The man was standing before I was, his toes curling on the cold train floor. There was a ferocity in his eyes that said he wasn’t joking. My hands were holding the sides of the box, and his suddenly latched onto the top and bottom.

I took a brief assessment of the situation. In my sneakers I could surely outrun the old barefoot bruiser, but the next station was a few minutes off yet. I’d have to stall.

“Look, sir…” I began. “I just bought this pie. I paid money for it. I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, but you’re not taking this pie anywhere.” To emphasize my point I jerked the box from his fingers and moved toward the front of the car.

He followed me.

“Listen up, girlie. That’s a very special pie. I’m… old friends with the baker. You ever have one of those days where something precious to you is snatched right out from under your nose?”

“I think I’m having one of those days now.”

He smiled cold and broad. “That’s my pie. You was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now hand it over.”