Zak
Zak had spent all morning on the supermarket car park near the precinct. He did try getting into the precinct first, tied up Bess at the bike racks, but the guard gave him a stone dead look and jerked his head. ‘On yer way.’
‘I haven’t done ’owt.’ Zak protested, all injured pride.
‘And yer not going to, neither.’ The guy was chewing gum. Nicorette. Zak could smell it. Rank. He’d got some from the GP once, on prescription, sold it in the pub for a knock-down price.
‘Yer can’t do that,’ Zak said. Though he knew he could. Said it for the wind-up really. Liked the idea of toying with the guy for a bit. Bound to be on a short fuse, on the gum, trying to kick the smokes. ‘’S a public place.’
‘Wrong.’ The guy gave a smug little smile. ‘This is a private development, privately owned. Anyone may be refused entry or ejected. And I’m refusing you.’
‘Why, what’s your grounds?’
‘I’m not obliged to say.’
Zak snorted. Drew the roll-up out from behind his ear and fired up.
The guy’s cheek twitched, like there was a bug under the skin. ‘No smoking,’ he said tightly.
Zak took a pull, released it slowly, like an old advert, the smoke swirling up all lazy and relaxed. ‘I’m not inside.’
‘Within ten metres of the entrance.’ The bug jumped again.
Zak took a step back, and another drag.
The guard’s jaw jerked up, his eyes darkened.
‘Fair enough.’ Zak raised his hand, flaunting the ciggie. ‘I get the message. You have a nice day, now.’ He gave a little bow and spun away. Walked back to Bess. She wriggled like mad, ecstatic, as though he’d been gone for hours. He patted her back, rubbed the loose fur under her chin.
After that they went round the other side of the block to the supermarket car park. He left Bess at the far end where there was some shade.
Zak struck lucky first time: a good omen. A youngish woman, early twenties like him, plain-looking with a trolley full of food. He’d watched her load her stuff into the hatchback then return the trolley to the bays and get her pound back. He met her halfway back to her car.
‘Excuse me-’ Zak was always polite – ‘can you help us out? Me mam’s been taken into hospital and I’m trying to get the bus fare to get down there and visit. I don’t like to ask…’
But, already embarrassed, she was fishing in her pocket, handing him the pound coin, apologizing that she hadn’t any more change on her.
There were two advantages to working the supermarket car park as Zak saw it: first off, because you had to use a pound for the trolley then just about everyone had a spare quid on them and second, they were on their way home after the big shop and wouldn’t be hanging around to see him use the same line ten, twenty, thirty more times. Way past the point where he’d made enough for a day-rider on the bus.