Chapter 4
"I'm afraid, Marcy," Vesper whispered now, as she and the striking Negress stood outside Lament's Fashions, Vesper's head wheeling as if it were on ball bearings, studying every passer-by as if he were a prospective apprehender.
"What's to be afraid of, damn you?" Marcy hissed. "You got this gig letter-perfect at the pad and I've brought you to the easiest store in town. There's only two nabs in the place, both of 'em women, they're both blinder'n bats." She caught Vesper by the shoulders, forced her to stare at her. "Stop lookin' around like that. I told you, that's a tip-off to the fuzz. They see you watching the people instead of the merchandise, they'll know you're not shopping."
"God, Marcy," Vesper wailed, her heart feeling big as a pumpkin, fighting to crowd its way into her throat, "I can't go through with this. I know what to do, I know how to use this damned bag ... But I just can't make myself move. I'm paralyzed, I'm going to cry, I know I will."
Marcy gave her a shake, stared about warily, knew they were drawing attention. "Stop that, now! It's gonna be just fine. Once you get that first one under your belt, you'll be okay. It's like buck fever, you gotta lick it." Her voice firmed. "Unless you wanna go back to the pad and tell Gil and Arnie your troubles."
Vesper stiffened. "Oh no, Marcy! Please, not that! Just be patient a little bit longer. I'll be brave. God, if I could just breathe...."
Marcy's face softened, she caressed Vesper's back lightly, as one might gentle down a skittish colt. Looking up into her eyes, Vesper was positive she saw genuine compassion and concern there. "Look, honey," Marcy soothed, "I've been boosting for six months now. I never even got close to getting caught. If you follow all the rules, if you don't get careless ... nothing's going to happen. They gotta catch you in the act, suspicion ain't enough. And if you handle that booster bag like you did this morning ... It'd take a magician to see those hands of yours...."
The girls were dressed in smart, summer frocks
billowy, full-skirted things that gave them (Vesper especially) a fresh, innocent appearance. No one would have begun to suspect they were 'heels' professional shoplifters. Each carried a large, white purse, they wore heels, expensive costume jewelry they'd picked from the guys' 'store' just for the afternoon's 'clout'.
Marcy had helped Vesper with her hair and makeup, her efforts making Vesper look older, more sophisticated. She no longer resembled an adolescent; she could easily have passed as a young newlywed, a wife out on a shopping spree. The get-up was cunningly conceived, Marcy and the guys well aware that teenagers were generally suspect by the store security police. Thus the added years, the specious respectability, even to the paste diamond and wedding band on Vesper's left hand.
To this same effect Negroes also suspect, their apprehension and arrest rate much higher than that of the whites Marcy had dolled up also, affected smart respectability.
"Here's what we're gonna do," she coached Vesper for the hundredth time since they'd met at the guys' apartment at 11:00 that morning. "I'm gonna go in and stall for you. If that nab's around she'll be watching me like a hawk. I'll give her a good show. While I'm doin' that, you grab a gang of that expensive perfume an' shove it down the hatch. We clear the place, you meet me, we go over to pad an' unload. You follow?"
"Yes, Marcy," Vesper gulped. "I know what I'm supposed to do, I know it by heart. It's just the doing that's so impossible. I'm just stiff. I feel all numb."
"Christ, kid," Marcy sniffed, "don't tell me you never snitched anything from a store before. I know better."
"Yes, of course I did," Vesper readily agreed. "But that was different. That wasn't really stealing...."
"like hell it wasn't, honey. If they'da caught you they'da given you a hard way to go. They'da backed you up but good."
"But this is so cold-blooded. It isn't as if I wanted that perfume for myself...."
"This is so professional, that's what it is. Gil's got a customer an' he wants this stuff real bad. You don't think he'd have taken Dawn out himself otherwise, do you? He's gonna raise a hump, smoke-screen for her over at Ogleby's. She oughta get a dozen bottles easy. He's got other people looking too, don't forget."
"But I'm scared. What if I muff everything?"
"You won't, kid. I guarantee that." She grabbed Vesper's arm forcefully, knew it was the only way to get her moving. "Here we go. Cool, honey. Easy does it."
Then they were going through the door of the large department store. They walked several paces apart, Marcy taking the lead.
"Remember," Marcy hissed at the last moment, keep your eyes open. But don't gawk like some ostrich. That'll be a dead giveaway."
