The Slim Jim Caper

The Slim Jim Caper(Jody Lebel) The Slim Jim Caper
A short story of 1359 words


Ms. Jody E. Lebel
ladyrprter@aol.com
Website: www.jodylebel.com
Twitter: jodylebel
Facebook: JodyLebel.author



This time the store owner had called the police. Roxy had shoplifted from his establishment before but I had always been able to fix it; most times by paying double the price. Peering through the faceted glass of my front door, I could see Mr. Pachenko pacing the brick-edged sidewalk, his face pale with anger. With his blood pressure, the bright red spots on his cheeks would be with him for the rest of the night.

Our residential neighborhood held a collection of gentrified townhouses with their window boxes a riot of summer blooms, and fragrant grassy parks sitting quietly behind wrought iron fences. Crime was rare here. Mr. Pachenko owned the corner food mart one block down.

For a moment I foolishly thought about pressing myself against the wall and pretending I hadn’t heard the loud banging. But I knew I had been seen coming down the entryway to the front door.

The pounding came a second time, heavier and more demanding, a no-nonsense knock. The kind that always came before bad news.

“You stay in the living room,” I had told Roxy. “I’ll go talk to them.” She had gone back to sitting on the couch, but her huge eyes stayed glued to the front hallway.

I folded my fear and wedged it in a little tighter. Later I could wallow in it, but right now I had to look confident and steady. When I opened the door, two uniformed officers hovered on my stoop. A little fear escaped and squeezed my heart.

“Mr. Spencer?”

That came from the taller of the two cops, the younger one, his uniform as crisp as his voice. His name badge said Carter.

“Yes?” The effort of speaking just that one word made me dizzy. I knew this situation was not good. The sickening image of Roxy in the back of their patrol car, face pressed against the window as they drove away, made my knees weak. My mouth and throat became uncomfortably dry. That woozy feeling whispered again, warming my cheeks. I became aware of the cops staring at me. Had I answered them? “Yes, Officer, I’m Tim Spencer,” I said, my voice husky but more firm.

“Sir, we have a complaint that your –-“

Mr. Pachenko couldn’t hold it in a moment longer. He burst up the small set of porch stairs, his portly body pushing between the officers.

“I tole you I wasna gonna put up wit dis,” he said, poking his finger at my chest although he was still two feet from me. “Dis last time. Something be done now.”

The older officer gently maneuvered the shop keeper back down the steps. “Sir,” he admonished, “let us handle this. Let us do our job.”

Mr. Pachenko held his ground on the first stair. “Yes, yes. Do job. Yes. Is good.” He shook a fist in the air aimed at no one in particular. “Is two times already dis week. She need be punished.”

His words fell like marbles in a jar, sharp and harsh. “Mr. Pachenko,” I pleaded, “it’s only a few Slim Jims. Let me pay for them.”

“Dat is not issue,” he retorted. His accent became thicker as his irritation rose. “She have no respect, no manners. She come in store, look me straight in eye, grab bunch of Slim Jims and before I get around counter, she is running down street.”

Embarrassment crept up my neck hot and red.

“She just loves those things,” I said lamely.

“Is that all she takes?” said the older cop.

“That’s it.”

I looked down at Mr. Pachenko. “Why don’t you put them behind the counter where she can’t reach them?”

“Oh, now you tell me how to run store?” He started pacing around in a little tight circle, tugging roughly on his scratchy-looking beard. “Dis I do not accept.”

The younger cop pulled out his notepad and started to write. “All right, how many times has this happened?”

“It’s been going on for a while, I know,” I said. “Believe me, I’ve talked to her. It’s like she can’t control herself.”

“Pah,” Mr. Pachenko spat out. He squared his shoulders with resolve, his eyes large and dark as he delivered his final blow. “She will control self when locked up. Dis I want.”

I jammed my hands in my pockets and hung my head trying to buy time. Frantic to come up with something brilliant to get Roxy out of this, I peered into the officer's stern face hoping for some speck of kindness. I knew this problem was getting out of hand. Had gotten out of hand.

“Okay,” said the older cop, “let me get this straight. Roxy Spencer comes into your store and steals Slim Jims right in front of you. Is that it?”

Yes, Officer,” the store owner said, his respect for law enforcement apparent in his tone. “She no listen to me.”

It’s not much of a crime –-“, I started.

The younger police officer, eager to perform his duties, interrupted me. “It’s shoplifting, a misdemeanor, sir.” He gave me a hard look meant to put me in my place. It worked.

“Why don’t you just keep a box of Slim Jims in the house?” This came from the older cop, a seasoned man who, judging by his demeanor, probably considered the paperwork he would have to do more distasteful than the petty crime.

“They don’t sit well with her stomach. She’s up all night and that means I’m up all night.”

Mr. Pachenko, why don’t you go back to your store. We’ll get this handled,” said the older officer.

Mr. Pachenko hesitated.

“Go on now,” Officer Carter said firmly, just this side of an order. “We’ll see to this.”

Mr. Pachenko stomped down the street, his trouser bottoms flapping in his haste. “I want dis stopped,” he threw back gruffly over his shoulder. “No more. You hear me? No more.”

“What if I speak to her?” the older cop said gently, putting a finger in his worn collar to loosen it. The buttons on his shirt struggled to hold their ground across his stomach.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “That’s a great idea.”

Officer Carter began tapping his pen on his notepad, barely concealing his annoyance. I ignored him and appealed directly to the cop with the heart.

“Maybe the uniform will scare her.” I tried to put on a little smile but it might have come across as a grimace. “Come in,” I said, pulling the door open.

Roxy and I had been together since high school. I adored her. She was the icing on my birthday cake. I couldn’t picture my life without her. Even for a day.

“She’s in there,” I said, gesturing to the far end of the hallway. “In the living room.”

As we approached, three sets of feet worked the creaks out of the old wooden floorboards. Roxy could be seen on the couch with a Slim Jim dangling out of her mouth. No shame at all.

The officers stopped abruptly on the threshold. “This is Roxy Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Both men turned abruptly, strode purposefully down the hall and straight out the front door. I heard it slam behind them. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized my fists had been clenched. I worked my fingers a moment letting the blood seep back in and the relief flow out.

“You just dodged a huge bullet, girl” I said, plopping on the couch next to her. Roxy’s big brown eyes locked on mine. For a moment I thought she might cry. I know I felt like it.

“Don’t even try to get out of this with that look,” I scolded. “You’re still in big trouble.”

But I couldn’t stay mad for long. I began scratching her behind her ears, her favorite place. Roxy put a Slim Jim between her front paws and chewed off the plastic wrapper. Enraptured by the spicy treat, she began to drool.