And then he began to cry. Maybe he’d already been crying—I suddenly saw his tan cheeks were wet.

“Please, sir, I don’t want the police back to my shop again, and I feel that your pantslessness will bring them here even faster than the pushing of 9-1-1 on the phone.”

Alright, now we’re getting somewhere, I thought. Here’s some leverage. But something about his tears and the way he was gasping for breath was making this a little less fun all of a sudden.

“Tell ya what,” I said with what I thought of as my negotiating smile; it’s kind of sideways. “You ring me up, I’ll put ‘em on, and then I’ll be on my way.”

His look hardened and his labored breathing stopped altogether. As he reached under the counter, he narrowed his eyes and said “There is no deal.”