Том Годвин: Ed McBaines 87th Precinct Mystery Magazine. Volume 1, No. 4. April, 1975

“Of course, Miss Brookson,” Jones said with a slight bow.”

A minute later, they and the prisoners were gone and Joan and I were alone. I sighed and Joan patted me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry Don — I won’t let them put you in jail.”

“It’s a good thing you’re rich,” I said. “Do you have a horse?”

“A horse? No — why?”

“I’m hungry enough to eat one.”

“How about some thick steaks? I’ll put them on right now.”

“Wonderful! Make mine medium rare. But, first, let’s do a retake of that kissing scene. By the time I come back down out of orbit again, my steak should be done.”

So, we did and it was.

Every year, just after Thanksgiving, Jimmy would go to four or five of the biggest department stores in the city, and he’d spend perhaps a hundred bucks in each store. That was his initial investment. Four, five hundred dollars, something like that. On this investment, he could count on twenty or thirty gift-wrapped items of various sizes and shapes. As soon as he got back to his room, he would unwrap all the boxes, and put aside all the things he’d bought, which he would later give to his friends and relatives. Then, inside the now-empty store boxes, he would put newspapers, or pebbles, or beer cans he had squashed under his foot, depending on the size of the box and the heft he wanted it to have. Then he would gift-wrap them again, and put the bows and ribbons back on, and he would be ready to start his real Christmas shopping.

On this particular Christmas Eve, Jimmy was about to finish on the last of his many shopping trips. He had perhaps five gift-wrapped items left, each box containing various assorted garbage, but looking very pretty on the outside. He went into an expensive department store carrying the store’s shopping bag full of this gift-wrapped junk, and began searching around for a prospect. There was a good-looking blond lady with splendid legs and a remarkable bosom shopping from counter to counter. She charged everything with a charge plate which she took from a battered leather wallet that had in it at least a dozen charge plates and credit cards. He followed her around the store and noticed that she bought a porcelain pitcher that cost a hundred and seventy-five dollars, which she had gift-wrapped, and which she put into her shopping bag. And then she bought a cut-velvet evening bag, which cost two hundred dollars, as it was imported from Italy, and she also had this gift-wrapped, and into the shopping bag it went.

And she bought a silk scarf that cost fifty-five dollars, and finally she wandered over to the jewelry counter — which Jimmy had been hoping she’d do — and she bought a man’s sterling silver bracelet that cost two hundred and fifty dollars. Her shopping bag was on the floor next to one of her beautiful legs. She gave the clerk her charge plate, and Jimmy busied himself looking at some stuff in the case while the bracelet was being gift-wrapped and the clerk was writing out the sales slip.

Into the shopping bag went the two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar sterling silver bracelet. Jimmy hoped she had more shopping to do before she left the store, otherwise he’d have been following her around for nothing for a good half-hour. But sure enough, she went over to the tie counter, and she put the shopping bag on the floor again, and Jimmy put down his bag alongside hers, and fingered- a few nice silk reps, and in a minute he picked up her shopping bag instead of his own, and off he went. He was a block away from the Store, and was just about to drop a quarter into Santa Claus’s big iron pot, in fact, when someone clapped him on the shoulder, and a man’s voice said, “Just a second, buddy,” and he turned and looked up at the biggest person he had ever seen. The man was wearing a brown overcoat and a brown fedora. He was holding something in his hand. Jimmy looked at it.

What it said on the silver badge was “Security Officer.”

“Security Officer,” Ralphie said. “I’ll relieve you of that stolen merchandise, if you don’t mind.”

“Stolen?” Jimmy said. “You’re mistaken. I have sales slips for each and every item in this shopping bag.”

“You are full of crap,” Ralphie said. “I’ve been watching you for the past half-hour. That shopping bag belongs to a blond lady in the store, and I’m going to relieve you of it now, and return it to her. If you want to make a fuss about this, I’m perfectly willing to call the police, and you can spend Christmas in a nice warm cell downtown. Otherwise, just hand it over and get the hell out of here.”

Jimmy handed over the shopping bag without a whimper, and then hurriedly walked away. A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, and Ralphie said in his best department store manner, “All right, folks, it’s all over, go about your business now,” and the crowd dispersed.

Ralphie felt pretty proud of himself, and also pretty smart. He had bought the security officer badge two years ago from a junkie who had swiped it in the apartment of a bank guard. It had cost him only five dollars, and he could not even begin to calculate how much it had earned him since. In the store, he had been searching for a prospect for more than an hour when he finally saw a good-looking blond lady with splendid legs and a remarkable bosom, and she was being followed around by this guy who seemed very interested in all these purchases she was charging. Ralphie normally picked only shoplifters for his victims, but he had tipped to the guy’s trick almost immediately, and now he had in his hands a shopping bag that was worth quite a bit of money, instead of a mere wristwatch some dope had quickly stuffed into his pocket. He figured the unexpected haul was good-enough reason to knock off for the day, in fact for the holiday, and he decided to start the yuletide season by hoisting a few in a nice little bar, where most of the clientele were squares.

The bar, at three o’clock, was already jammed with early celebrants, squares in business suits much like the suit Ralphie himself was wearing, advertising copy writers drinking martinis with lemon twists, publishing house secretaries giggling at jokes, suburban matrons wearing hats and gloves and chatting with other suburban matrons wearing hats and gloves — an altogether nice crowd. Ralphie did not leave the shopping bag in the checkroom. He checked only his brown overcoat and his brown fedora, which he felt made him look more like a department store dick, and then he squeezed into a booth in a dark corner of the place, and ordered a double shot of very expensive scotch. The shopping bag was on the seat beside him. He was already counting the money he would get from his favorite fence for the stuff that was in it.

The girl who came up to the table was perhaps twenty-four years old. She had red hair and green eyes. She was wearing a fake fur coat. Under it, she had on a green dress that was very short and also low-cut, affording Ralphie a quick glimpse of splendid legs and a remarkable bosom that were similar to the blond lady’s in the store, but more visible. The girl was holding a whiskey sour in her left hand, and a cigarette in her right hand, and she was smiling very broadly.

“All alone on Christmas Eve?” she asked.

“Would you care to join me perhaps?” he answered politely.

Jenny sat quickly, but she was just as quick to say, “You’ll think I’m brazen.” She had the feeling he didn’t know what “brazen” meant, though, because what he answered was, “No, as a matter of fact I myself often drink socially,” and lifted his glass of whiskey and said, “Cheers, and happy holidays.”