At 8:15, right on the dot, just like I want, Bobby, the head clerk this shift, picks up the phone and presses the pager button. “Attention Dollar House customers. Please keep your children near you at all times. Do not let them run loose in the store. Do not leave them in the toy section. This is for their safety as well as the courtesy of our other customers.” Bobby’s not too tough, but he gets the point across. Every fifteen minutes, after my clerks make these announcements, I glance across the seven security monitors to see if anybody changes what they’re doing.
Nope. Not this time. Not usually.
But I notice something else. On Monitor Six, there's one kid, looks to be about eight years old, who looked up at the ceiling nervously. Classic sign of a shoplifter. Yeah, he’s a little young, but kids are bad these days. They get started early. I think I'll keep an eye on him, so I shift Monitor Six to the Main Monitor and sit back with my third cup of black coffee. I prop my feet up on my empty desk to watch the show.
The kid---I call all shoplifters Jeffro---stares up at the ceiling for a few minutes after the announcement. Then he looks at the merchandise around him some more. He's in the men’s apparel section, looking at the baseball caps. That's unusual, but at least he isn’t in the toys messing everything up. When he puts a cap on his head, I snap to attention. Here we go, I think, here we go. I pick up my walkie talkie to alert Bobby, but I always like to let the noose tighten itself. I peel my eyes and stare at Jeffro on the Main Monitor. After a second or two with the hat on his head, he takes it off and sets it back on the shelf. Damn, that was close, too close.
I think about alerting Bobby anyway, but a glance at Monitor Three tells me he's busy checking people out. Better to keep my own eye on Jeffro for a few minutes.
After the baseball cap incident, he wanders down the aisle toward the men’s underwear. Classy. I laugh to myself when he figures out where he is and hurries on past the underwear. I laugh a little more when he stumbles into the ladies underwear and turns bright red. Classic sign of a shoplifter.
I watch him for the next ten minutes, until Bobby picks up the phone at 8:30 on the dot, just like I want, and makes his announcement about children. Parents, keep your eyes on your kids. You will be held responsible for any shoplifting they do. I have Jeffro on the Main Monitor this time, so I get to see his eyes widen with the Fear of the Law and stare straight up at the camera. When Bobby finishes his announcement, he hangs up the phone. Jeffro looks around him, then he starts walking fast toward the door.
I pick up the walkie talkie. “Bobby. We’ve got a 727 on aisle 4. Repeat: a 7-2-7 on aisle 4. Copy?”
“Roger that, Big Cat.” I smile. I love it when they call me that. I’m like a black panther, skulking through the jungle, my eyes peeled and ready to pounce on the next shoplifter.
Jeffro starts running. He leaves the range of Monitor Six, so I switch over to Monitor Three. I see his little head bob up and down as his fast walking turns into running. Then I switch to Monitor Two just in time to see Bobby step out in front of Jeffro. Jeffro runs into him so hard that I can almost see the breath knocked out of Bobby. Shit. Jeffro starts punching Bobby and yelling. I can't hear anything up in the Security Station, so I am on my way. Before I leave, I make sure to grab my police surplus handcuffs. Jeffro isn’t getting away this time.
I'm at the front of the store faster than a cheetah. People always think cheetahs are so cool, but panthers are way better. They're even better than mountain lions. We skulk and hide and pounce at just the right time. You don’t need to be fast when you’re sneaky like us.
“Jeffro.” I laugh to myself after I say that. “Thanks, Bobby. I can take it from here.” I grab Jeffro from behind, just below his shoulders. I twist his arms around and handcuff him before he can do anything. They're a bit loose, but I pick up his left arm just like they do on Law & Order and lead him back to the Security Station. While we're walking I ask him his name.
The kid is so nervous, I think he's about to cry. Good. Let him cry. Learn his lesson that way. “T-T-Thomas.”
“Thomas, eh?” I stop to give him a look that lets him know I'm in charge here. “What are you doing running out of my store, Tommy?” Then I pick his arm up again and drag him toward the Security Station.
“N-N-N-Nothing.”
“Uh-huh. I bet.” I cock my head and look him in the eye. “Lying to the Law, Tommy Boy?” But before he can say anything---I like doing it that way---I drag him into the Security Station and toss him into the Holding Cell. He's a light little boy, can’t weigh more than eighty pounds. Before I shut the heavy steel door, I give him my sternest look. “What’s your last name, Tommy?”
The kid is shaking afraid. “J-J-J-Jettison, sir.”
I jut my jaw out and nod, then I shake my head. “You better not be Lying to the Law, Tommy.” His eyes get even wider and his mouth drops open, but before he can say anything I slam the heavy steel door shut. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
I pick up the phone and press the pager button. “Will the parents of Thomas Jettison report to the Security Station? You are needed at once at the Security Station. Repeat: the parents of Thomas Jettison are needed at the Security Station. Your son’s been caught shoplifting.” I hang up the phone and smile a good smile. This is my job, and I’m damn good at it.
I sit down in front of the security monitors and watch for somebody responding to my page. All over the store, people are reacting to my page---that’s pretty usual---but nobody is responding to it. Nobody is coming to find out what's wrong. Hiding from the Law. I open the communication window on the Holding Cell door. “Tommy. What’re your parents’ names?” He just looks at me wide-eyed for a minute. Doesn’t want to tell me. “Don’t make me come in there, Tommy.” I rattle the doorknob to let him know I'm serious.
Finally: “R-R-R-Roy ‘n-‘n-‘n T-T-Tonya.”
In my best grumbly voice: “You better not be lying to the Law, Tommy Boy.” I let him shake his head so fast his hair falls out of place before I close the communication window.