Vesper wanted to freeze on the spot, she wanted to bolt, she wanted to run and never stop running. But like some mesmerized creature, she followed her mentor, she pretended she was a casual shopper. They boarded the escalator, headed for the second floor. They neared the toiletries department. Vesper was sure everyone in the store could hear the way her heart was pounding, she felt that every eye was on her.
More disturbing, she was positive she was walking awkwardly because of the satin booster bag strapped about her hips, hanging in susurrant complaint in that hollow of her pelvic region. She remembered to fling back her shoulders, she adjusted her stride. She hung back, lingered over a table of bath salts. Marcy reached the perfume counter, fingered the merchandise.
No, Vesper moaned to herself as she saw the high counter, the proximity of the desired perfume to the cash register, to the clerk on duty. Not there not so close! How will I ever--She forced her sluggard legs forward, made herself advance to the prescribed display.
But still she dallied, fingered other merchandise, the panic crowding her more mercilessly. She totally disregarded Marcy's admonition to grab and go, her warning that every extra minute spent in the department to be clouted made the job that much more dangerous.
"May I help you, ma'am?" the clerk, a woman in her late thirties asked as Vesper approached the Chanson display.
"No, thank you, I'm just browsing." Then, breaking another rule: "Yes, on second thought you could. Could I sample this perfume?"
The clerk went through the timeless ritual of dabbing the perfume on the back of her hand, waving it dry, presenting it to Vesper. She sniffed the fragrance appreciatively. "That's very nice. But I think it'll have to wait."
"Was there something special you were looking for?"
"No, nothing in particular."
"Impervus on special this week."
"No, thank you." Vesper wandered on. When she looked up, she caught Marcy staring daggers at her. Here we go, her next glance said. And with that, she began roaming the department in feverish furtiveness, fingering everything in sight, her movements purposely suspicious.
And as Vesper saw the salesclerk commence watching her, eventually going to Marcy's assistance, she knew it was time to move in on the $25-the-ounce perfume. Her eyes flitted swiftly, she positioned the three other women in the shop, saw she was unobserved.
A thunderous roaring began in her head, she felt as if her legs were made of rubber. Still she forced herself toward that counter, took a last swift glance at the other customers, at the clerk. That fat, dowdy blonde in blue, she thought. Is she watching me? Could she be one of the store detectives?
Still she forced herself to make her move. Now three boxes of Chanson were in her hand. And despite the clumsiness she felt, she deftly slid them into the specially designed slit in her skirt, dropped them into the booster bag, immediately readjusted her posture to accommodate their weight. Instantly she retreated, certain she'd been seen. She was studying a lipstick chart when the salesclerk next looked her way.
Again Marcy's eyes locked with Vesper's. Did you get it? they asked. Vesper shook her head slightly, withered beneath Marcy's frown. Try again, she commanded, and with that managed to brush a full dozen mascara kits onto the floor at her and the clerk's feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, kneeling to pick them up. "How clumsy of me."
"Not at all," the clerk said, immediately stooping to help her.
Again that tornado sounded in Vesper's head, again she checked the other customers, saw them watching Marcy. Three times her hands swooped toward the Chanson display. As the nine boxes clunked into that recess beneath her skirt, Vesper was amazed at how cool and confident she suddenly felt.
A second later, after another swift appraisal of the department, she turned, slowly left it, headed toward the escalator.
It was only then, the loot concealed on her person, that the panic was back. She was sure someone had seen the theft, they were even now reporting her to the clerk. At any moment, the girl, with a store detective in tow, would come charging after her. It took every last ounce of control for Vesper to retain her composure, to keep from running down those moving stairs, making mad dash for the main door.
Which, of course, would have meant disaster.
Now she reached the main floor. Despite the fear suffocating her, she still maintained a leisurely pace, even stopped at the last to examine a shoe display. Then she was emerging from the store, she was stalling down Michigan Avenue, heading for the bus stop.
As Marcy had warned, she made no move toward the booster bag. And though it was uncomfortable, though the corners of the boxes dug into her thighs, she bore the discomfort stoically. Often, Marcy had told her, the store fuzz couldn't pin a thing on a shoplifter if they didn't produce the heist just after they left the store. Often they followed the suspect to his door. Once the booster got behind his own door, the cop was helpless to follow.
Ten blocks further, Vesper got off the bus, headed toward Trent Street. Minutes later, she was turning into that alley, scurrying up those gloomy stairs. She groped in the darkness for the hidden key, found it, hastily let herself into the empty apartment.
