The coffee was brewing while the bacon in the Egg and Cheese Croissants was lingering in the air, biting the smeller of everyone who came into the convenience store. The morning was just coming up, so the sun, sitting low on the horizon, still had that brand new day brightness that stung your eyes if you just glanced in its general direction. Marty Blane walked up and down the aisles as he watched the clerk drag his feet across the floor, half asleep from having to come into work so early.
But Marty had been up all night, a night owl. He slept when he got a chance, but he was always on guard because he didn’t trust anyone. People who can’t be trusted normally think of the whole world the same way. He put his wallet in his front pocket and kept his hand on it as he slept on the bus. His backpack carried his whole life, which is why he slept with one eye open even when he was on a friend’s couch.
That was Marty’s life, and the coffee that was freshly brewing smelled especially good to him this particular morning. He was eyeing those croissants too because he hadn’t eaten in a day. A life like his didn’t call for too many sit-down and eat dinners. It was food on the run when he got the chance, and most of the time, it was a smash-and-grab type of meal. Like the one he was preparing to do.
After pouring his coffee with cream and sugar, he walked slowly up to the food warmers and grabbed a croissant while continuing to check out the clerk. As soon as he noticed a slip in consciousness, Marty knew that was his chance to move toward the doors without alarming anyone. He walked like a smooth criminal across the floor and pushed the door open to make his escape just as an officer was coming in. The bell above the door rang, and the clerk snapped back to life, suddenly realizing someone was trying to get away with stealing from his store.
“Officer! Stop him,” the clerk yelled.
The officer eyed the man with a cup of coffee and a croissant in his hands. His eyes did the talking as he gestured for Marty to back up. That’s when the not-so-slick criminal thought of his best moves, “I haven’t had my coffee yet, officer. My brain was not engaged. I’m sorry.”
The officer shrugged because he definitely understood the coffee excuse. He had used it several times himself.
Marty turned to the clerk, “My bad. My bad. My bad. What does it come to?”
The clerk looked at the officer with questions in his eyes. The officer nodded, understanding the wordless conversation fully, “Would you like to press charges? You can if you want. That’s totally up to you.”
The clerk looked at Marty’s pleading eyes and back at the officer, “No. As long as he pays, I’ll let it go.”
“Sounds good,” the officer nodded as he walked toward the coffee to grab a cup himself.
That was stupid, Marty scolded himself. You just cost me about ten bucks. Next time, look out for the cops. I mean like, duh!
Marty yelled at himself as he ate his croissant and drank his coffee. His feet were going somewhere, but he didn’t know where. He didn’t care. He didn’t have anywhere in particular to go. He just kept moving and looking for things to do, which most of the time was up to nothing good.
As the day rolled into afternoon and more people were out and about, Marty loved this time of day. He looked for big crowds because he could move through them and magnetically attract cash, watches, and credit cards he knew where to unload.
It was when he came across a talented street performer who had gathered a nice audience that the itch got him so bad, he couldn’t help himself. In her guitar case was a huge collection of cash he could swipe and be done for the day. That one haul would be all he would need, and then he could head off to the bar, possibly pick someone up for a good time. Who knows?
As he stood there, he scanned the crowd, making sure that everyone was paying attention to her and not the guitar case on the ground a few feet away. With his catlike instincts, he went low, made the swipe, and pocketed the wad of cash as he walked away before anyone else noticed him. That’s what he thought, anyway.
He walked up to the street, turned the corner, and was making good time when an officer stopped him. He looked the careless thief over and then got on his radio, “I’ve got a guy who matches the description. When I told him to empty his pockets, he had a wad of cash. I’ll get a positive I.D.”
He told Marty to turn around. The eyewitness was standing a block and a half away, acting like he was talking to someone. When the officer ordered Marty to turn back around, the eyewitness nodded behind his back, and that was enough of a positive identification.
“You’re under arrest,” were the words Marty heard the officer say before he found himself getting a ride to the county jail.
But that’s where his luck changed, because it was in booking, of all places, where Marty learned the greatest secret of being a career criminal. There is something special they all hold if they are going to keep going in the direction they are, an AllCrime Criminal Insurance card.
On the wall, a television was mounted that played the news all day long. The volume was on mute, but if they were bored, inmates could read captions or whatever else was written on the screen. That’s when Marty saw the commercial for AllCrime Criminal Insurance, and there was a 1-800 STOP GETTING CAUGHT number to call.
Marty looked around the room and spotted the phones on the wall on the other side. He looked at an officer, “Sir, I need to make a phone call.”