I walk back over to the phone and pick it up again. “Roy and Tonya Jettison, you are needed at the Security Station. Your son Tommy is being held for shoplifting. Repeat: Roy Jettison and Tonya Jettison, you are needed at the Security Station at once.” I set the phone back in its cradle and watch the security monitors. People are reacting again, but nobody is responding.
“You lied to me, Tommy. You Lied to the Law.” I give him my meanest, sternest look through the communication window.
He starts shaking his head like crazy. “No! Honest! No! R-R-Roy ‘n T-Tonya! Promise! Honest!!”
I know he's too young to tell me what they look like, so I slam the communication window shut and sit down at the security monitors to figure this out. Better try one more time. “This is Security. Roy and Tonya Jettison, you are needed at once at the Security Station. Stop your shopping immediately and report to the Security Station. This is not a joke.” Sometimes you have to add that last line just so people take you seriously. I watch the security monitors keenly. People react. A few people shake their heads. But nobody responds. Goddammit. It’s going to come to this, isn’t it? I push the big red button with a picture of a master lock on it.
“Attention Dollar House customers, this is Security speaking. Due to uncooperative parents, we have locked the doors and will be conducting a full-scale investigation into a shoplifting incident. Stay where you are at and remain calm.” I wish they let me pack heat on this job. Then I could really solve the mystery. I look at the security monitors one last time before heading out. Dammit. There are probably a hundred people in this store, and I have to ask every single one if their son is Tommy Jettison.
Since they don’t let me pack heat, nobody takes me seriously. I talk to every damn customer in that store, and nobody admits knowing who Tommy Jettison is. I stomp back to the Security Station and dig the Polaroid camera out and take a picture of my prisoner. Maybe they can lie with their lips, but they can’t lie with their eyes. I’ll show them all a picture and see how they react to seeing their Poor Li’l Tommy in handcuffs.
But nobody confesses. I talk to every single customer---turns out there are 34---and even though I see pity in their eyes, I never see shame or anything like that. By now, I’ve had them all locked up for about an hour, and they're getting upset. Let them. This is a serious matter and needs to be resolved. Li’l Tommy needs discipline, and I know the Law won’t let me do it. They think my jurisdiction ends at the plate glass windows.
I'm sitting in my chair, looking at the security monitors and pondering what to do when the door opens. I don’t like people interrupting my thought process, so I don’t respond until Manny puts his hand on my shoulder. “Dick.” That’s all he says, but I know what he's going to tell me. He's going to tell me to unlock the doors and let the people go. I saw him apologizing and passing out coupons to all the people out there. All the damn liars. I have to figure out which one is the culprit.
“No,” I say. “Not yet.”
“Dick. We have to let these people go. I talked to corporate, and they say if we keep this up much longer, they can sue us.”
I slam my fist on my desk. “For what?! For protecting our inventory? For managing our losses?” I push back from my desk and stand up. “If these people want out of here, one of them better hurry up and claim Tommy!”
“That’s just it, Dick. I don’t think Tommy’s parents are out there.” He walks over to the door and opens it just enough to motion somebody in. Ugh. Melinda. I hate her, but she tells the truth. “Melinda here says she saw Tommy when he came in. His parents---or at least the people he was with---aren’t here anymore. She’s been looking. The man was wearing loose khakis and a flannel shirt, and the woman was wearing short shorts and a low-cut tank top.” He motions toward the security monitors with his hands. “Did you see anybody like that out there?”
I look him in the eye with my best steely look. But I can’t lie. So what! Tommy is clearly a shoplifter, and he has to be disciplined! “So? What are we going to do about Tommy’s shoplifting?”
“Well,” Manny takes a deep breath. “Let me talk to him.”
“Fine. But I’m locking the door in here.” I cross my arms over my chest. I know Manny will hate that.
“Alright,” is all he says.
Fifteen minutes later, Manny knocks on the door. I open the communication window and stare at him. “Well, Dick, I’ve talked to Tommy and made him empty his pockets. He doesn’t have anything.”
I narrow my eyes. Whose side is he on? Tommy has all the classic signs of a shoplifter. “Did you do a cavity search?”
I see something change in Manny’s eyes, and I know I've gone too far. He's letting the kid go. He doesn't have to say anything. The asshole is letting the kid go. I slam the communication window shut and stomp off to my chair. If that’s what he thinks he's going to do, then let him get out of the Holding Cell himself and let the kid go.
I'm still steaming when the police came in ten minutes later. I stand up. “In there, Officers.” I point at the Holding Cell door. “I’ve kept him safe and sound in there.” The Officer in charge just shakes his head and walks toward me. I back up. “What are you doing? He’s in there!” I point emphatically, with my whole arm, at the Holding Cell door. “In there! In there in there in there in there in there in there!!”
But he turns me around like I'm nothing and pulls both arms behind my back. I'm still screaming at him that the real criminals are in the Holding Cell when I hear him say in a low voice: “Dick Quixote, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. . . .”
* * *
“Are you sure that’s how it happened?” the lawyer asked. “Is there anything else I need to know?” Dick Quixote shook his head. “Dick, I’m on your side. I need to know everything. You’re up on forty-eight counts of criminal false imprisonment. We’re talking thirty years or more.”
Dick Quixote looked at the floor. “What about his parents?” The lawyer didn’t respond, so Dick Quixote looked up. “What about his parents? Ask Tommy’s parents. They’ll tell you. He was shoplifting.”
The lawyer opened his briefcase and pulled out a CPS report. “I’m afraid not, Dick.” He pushed the report across to Dick Quixote. “His parents took him to the Dollar House, told him to look at the toys while they did some shopping, then walked right out. There are warrants out for their arrest, but they’re probably halfway to Guatemala by now. We’ll never catch them.”
