High Noon

Christmas, I squealed like a girl. And he got awfully lucky that night.”
    It was Ma’s turn to snort. “I don’t see a new grandchild for me coming out of it.”
    “We’re thinking about it.”
    “Think faster. I’m not getting any younger.” She looked up at the trio of crystal chandeliers. “But you’re right, it sure is fine in here. Let’s have a little look-see before Duncan gets here.”
     
    Arnie Meeks was bored out of his mind. He was, in his opinion, nothing more than a glorified doorman, standing around while tourists and rich Savannahians came breezing inside. The tourists were a pain in the ass, mostly, just coming in to gawk. And the rich—bitches mostly—had their noses in the air.
    Like they didn’t squat to pee like the rest of their kind.
    The old man could fix this. Resentment bubbled up inside his throat at the thought of it. Push the buttons, pull the strings, grease the palms, he’d be back on the job instead of standing around waiting to roust shoplifters.
    And in the weeks since he’d been stuck on this humiliating duty, he’d had only a little action in that area twice.
    What he needed was for some asshole to come in and try to rob the place. Now that would be a fucking dream come true. He’d take the bastard down, you could bet your ass on it. Take him down, be a hero. Get on TV.
    Get back on the job where he goddamn belonged.
    He saw the two black women come in and curled his lip. As if that old lady in her thick-soled shoes could afford so much as a cuff link from this place. The young one was hot—if you went for the Halle Berry type—and had a slick look about her. So maybe she could dig out a platinum card.
    Probably just more lookie-loos, Arnie decided as he watched them gawk around. The way he saw it, more than half the people who came in the doors were lookie-loos.
    He did his own scan.
    A dozen people wandered around the store, drooling over the displays. Three clerks—who made more than he did with their fucking commissions by kissing ass and talking people into buying what they didn’t need—manned counters or unlocked cabinets to take something out.
    The place was manned with security cameras, with alarms. Even the back room, where he knew the man himself was planted today, in anticipation of some deep-pocketed client. Arnie had heard the buzz on that.
    Deep Pockets would be escorted into the back, so the hoi polloi couldn’t watch him playing with the sparklers. Or if he wanted to be seen—and some of them got off on that—they’d set him up at the special table in the corner.
    Patsy, the blonde with the rack, had told him that Julia Roberts had shopped there in the back room. And Tom Hanks had, too. At the special table.
    Maybe he’d move on Patsy, get a little action there. His marriage was in the toilet, and the way things were going with Mayleen—thanks to that bitch Mac Namara—he wasn’t getting anything there either.
    Time to scout the field again, pick himself a new heifer out of the herd. He knew by the way she looked at him—the way she made sure her ass wiggled when she walked away—that Patsy was up for it. Maybe he’d take her for a little spin some night after work. See how she handled in the sack.
    He looked over as the front door gave its little ding as it opened. He saw the brown uniform and cursed under his breath. A pain-in-the-ass delivery.
    He stepped toward the door.
     
    Loo pulled out her cell phone when it played “Jailhouse Rock.” She winked at Ma when she read the display. “Hey there, lover-boy.”
    “Hello, gorgeous. You there with Ma?”
    “We’re here admiring a whole buncha diamond rings. Where are you?”
    “Running behind. On my way, though, with this leech on me I can’t pull off. He insists on coming along.”
    “That leech about six feet tall with eyes like melted dark chocolate?”
    “He’s about that tall, anyway. We’re just heading cross town. Probably take a good fifteen minutes yet.”
    “Take your time, and tell that brown-eyed man I’ve got my own eyes on a pair of ruby earrings that are going to set him back a bit. Another fifteen, twenty minutes, I bet I find something else to set him back even more.”
    “Then I’ll take my time. Why should I be the only one spending money today?”
     
    The time was clicking down toward noon when Phoebe was able to see the photos. She hung over the shoulder of the computer technician.
    “Some of these were on the wall. Prints were left on the