Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(25)
Yeah, Preacher was feeling pretty useless. Useless seemed to be how he operated lately, utterly clueless and with no direction.
"When in Rome," he muttered. Flicking his cigarette away, he pulled on his denim jacket and joined the stream of people heading inside.
Set up on a large stretch of land typically used for public recreation, the Wayne County Fair was filled with rows of colorful vendor booths with front men loudly hawking their wares, and food stands scenting the air with a hundred different flavors of grease. Decorative lights had been strung from tent top to tent top, brightly countering the black night sky. A carousel, bumper cars, a rickety looking roller coaster, and a Ferris wheel were just a few of the rides the fair's skyline boasted.
Preacher stood in the center of it all, weighing his options. A ways off, a petting zoo had been erected, and past the zoo he could make out a cordoned-off area where stunt men were performing on motorcycles for a cheering crowd. He stepped forward, immediately drawn to the unmistakable roar of hard-working engines, until the farmyard stench had him recoiling.
Mud and manure didn't smell much better than a New York City alleyway, yet Preacher preferred the devil he knew. The open road made for a good mistress, but the city held his heart. If it didn't smell like exhaust and someone wasn't trying to steal it, Preacher wouldn't be staying long.
Forgoing the trek through the farm animals, he headed for the vendors instead.
Walking idly through the aisles, browsing without actually seeing any of it, Preacher lit cigarette after cigarette, content to just soak up the atmosphere. Every now and then a pair of nicely tanned legs or a smooth, bare midriff would catch his eye, but nothing that warranted more than a brief, appreciative glance.
At a food booth, Preacher paused to order a burger. Leaning against the makeshift counter, waiting for his order, he surveyed the crowd. It had been a while since he'd been surrounded by so many people at once, the hum of too many voices. In a way, it reminded him of home.
His languid stare snagged on a passing pair of bare legs, sleek and muscular, and then on a familiar scrap of leather tied around the waist above. He blinked and his eyes widened. That was his jacket-he'd recognize that jacket in the middle of a snowstorm, blindfolded. And wearing it was most definitely Debbie Reynolds-those gorgeous legs were proof enough. A crisp new bag hung from her back; her clothing was clean, also new. His eyes narrowed, knowing he'd paid for all of it.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, pushing away from the counter. Forgetting his food, he hurried after her.
He entertained the idea of grabbing her from behind, yanking her between vendors, and demanding that she return his things. Only as he drew closer, his anger began to wane.
She was working. And Debbie "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire" Reynolds was quite a sight to behold.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Preacher slowed his gait, allowing more space to build between them.
It only took a few moments of observing her to identify her preferred marks-young couples with children. She'd wait until the parents were distracted by their kids, then strike and quickly slip away.
She made the act seem effortless, though Preacher knew otherwise. It took quite a bit of skill to lift something off the body of another without them noticing anything. But Debbie was pulling it off. No one who wasn't actively looking at her, studying her every movement as Preacher was, would be the wiser.
She was so damn good at what she did, watching her in action felt like live entertainment.
If he hadn't been accustomed to watching his back for even the smallest of threats, she would have gotten the drop on him back at the truck stop. He never would have noticed her; his wallet would have simply vanished, leaving him wondering what the hell had happened to it.
He continued after her, even as she wandered into the petting zoo, full of braying mules and bleating goats and stinking to high heaven. Preacher hardly noticed the stench; he was too busy enjoying Debbie, his grin growing with each theft.
Something soft squished beneath his boot, and Preacher glanced down to find his right foot half submerged in mud. When he looked up again, Debbie had disappeared. Cursing, he rushed forward, his eyes darting in every direction, scanning the clusters of people milling about.
He lurched to a stop only minutes later and burst out laughing. Debbie was standing in line for the Ferris wheel. With his jacket tied around her waist, her new clothes clean and fitted, her hair pulled neatly away from her face, she appeared utterly innocuous, every bit an average teenage girl. Not at all like the lying, thieving little minx she really was.