"Given that he didn't walk through the doors with the items, you don't know that was his intention. Maybe he forgot to grab a cart and was on his way to get one." That sounded lame even to me; my lawyer friend would be so proud.
"You his dad?" George asked.
The little ingrate snorted. "Yeah, right."
I squeezed his elbow again. He glared at me but wisely didn't say anything more.
"No, I'm not his dad." I bent down and picked up the peanut butter. "But what kid do you know steals healthy stuff?" I stared hard at the manager, hoping he would reach the same conclusion I had.
George rubbed his chin, his eyes moving between Micah and the food items that the clerk had cradled in his apron. I could see awareness dawn in his eyes. "Well, now. I suppose no harm was done." He held Micah's eyes with his own. "But I don't tolerate no stealing, ya hear? I won't call the cops this time, but if it happens again, I will. You understand?"
Micah gave a quick nod of his head. I gave him a hard nudge. "Come on, kid. You can do better than that."
If only looks could kill, I'd be out of my current misery.
"Thanks," he finally said, although it was more of a grunt.
The manager shook my hand and went back to his business.
I took the items from the clerk who frowned as if he was disappointed that he wasn't going to get to watch something more dramatic happen. Dick.
"Where's your mom?" I asked Micah.
"Work."
"Did she send you here?"
He shook his head and stared at the floor.
"Do you have any money to pay for these items?"
Shrug.
"Come on, Micah. Don't give me the silent treatment. I just saved your butt."
He let out a very dramatic sigh. "I've got about five bucks."
I held out my hand. "Good. Hand it over."
His head jerked up so fast I'm surprised he didn't give himself whiplash. "What? No way! That's mine."
"And the food is someone else's until you pay for it."
"But I was supposed to use it to go see a movie. I had to work an hour at ole Mr. Pott's house to get that. He's mean. Real tightwad, too. He shoulda' paid me more f
or all the stuff I did."
I crossed my arms over my chest and pinned him with my eyes. It was like watching a plant wither in the hot sun. I almost felt sorry for him.
"Fine." He sighed and reached into his jean's pocket and held out a crumpled up five-dollar bill. He watched me tuck it in my pocket it with wistful eyes.
"Trust me, you'll enjoy it more now. Stolen food leaves a bad taste that you won't like. Now, what else do you need?"
"That's all the money I've got."
"Have. That's all the money I have." Didn't they teach grammar in school anymore? "And that's fine. I'll spot you, and you can pay me back." I ignored his mumble about me being part of the grammar police.
"No thanks. I'm not gonna work for Mr. Potts again. And before you ask, my mom ain't—doesn’t have—no money neither."