Ken Douglas - Nightwitch

“ Now we need some salt and hot pepper.” He took the salt shaker off the table and dropped it into his pocket. “We’ll have to stop by the store and buy the hot pepper.”

“ We have to hurry,” she said, “I want to be home before it gets too dark.”

They stopped at the supermarket on their way to Carolina’s and Arty knew he didn’t do a very good job disguising the shotgun, because everybody in the store was watching them as he followed Carolina to the spice section. And if anyone’s attention wasn’t drawn to the gun, it was riveted on the silver knife cross clutched in Carolina’s right hand.

Arty was aware of shoppers at both ends of the aisle watching them as Carolina took a jar of cayenne pepper off the shelf.

“ Do you have any money?” Arty asked on their way to the checkout line.

“ No,” she said, “I only take enough to school to buy lunch.”

“ I don’t have any, either.” He took her by the arm as they turned around and walked away from the cash register.

“ We can’t put it back,” she said, “We might need it.”

“ Give it to me,” Arty said. She handed it to him and he led her down the breakfast food aisle, and turned left at the potato chips. When he was confident no one was looking, he slipped it into his pocket, failing to realize that half the store had seen them turn by the cold cereal with the pepper and exit at the next aisle over without it.

“ You, stop!” one of the checkers said, pointing at them. They were close to the door and Arty thought about making a run for it as Ray Harpine’s father walked in, blocking their exit.

“ Shoplifters!” the checker said.

“ Hold it, Arty,” Officer Harpine said.

“ Look in his pockets,” the checker said.

“ What’cha have wrapped up there, Arty?”

“ Nothing,” Arty said.

“ Looks like it might be your daddy’s shotgun to me,” Harrison Harpine said.

“ Mine now,” Arty said.

“ I think there’s a law against children running around with loaded guns,” the policeman said.

“ It’s not loaded,” Arty lied.

“ Look in his pocket,” the checker said.

“ Hand over the gun,” Harpine said, as a young woman, overloaded with two large shopping bags, was passing by on her way out of the store.

All eyes were on Arty as Carolina removed the backpack from her shoulders. She took out the ferret and tossed it into one of the grocery bags. The woman screeched, clutching at the animal and dropping her groceries as it popped out of a bag. The ferret scrambled among the fallen foodstuffs, then scurried between Harrison Harpine’s legs.

“ What the hey?” Harpine exclaimed as a bottle of ketchup broke inside the shattering bag, and oranges, tomatoes and canned goods started rolling over the floor.

“ Sheila,” Carolina called. The ferret spun around and dove into the open backpack. Then Carolina started running for the door with Arty right behind her.

“ They’re getting away,” the checker yelled. Harrison Harpine turned to give chase, but he stepped on a tomato and tripped on a can of corn.

“ Son of a bitch,” he yelled as his rear end landed on a pair of rolling oranges, squashing them. He yelled after the children, “You two stop right there. I know where you live.”

But the kids weren’t listening.

“ This way!” Carolina started across the parking lot.

“ No, follow me!” Arty went the other way, dashing around the store’s right side without looking back. When he got to the rear of the store, he tossed the gun into a large dumpster.

“ What did you do that for?” Carolina asked, huffing and out of breath. “I thought we were going over the fence and down the alley?”

“ Can’t make it with the gun. Gotta hide. We gotta get in,” he said.

“ No.”

“ Now!” He grabbed a wooden crate from a stack against the back wall, dropped it in front of the dumpster. He used it as a step and climbed into the giant garbage pail.

“ Quick, put the crate back. I’ll pull you in.” Numb with disbelief, Carolina put the crate back on the pile, handed Arty her backpack and with a groan, she grabbed on the sides of the dumpster and pulled herself up. Arty grabbed her by the skirt and pulled her in. Then he pulled the top closed, shutting them up in the dark.

“ They went that way,” someone said. Footsteps came running. Arty prayed they wouldn’t look in the dumpster.

“ They must have gone over the fence.” They recognized the checker’s voice.

“ They won’t get away from me,” Officer Harpine said. “I’ll cut them off with the car.” Then they heard the footsteps retreating.

“ How long are we going to stay here?” Carolina asked.

“ Till it’s dark.”

“ I don’t want to stay here till dark. I want to go home.”

“ Me, too, but I bet that cop’s on his way to your house right now.”

“ Shit,” she swore, “what are we going to do?”

“ I don’t know.” He sat back against the cold metal and sank a little into the garbage.

“ It smells in here,” she said.

He mentally agreed as the scent of rotten vegetables, mingled with the freshly cut grass from the supermarket’s sideyard, and stale coffee grounds from the deli assaulted him. He was used to the dark and he tried to imagine that he was in his room, with lights out and eyes closed, but he couldn’t make himself believe it, and he couldn’t calm himself. The stench was overwhelming, making him want to hold his breath, and the fear was climbing out from someplace dark within, causing his lungs to tighten and shrink, forcing him to gasp for the putrid air.

Outside they heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. Arty quivered with both delight and fear when Carolina’s hand grasped his and squeezed. He squeezed back.

“ How about those kids?” Arty recognized the checker’s voice.

“ What kind of animal was that?” And he recognized the voice of Tommy Margolis, the high school kid that worked the deli. He was a short, skinny kid with pimples.

“ Looked like a hairy rat. Big one,” the checker said. Arty pictured him punching the keys to the cash register, darting his pea-sized, beady eyes over each item, like they were his personal belongings and you were stealing them. It wasn’t his store.

“ I never liked that guy,” Carolina whispered in his ear. He squeezed her hand in agreement.

“ Think you can make it in from here?” the checker said.

“ Easy,” the kid that worked in the deli answered.

“ Got a buck says you can’t.”

“ You’re on.”

The object of the bet flashed through Arty’s mind. He clamped a hand over Carolina’s mouth to keep her from screaming when the lid of the dumpster flew open. She was surprised and bit into the fleshy part of his palm, but he grit his teeth against the unexpected pain and didn’t cry out.

And her little body bucked against him as something smashed into the side of the dumpster, sending shock and sound ringing in their ears. It was like being trapped inside of a giant bell.

“ Missed,” the checker said.

Arty released his hand from her mouth, because now she also understood what the bet was about. The kids were playing basketball. The trash bags, the ball. The dumpster, the net.

“ Double or nothing,” Tommy Margolis from the deli section said.

“ You’re on.”

Arty could see short Tommy Margolis, probably bending low with the bag in both hands. He was probably chewing on the insides of his cheeks, the way he always did when you ordered a sandwich.

“ Here goes,” Tommy said.

Arty covered Carolina with his body as he pictured Tommy whipping his knobby arms forward, letting the bag go in a great arc. He would have to make it this time. Nobody could miss a target the size of the dumpster twice in a row.