment to Greg, “He wasn't counting on us being such big losers that we'd still be working here a year later.”