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Mary Schenten was born and raised in Wisconsin but lived in Minnesota most of her adult life. The last 20 years she has worked in the field of employee benefits. As exciting as that is, along the way she developed an urge to write. Since her favorite genre for reading is mystery, and her favorite authors are Elizabeth George and Donald Westlake, that’s where she first turned for writing also. She was pleased to find a warm, welcoming community of mystery writers as close as her computer. She is a member of MWA, Sinc, and Muse It Up Club. Mary won first prize in the Christmas Theme Fan Contest from the Armchair Interviews website (www.armchairinterviews.com). She also won first place for her flash fiction entry in the Writers Post Journal magazine for February 2006. She’s had stories published in Northern Reader, mysterical-e, Flashshots, Coffee Cramp Ezine and FMAM.

With Help From My Friends by Mary Schenten

Eric entered the mall as his best friend Josh walked in from the opposite side. Eric's heart was beating too fast. That happened often lately, and it had him spooked. It wasn't the rush he was accustomed to feeling. This was different. He'd told Josh and Josh, as always, cut to the chase. "Dude, you need a different job. You're losin' it."

Josh looked like someone who would say that. His blond, shaggy hair fell over his forehead, almost to his eyes, and softened the hatchet-sharpness of his features. He towered over Eric who wouldn't have been caught dead looking like something that could be called shaggy. He was compact and neat and nondescript.

Eric's hand went to his side where he felt the smooth weight of the stun gun in his jacket pocket. He liked the way it fit into the palm of his hand. But still he hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

Sometimes he used his stun gun to shock a target and cause a distraction. His was the weakest voltage he could buy. He didn't want to hurt anyone. It gave him the chance to catch them when they crumpled and to slide his hands into their pockets and purses while they were befuddled.

Josh enjoyed using his stun gun a little too much in Eric's opinion. He might use it today although they'd agreed not to. Probably he'd say something unforeseen forced him to use it.

Most people didn't realize this was a good time of year for pickpockets: September––past the summer tourist season and prior to winter holiday spending frenzy––so shopping crowds weren't large, nor were they as cautious or aware of happenings around them as they should have been. Television and newspapers weren't warning people to guard their personal belongings from pickpockets and muggers. Josh and Eric had a standing bet: the one who got the most loot would get treated to pizza and beer by the other.

Josh and Eric went to the more expensive stores. They dressed like the other young men who shopped there. They were good at what they did. Either could slip money from a woman's purse without her knowing until he was aisles away, casually flipping through a stack of shirts. They hadn't always been as smooth so they each had a record. Josh would be off probation in a year and Eric only had one month left.

Eric stopped behind an older woman he'd been eyeing. An expensive coat was draped over one arm and her bag over the other. His pulse raced as she paused by a rack of purses.

He took a practice brush against her as though trying to pass by and she didn't react. With his right hand he touched the strap of a leather pouch hanging in front of him while reaching into her purse with his left. His knowing fingers closed around a plump checkbook case stuffed with folding money and he eased it out.

Without glancing, he knew he'd scored big. Cash, credit cards and checkbook all at once. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

Before he could move away, the woman whirled and stared at him in alarm. But it was concern for him, not for herself, he saw in her eyes. He realized he was breathing through his mouth with a loud, raspy sound and his face was streaming with sweat.

Willing himself to calm down, he tried on a trembling smile and edged his way through the racks of clothing. Instead of ebbing, his panic increased with each step. He wanted to run to the exit, flinging people and merchandise from his path.

Once outside, he began shaking so hard he thought he'd collapse. His urge to run vanished and he wanted to curl into a ball on the spot. He turned to the right and saw a bench at a bus stop not far away. Willing himself to make it that far, he dropped onto the cold, hard surface and fumbled in his shirt pocket. In seconds he was rocking back and forth, filling his lungs with that despised but miraculous substance: cigarette smoke.

Josh. He had to find Josh. A shadow fell over him and although Eric could only see a silhouette because of the sun, he knew it was Josh, staring at him, open-mouthed.

"Dude," he said. "What happened? You look like hell." He reached down to shake Eric's shoulder. "I struck out, Man. You got anything, you won."

"Panic," Eric managed. "Attack." He took another drag and shook his head. "People. Too many. Too close."

"Dude, you have got to find a different occupation. You're gettin' to be a liability."

"I…know. Look, we gotta…."

It took a bit for Eric to realize Josh was no longer there. He dragged his gaze from his feet up to the sight of his friend's back as Josh pounded down the sidewalk at an impressive speed.

And, although Eric was still disconnected, his fuzzy brain finally grasped that there were three people clustering around him: the security guard from the mall, the woman whose purse he'd picked, and a uniformed police officer, holding handcuffs.

THE END