Fingers trembling, eyes on the man at the cash register, Mongoose snatched the Milky Way bar and stuck it in his coat pocket.

He waited for lightning to strike.  For the hand of God to frizzle him on the spot.  The earth to open and swallow him up.  Cops at least.

Nothing.

Nothing but himself standing in front of the candy section of the Mini-Mart feeling like a dope.  He couldn’t believe he was fooling anybody.

“Just look like you’re checkin’ the stuff out,” Weasel had said.  “Like you’re tryin’ to decide what to buy.”

Right.  So here he was, scratching the back of his head and putting this stupid now-what-do-I-want-to-buy-look on his face.  Meanwhile stuffing a candy bar into his pocket.

And nothing happened.  The world took no notice.

So he grabbed a handful of Milky Ways and stuffed them.  And some Butterfingers.  And Almond Joys.

“Bring your coat with the biggest pockets,” Weasel had said.  It was good advice.

A handful of Snickers.  Baby Ruths.

Two aisles over, he could see Weasel’s red ski cap bobbing behind the pastries.

M&M’s.  Tootsie Rolls.

Now the red cap was moving down the aisle, past the sodas and pretzels toward the door.

Time to go.

They met at the cash register.  They walked past the man, cool, casual, not looking — (“Don’t look at him.”  Weasel had been firm about that) — though Mongoose mightily wanted to.

Outside, the November air splashed cold on their faces, and Mongoose knew he had been sweating.  They walked to the end of the block.  The moment they turned the corner, as if on signal, they ran, raced up the street, tension bursting into howls of laughter.