Straits of Fortune by Anthony Gagliano

Author:Anthony Gagliano
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780061736858
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-02-14T20:00:17+00:00

Somebody must have found a cache of polyester in an attic somewhere, because the pants were as synthetic as the shirt I had found. The only good thing about them was that they were black. I went behind the bin and changed clothes quickly. It was only then I realized that the pants were too short by a good five inches. It was as though a levee had busted and I had just recently emerged from the flood zone. I decided I could live with them and hurriedly stuffed the jumpsuit into the bin. In five minutes time, I had gone from looking like an escaped illegal alien to looking like an escaped mental patient—not exactly the transformation I’d hoped for, but still an improvement.

Now I needed some money.

I went around to the other side of the mall and into the Winn Dixie supermarket. I didn’t like what I was about to do, but I really didn’t have much choice. I found the aisle with the canned meats, took a can of Spam down off the shelf, tore the little key off the top, put it in my pocket and walked out the front door. No one gave me a second look. Then I went outside and began looking for a parking meter. I had to walk a few blocks in the rain, but I finally found a row of them behind a post office. I was about to commit my third felony in twenty-four hours.

I got out the little T-shaped key and jimmied open the meter. I knew how to do it because in my rookie year as a cop I had busted a homeless guy who was using the same method up in Manhattan. He and his buddies had stolen over six thousand dollars in quarters by the time we caught them, and it had cost the borough a pretty penny to alter the meters to keep that from happening again. Five minutes and a little finagling later, I had ten dollars in quarters weighing me down. I could have taken more, but I felt bad enough taking what I did.

I went back to the mall and found myself at the rear entrance of the food court. People flashed by without looking at me. I glanced around in search of the restrooms. I had an irresistible urge to see what I looked like, mainly because I was feeling somewhat maniacal and wanted to know whether I looked that way as well.

There was no one in the men’s room, so I was able to check myself out in the mirror without interruption. I was dark and windburned, like a man who has walked a long way through a desert without adequate water, and my cheekbones were getting close to the outside air. I needed a shave and my hair was sticking out in various directions, but it was my eyes that scared me the most. They were feral eyes, the eyes of a desperate man. Any cop worth his pay would just get a look at them and his radar sense would be immediately set off.

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