“Skip it.” He got to his knees. “Are you going to behave? What's your name?”
“Irma. Irma Sloane. What's yours?”
“Call me Gary. Are you going to behave now?”
“Gary what?”
“Russell Gary. Answer me.”
“All right, don't get mad.” She sat up, felt around on the pavement for the scattered jewelry. “Look what you made me do!” Abruptly she was on her knees and frantically searching the street. “Help me find them. I want them, I want them all. Help me!”
He held the light for her, contemptuously watching and sweeping it around in ever widening circles as she scrabbled over the street gathering up the spilled loot. When she had recovered all that could be found in the light's dim beam, she brought the double handful of gems over to dump them in his trouser pockets.
“We'll have to come back here tomorrow. I know I've missed some.”
“To hell with that,” he told her. “There's other stores around here.”
“Yes!” She paused in pleased surprise. “That's right. There are many of them; I know where they all are. We'll find them tomorrow, you and I.”