With a ponderous sigh of relief Vesper locked the door, sagged against it. While simultaneously she hoisted her skirt, dug into that specially constructed bag that hung at the base of her belly, removed the dozen small boxes of perfume. A move which revealed her lovely legs, her white panties, the line of her garter belt. At the last, as the booster bag was slid aside, that coppery delta beneath the sheer nylon was clearly exposed.
The skirt was dropped back, and Vesper proudly lined the twelve boxes of perfume atop a imagine cocktail table, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. But then the letdown was too much for her. She began .shuddering violently, sank onto the davenport, buried her face in her hands, waited for the shakes to leave her.
She was still sitting in a shuddering heap when a terse rat-a-tat-tat sounded on the door. Marcy! Vesper leaped up, went to admit her. Her grin was foolish, she still swayed where she stood when Marcy darted in.
Concern ignited in her eyes as she saw Vesper's agitated state. "Baby," she said, going to Vesper, putting an arm around her, "what is it? You all right?"
Vesper found the woman's softness and warmth strangely comforting, she yearned to it almost greedily. Yes, Marcy, I'm fine. All keyed up, I guess." She stared up into her eyes like a puppy pleading for approval. "Did I do all right? Was there any trouble after I left?"
"You were great, Vesper. That dumb clerk never noticed a thing. She took care of another customer afterward. She won't miss that loot until closing time." She frowned. "That was a mistake. Letting her get that good a look at you...."
She released Vesper, reluctantly at best. "Here, look." She raised her skirts, emptied her booster bag, gave Vesper a long look at her legs, at the brown flesh of her thighs, that opulent pooch of her belly. Vesper couldn't help but be reminded, of the degraded purposes to which that body had been put only last night. Be reminded of the sick things she'd been forced to perform also. Revulsion filled her, robbed her of the questionable elation she'd just felt.
"Oh, Marcy," she laughed, "you got some too. How many? Where? Not at the same store...."
"No, silly. I stopped at Bestco on my way back. Four bottles. Gil oughta do just fine by that." Her voice caught strangely. "Oh, yes. I clouted these too." She handed Vesper a pair of pretty, black pumps, the heels high and thin, the toes dagger-pointed. "For yon. I think they're your size."
"For me?" Vesper said softly. "But why?"
Marcy avoided Vesper's open, innocent stare. "You don't seem to have much, kid. Your legs look real pretty in pumps. Duck 'em in the hall, Gil'll never know you got 'em." She dug into her booster bag again. "Here. This too...."
She gave Vesper a beautiful butterfly pin that was easily worth $25 retail. Vesper's voice snagged. "But why, Marcy? I don't understand."
Again the Negress averted her gaze. "Because you're a good kid. A funny, little kid. Here, let's hide 'em. Just in case Gil comes back unexpectedly." She fled into the hall, returned shortly. "Remind me when we get back, so we don't forget those."
She winked. "Part of the bonus feature of this racket. You see something you want, take it, don't tell Gil about it unless you have to. He's a greedy-guts. If he slips you ten for all of this, you'll be doing good."
"Thanks, Marcy," Vesper said uncertainly. "I appreciate it. But I still don't understand...."
"What's to understand? A prize for being such a good booster the first time out. You've got hands, baby, good hands. The way you made that stuff disappear...."
She rose, readjusted her skirts. "Ready?"
"Ready? Are we going back again?"
"Sure thing. We've still got an hour or so before the stores close. You know how it is when you fall off a horse? You hop right back on. You get two easy scores under your belt it'll make you that much better a booster."
She took Vesper's hand as they started down the stairs, held it more tightly then was necessary. "We'll store up brownie points with Gil and Arnie. Let's see if we can get a transistor radio, maybe an expensive handbag this time. I'll show you some other gimmicks."
As they came out onto the street, headed toward the bus stop, Vesper was struck by some very ambiguous thoughts. She should feel terribly ashamed and guilty now, she should feel demeaned at mere remembrance of the ugly things she'd suffered at Gil's hands these past two nights. Not to mention the prospect of submitting to continuing vilifications in the immediate future.
And yet she felt a giddy excitement, a curious sense of pride in this new calling which had been forced upon her.
There was fear, there were butterflies.
But there was expectancy to. In some vague way it seemed she was getting back at a world that had done her dirt since the day she was born.
"You know," she chattered to Marcy, "I think this is going to be fun."
Marcy sent her an enigmatic, pitying smile.
They saw the bus, made a dash for it.