The officer looked up with the dullest look on his face and then pointed to them. Marty stood up and walked over as he recited the number, his lips moving every time he repeated it. When he picked up the receiver and started dialing, it was like a Genie had just walked into Booking and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Marty Blane,” an officer yelled from the other side of the room. “Marty Blane!”
“Yes, that’s me,” Marty answered as he stood up.
“I have something for you,” the officer said as he held up a package.
Marty walked over and scratched his head as he looked down at the package that was stamped with the AllCrime logo. He looked back at the phone and calculated in his head, lips moving and all, that he had just hung up with them. That was fast!
When he opened up the package, there was a card inside with his name on it. The officer held out his hand, “I’ll take that.”
Marty looked at the man with caution. He put the card to his chest and shook his head.
That’s when the officer nodded, “Do you want out of here or not?” Then he wiggled his fingers, the international sign for “hand me the card.”
Marty reluctantly held the card out and dropped it in the officer’s hand, who quickly swiped it through his computer, and paperwork started flying. The officer handed the card back and said, “You are free to go. Let me just grab your paperwork for you, and we’ll get you on your way.”
He didn’t waste time waiting for them to change their minds. He slipped out of the jail and made good time, holding his card proudly in his hand. He looked at it every once in a while to make sure it was real. It was definitely real, right down to his name being stamped on it. How did they do that so fast?
It was well into evening as he practically skipped down the sidewalk, looking around at everyone and feeling mighty proud of himself. When he turned the corner, he stopped to enjoy the lights of all the happening spots lining Main Street. It was like the whole city had dressed up to come out and enjoy themselves for the night.
When he saw The Copper Fox marquee, an itch climbed up inside of him. It was a classy joint with valet parking where beautiful women in shiny dresses and heels are escorted out of their cars by gentlemen wearing tuxedo vests and bow ties. The keys changed hands as tickets were assigned. The elite walked into the club with no worries, but they didn’t know Marty was around. For that matter, they didn’t know Marty at all.
Not until he casually strolled through and grabbed the keys to a Mercedes before the owner had a chance to realize he had handed them over to the wrong person. When he turned around, the car was gone. It squealed wheels and burned rubber down the street.
Marty was enjoying the sound of the engine and the sights of the lights flashing past him. He had never gone that fast. It was a unique first time for him, seeing the lights speed past like he was in the cockpit of a spaceship in some galaxy exploration movie. It was a special moment until the lights changed to red and blue.
With a smile on his face for the first time in his life, Marty pulled over without a care in the world. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his AllCrime card as he wound the window down. But that didn’t seem necessary as a lawyer immediately appeared and stood next to the door.
He looked down at Marty and confidently said, “Don’t say a word. I’m your attorney.”
When the officer walked up, he nodded to the lawyer and then looked at Marty, “License and registration, please. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Do you know how fast he was going?” the lawyer asked.
The officer looked at the lawyer, “Who are you?”
“I’m Gavin Slate, attorney representing Mr. Blane,” Gavin answered.
“Well, Mr. Slate, he was speeding,” the officer replied.
“And how fast was he going?” Gavin asked.
“He was doing seventy in a thirty-five,” the officer asked.
“How did you determine that?” Gavin followed up.
“I clocked him,” the officer answered. Then, he turned to Marty and repeated, “License and registration, now!”
“Clocking someone by driving behind them is easily beatable in a court of law. I can even beat a radar gun,” Gavin informed.
Marty had pulled out his license and was about to reach into the glove box to rummage around for a registration that wasn’t his when a call came through the officer’s radio, “Keep a lookout for a black 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. It was stolen from The Copper Fox. The driver might be wearing a green hoodie with a green beanie.”
The officer looked at Marty and then back at Gavin, who shrugged, “What a coincidence?”
“Registration, please,” the officer said in a slow, determined voice.
Mr. Gavin held out his hand, blocking Marty from handing over the documents, “He has to show you, but he doesn’t have to hand them over.”
The officer straightened up and studied Gavin for a moment. Then, he looked at Marty and nodded with a stern expression. He let the look linger long enough before he looked back at Gavin and raised an eyebrow.
That’s when Gavin knew what was up, “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“I have a nice backyard. But it would be a whole lot nicer if I had a pool back there,” the officer happened to mention. “Might go over real well with the wife who’s been asking for one for years.”
“Say no more,” Gavin responded. Then, he looked at Marty with a wink.
The serial criminal put the car in drive when the officer grunted, “Uh uh. The car stays.”
Gavin looked at Marty and nodded. So, he got out nice and slow. Then, he started walking away as the lawyer and the officer proceeded to talk.
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