Page 2 of The Happy Hour
‘Was he shoplifting?’ Jess asked Roger.
‘Technically it’s a market stall, not a shop,’ Roger said. ‘But that is the offence, yes.’
‘There’s no such thing as stall-lifting, then?’ Jess smiled, but Roger didn’t return it. He was an ex-policeman, and his stall had a distinctly patriotic feel, selling medals, hip flasks and a range of royal and forces memorabilia. His tan leather jacket and Starsky and Hutch moustache were less regimented, and Jess thought that he fancied himself as a cavalier peacekeeper, when in reality he was as rule-abiding as they came. If Wendy was the market’s mum, then Roger was its security guard. It seemed ironic that it washisstall the hooded figure had stolen from. ‘What’s next, then?’ she asked.
He gestured towards the shaky standoff. ‘I suggest we assist this gentleman, then call my old muckers in the police.’
‘Good plan,’ she said, just as Hat Man’s voice rose above the market chatter.
‘Not a chance, buster.’ His tone was deep and forceful, and Jess felt as if a mini-earthquake had reverberated through her lower half.
‘Right.’ Roger stomped forward and Jess followed, though less enthusiastically. Some of the visitors were eyeing them now, clutching burgers or burritos, eating from cartons of chips, as if the scene was part of a street theatre performance and they were entitled to stare.
‘It’s very commendable, what you’ve done here,’ Roger said, and Hat Man’s expression collapsed into pure relief. ‘Take your hood down young man,’ he added, to the faceless shadow. The reply was an inaudible mumble and a complete failure to comply. Roger widened his stance and crossed his arms, and Hat Man looked as if he was about to let go of the thief, but Roger anticipated it, saying, ‘I wouldn’t, son. He’ll run like the wind, I guarantee it.’
‘Right.’ There was that deep voice again, and Jess felt her cheeks heat for no good reason.
‘Hood down, then I want your name, and then I’m calling the police.’ Roger took out his ancient mobile phone, which had a tiny screen and not a single smart feature, and waggled it like a threat.
An arm came up and yanked off the hood, the action sharp with irritation. The man who emerged was young – a boy, really – his blond hair cut close to his head and a spray of freckles over his nose. Jess saw her surprise echoed on Hat Man’s face, but not Roger’s. He’d clearly seen it all before.
‘Braden,’ the boy muttered to his chunky trainers.
‘Good lad,’ Roger said. ‘And what did you take from my stall?’
‘Nuthin’.’
‘Try again.’
Hat Man shot Jess a look over Roger’s head that was mostly relieved, slightly amused. His eyes were grey, his cheeks tinged pink. He was put-together and ruffled all at once, like the first, sketched draft of a Disney hero. A bit more polish and he would have been ready to franchise out, alongside a doe-eyed princess in a sparkly dress.
Slowly, Braden reached into his low-slung jeans pocket and pulled out something small and glinting. He held it in his palm like a pebble.
‘Ah, the gold-plated Elgin half-hunter,’ Roger said. ‘You know this was made in New Jersey by the Keystone Watch Case Company? It came to me via a very lovely widow who lives in King’s Cross. I paid handsomely for it.’
‘Who gives a shit?’ Braden said.
Hat Man made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat.
‘Ido, young man,’ Roger said. ‘It’s worth four hundred, at least.’
Braden’s eyes became twin saucers.
‘You have a keen eye,’ Roger told him, and the boy’s spine went from slouched to straight. ‘You should use your talents for good, not ill.’
‘I don’t want to be no market trader,’ Braden said. ‘Much easier nicking things.’
‘Not if you end up with a custodial sentence. Then, I promise you, you will wish you were a market trader. Now, am I calling my friend Sergeant Allison to deal with you, or can you and I come to an amicable arrangement?’
Braden twisted his head left then right, his nose scrunching when he realised there was no easy getaway.
Jess decided she wasn’t needed. Roger was in his element – using the theft as a teachable moment – and she had enough information to satisfy Wendy’s curiosity. She edged backwards, pressing her hand to her stomach when it rumbled from being in close proximity to the fish-and-chip stall, but Braden pointed a finger in her direction.
‘What about her?’ he said. ‘What’s shedoing here? She just a nosey parker, or... I bet she put you up to this!’
Roger glanced at her. ‘That’s Jess. She’s one of the linchpins of the market, and—’
‘What’s a linchpin?’Braden cut in.
