By Natasha Julius
You see the worst kinds of low-lifes in this job. Not the mobsters, the crass developers or the crooked politicians that run this town; but the liars and the thieves, the thrill-seekers and the junkies, all of them looking for that five-finger discount. My name is Jim Brody, and I’m a store detective.
Days like this are the ones you learn to savor on this job. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving. It’s a dreary morning, the rain fading before it hits the sidewalks along North Michigan Avenue. You’d think people would want to come in from the cold, ease their minds in the paperback section, get a jump on their holiday shopping. But you have to go outside to come in from the cold, and nobody’s going anywhere today.
I’m on at 11, walking my usual pattern. The store’s so quiet I can hear the listening stations from the music section all the way across in the cafe. They’re playing that Arctic Monkeys album again. Lucy is pouring my usual, a double-shot cappuccino, easy on the foam. “They turn those headphones up way too loud,” she says, glaring hard over a plate of fresh-baked oatmeal raisin cookies. “Sometimes I think it’s going to drive me crazy.”
“I know, kid,” I tell her. “But they’ve got to do it. How else are they going to pull in customers?”
“Some customers. All they ever do is hang around there listening. I never see any of them buying anything.” She leans a little closer to me. “They’re just a bunch of freeloaders, Jim, standing there all day using our electricity. It’s a disgrace. Can’t you do something about it?”
“There’s no law against browsing, Lucy. You know that.” I touch her hand softly. “But I’ll tell you what. You ever see one of them try to pocket the latest Michael Buble, you call your old friend Jim. I’ll make sure they don’t get away with it.”
She smiles that little crinkly-nosed smile of hers. She’s a good kid, Lucy. Pretty, too. Sometimes I think this city’s too rough for a sweet-natured girl like her. “Come and see me later, Jim. I’m baking those banana-walnut muffins you like.”
I head to the lower level, where they keep the children’s and young adult books. It’s a tough stake-out for me. I’m supposed to blend in, not draw attention to myself, but who wouldn’t notice a single guy in his early 20s rubbing elbows with a bunch of kids?
There’s two young-looking teens wandering around the latest Nancy Farmer book display. If these kids have any taste, they’ll go for the hard-cover titles. I take up a spot directly across in the travel section, grab a book off the shelf and start flipping through it. One of the teens is getting close to the good stuff, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one’s watching. He’s going for it, I can feel it. I’ve got my hand on my cell phone, ready to buzz security, when the other kid calls out, “Hey, we’ve got to go meet Mom for lunch.”
“Yeah, OK,” he mutters. The two of them walk toward the escalators, empty-handed. It’s a load off my mind. No one likes to see some kid get prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, not when he has his whole life ahead of him.
I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when I hear a woman’s voice. “Planning a trip to Portugal?”
I look up and see her sitting there, honey-blond hair shimmering in the soft, fluorescent buzz of the overhead lighting. It looks like she’s been there a while, judging by the stack of books at her feet. Her coat is draped over the arm of the chair. She’s wearing a loose-fitting pink sweater, but you can see she’s got all the curves a woman should. I’m thrown off guard by her wide blue eyes, which are staring right at me.
“What did you say?”
“Portugal,” she says. “That book you’re reading? Are you going there soon?”
I’ve got to think fast.
“Portugal, yeah, I’m hoping to get down there next time I’m in Europe.”
Her eyes open even wider.
“Do you go there often?”
“Oh sure, one or twice a month. For work.”
“What type of work is that?”
It’s time to change the subject. I take a quick look at the books by the side of her chair. Southeast Asia on a Shoestring, Vagabond Globetrotting, The Most Beautiful Villages of Tuscany. “It looks like you’re planning quite a trip too.”
She blushes a little, the color bringing out the soft angles of her cheeks. “I just like to read about all these beautiful places I’m never going to see. I try to come here once a week. Say, haven’t I seen you in here before?”
My cell phone starts ringing. Thank God I forgot to put it on vibrate.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, “I’ve got to take this.”
“Sure, I understand.”
I flip open my phone and put it to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“Jim, it’s Lucy.”
She sounds like a nervous wreck.
“What’s the matter?”
“I . . . I think I just saw something. Can you come up here right away?”
“I’m on my way.”
To be continued . . .
Posted on March 29, 2006