Something Missing by Matthew Dicks Page B

attention that he was drawing with his dead sprint but finding exhilaration in it as well. This type of reckless abandon was something new for Martin, and he could feel every nerve in his body tingle like never before. He was equally pleased to see that while the regular checkout lines were long, the express line (ten items or less) was empty.
    It was as he was placing the toothbrush on the unmoving conveyor belt that he realized he did not have his wallet. Henever carried his wallet while visiting clients, considering its presence unnecessary and a potential danger. His general rule was to carry only those things that were required for the job, and he adhered to this rule save one sentimental item that he kept tucked away in his back pocket whenever he worked. Anything extra posed a hazard, and a wallet, capable of identifying him beyond a shadow of a doubt, posed the greatest hazard of all. Instead, he kept his wallet in a small compartment in the Subaru, just below the radio. It was sitting there as the cashier reached to scan the toothbrush.
    “Wait!” he stammered, reaching his latexed hand out and snatching the toothbrush from the cashier’s grasp. “I forgot my wallet.”
    Martin turned and ran for the exit when the cashier’s voice brought him to a stop in front of the automatic doors. “Sir! You can’t take that with you. You haven’t paid for it.”
    The cashier’s voice was loud enough for all around them to hear, and Martin felt a hundred eyes suddenly fall upon him, including those of a bullet-shaped man wearing a striped tie and a gold Stop & Shop name badge identifying him as a manager. The man took two slow steps in Martin’s direction, apparently waiting for Martin’s next move.
    “Sorry …,” Martin said with a smile, suddenly understanding how the situation must appear. A man wearing latex gloves is seen running for the doors as a cashier shouts for him to stop. His haste was causing him to act erratically.
This can’t be good
, he thought.
    With as much calm as he could muster, Martin sidled his way back to the cashier and handed the toothbrush back to the boy, a teenager of pimples and piercings, and asked that he hold on to it for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”
    Martin then walked out of the store as casually as possible while the eyes around him slowly returned to their prior business.
    Once in the relative anonymity of the parking lot, he burst into a sprint again while simultaneously fumbling for his keys in his jacket pocket.
    Martin did not see the Nissan bread truck pulling away from the curb as he ran directly into its path, causing the truck to come to a screeching halt less than a foot from Martin’s now frozen position. He could see the driver, a man who looked more tough and weathered than Martin could ever hope to be, glaring down at him, the middle finger on his right hand extended in Martin’s direction. Martin bowed awkwardly toward the man in an act of panicked contrition and then resumed his flight to the car. Less than a minute later he was reentering the store, transitioning his sprint to a trot as he made a hard right through the produce section back toward the checkout lines.
    He was pleased to see that since he had been gone, only one person had gotten in line in front of him, a middle-aged lady wearing a ridiculous combination of paisley skirt, fuzzy pink socks, and black patent-leather shoes. She had a purse large enough to house a family of rabbits and was in fact piling celery, carrots, parsley, and oatmeal onto the short conveyor belt, as if planning for the family’s next feast.
    Martin took up his position behind the woman and watched as she scrutinized each item as it was scanned with the concentration of a cellular biologist, eyes buried in a microscope. Twelve items in all, Martin noticed, two over the express-line limit, but since the cashier had scanned the first item (oatmeal, a brand that the Reeds were fond of as well), Martin decided that it