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I looked at it, at the security man and the door, and then sat.

“She had a friend with her,” the security man told the manager.

“And?”

“She was clean, as far as I could tell.”

“Sure, they come in pairs. One distracts while the other pilfers.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “She has nothing to do with this. She wasn’t even with me in that department.”

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Pippi Longstocking,” I said.

He sat back and rubbed his hands together like someone anticipating a great feast.

A few moments later, the door opened and a policeman entered.

“This is our thief,” the manager said. “She’s wearing the stolen item under her blouse. You’ve got your evidence. Book her,” he told them.

“Stand up,” the policeman told me. He took out a pair of handcuffs. This had never happened to me in Ohio. The sight of them did stab me with a cold blade of fear. I know my arms trembled as he snapped the cuffs around my wrists.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly.

Marching through the store again, this time with a policeman right behind me and me wearing handcuffs, I drew more curious faces, some heads shaking with disgust. When we emerged, I looked for Kathy Ann, but I didn’t see her anywhere.

“Move,” the policeman said, poking me toward the patrol car. There was a policewoman waiting beside it. She held the rear door open.

“Watch your head,” she said, putting her hand on top of my head as I leaned in to sit on the caged rear seat. “What do we have?” she asked the policeman.

“She’s wearing a blouse under her blouse.”

The policewoman smiled and shook her head at me.

“Honey,” she said, “you just put yourself in a whole can of worms.”

They got into the patrol car and we started away. I looked back at the people watching from the entrance.

At least I made someone’s news of the day, I thought.

6

Strike One

I had been in a police station before, but I was two years younger then, and although everyone had been serious, I’d had the sense that my youth would provide a parachute. This time when they brought me into the station, I saw no one remotely close to my age. All of the other prisoners looked hardened and experienced.

The policewoman took me into a private room, where I removed the blouse I had taken. She folded it and then brought me back to the desk sergeant, where they took down my name and address. I had a picture ID from my school back in Ohio. Then I was fingerprinted and put in a holding cell with two other women. One looked like she was still coming down from a drug she had taken. The other was talking to her, but I didn’t think she heard a word. I gathered they had been arrested for soliciting sex on the street. I was actually happy they showed no interest in me.

I sat on the bench and waited nearly three hours before Mother darling appeared.

“Robin Taylor,” I heard, and stood up. The policeman unlocked the door. “Come with me,” he said. I looked back at the two women, who were both asleep now, one leaning on the other. In the lobby Mother darling and Cory were standing and talking with the policewoman who had brought me to the station.

They all turned to me as I was brought along.

“I don’t even want to hear your excuses, Robin,” Mother darling said. “Cory and I have guaranteed your appearance in court. Just walk,” she said.

I glanced at Cory, who had a twisted smile on his face.