"Oh my God!" Janie shrieked. She pointed a manicured finger at Dock. "It's him! It's the rapist! Call the police!"
Dock didn't even flinch. He didn't look at her.
He walked to the counter.
Brenda, the clerk who had been so smug a minute ago, took a step back. She looked at Dock's scars, at the dangerous set of his shoulders, and she went pale.
"Don't... don't hurt me," she squeaked.
"The dress," Dock said.
He picked up the garment bag from the counter.
"You can't take that!" Brenda stammered. "She didn't pay the cleaning fee! It's damaged!"
Dock looked at the bag. Then he looked at Brenda.
"Damaged," he repeated.
"Yes! It's... it's ruined!"
Keira tugged on the back of Dock's jacket. "Dock, please. Let's just go. I don't want the money anymore. Please."
She was terrified. If the police came, they would arrest him. He was an ex-con. They wouldn't ask questions.
He turned to her. His eyes softened, just a fraction.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured.
He turned back to the counter.
A man in a suit came rushing out from the back office. The Manager.
"What is going on here?" he demanded. "I'm calling 911!"
Dock reached into his back pocket.
Keira's heart stopped. Was he reaching for a weapon? A knife?
He pulled out a card.
It was black. Metal.
He slapped it onto the glass counter. The sound was sharp, decisive.
Clack.
The Manager looked down.
He froze.
His eyes bulged. He looked from the card to Dock's face, trying to reconcile the scruffy, scarred man with the piece of titanium on the counter.
It was an American Express Centurion card. The Black Card.
But not just a normal one. It had a specific geometric pattern on the edge.
"Swipe it," Dock said.
"Sir... I..." The Manager was shaking.
"Buy the dress," Dock said. "And the one in the window. And that one." He pointed to a gown that probably cost ten thousand dollars.
"Is this... is this yours?" the Manager whispered.
Dock leaned over the counter. He got right in the Manager's face.
His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Does it matter?"
The Manager went white. He looked like he was going to vomit.
He started to stammer, "But Mr. P-"
Dock's eyes went dead cold. It was a look that promised consequences far worse than a 911 call. The Manager's mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked.
"Swipe. The. Card."
"Yes! Yes, sir! Immediately!"
The Manager scrambled to the machine. His hands were shaking so badly he dropped the card twice.
"He stole it!" Janie yelled from the back. "He stole that card! Arrest him!"
"Quiet!" the Manager roared at Janie. "Not another word, Miss Jacobson!"
Janie's jaw dropped.
The machine beeped. Approved.
The receipt printed.
Dock took the card and shoved it back into his pocket like it was a gum wrapper.
"Pack them up," he said.
"Yes, sir. Right away. I'll have them delivered to..."
"We'll take them," Dock said.
He grabbed the garment bag.
He turned to Brenda. She was trembling.
"You," Dock said.
"Me?"
"I don't like your face. Or your attitude."
He looked at the Manager.
"Fire her."
"Done," the Manager said instantly. "Brenda, get your things. You're gone."
"But..." Brenda started to cry.
"Now!" the Manager screamed.
Dead silence filled the boutique.
Dock turned to Keira. He put his hand on the small of her back. His touch was warm, firm.
"Let's go."
He guided her out the door, past a stunned Janie and Geraldine.
They walked out onto 5th Avenue.
The wind hit Keira's face.
She stopped. She pulled away from him.
She stared at him, her eyes wide with horror.
"What did you do?" she whispered.
He looked at her, his face impassive.
"I bought the dresses."
"With a stolen card!" Keira hissed, looking around for police. "You stole a Black Card! Do you know how much trouble were in? That's grand larceny! That's... that's federal!"
Dock looked at her. He saw the genuine terror in her eyes.
He sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"It's not stolen," he said.
"Don't lie to me! I saw the manager's face! He was terrified!"
"It's a clone," Dock said smoothly. The lie came easily. "I have a friend. From inside. He makes them. It's linked to a dummy corporate account in the Caymans."
Keira's knees went weak.
"A clone card? You're a hacker?"
"Something like that," he said. "The bill goes to a shell company. It's untraceable."
"Oh my God," Keira breathed. "We're criminals."
"Technically," he said, gesturing to the three massive dress bags now on the curb. "I'm the criminal. You're just the accessory."
He started walking.
"Come on. I'm hungry."
