At the Greengrocer's
by Allie
Marge glanced over the top of the aisle. The aisles were low in the greengrocer's and she kept thinking—no, but it certainly looked like—it looked like that nice man, Doyle. Those curls…
Well, many people could have those curls. And certainly he couldn't have disappeared that quickly. She'd been positive it was him, even called after him and hurried to peer round the corner to the next aisle. But she'd seen nothing.
It must be a mistake. She felt disappointed, but then it wasn't every day you could see lovely men while shopping.
Speaking of the handsome Ray Doyle, where was he lately? She hadn't seen him in donkey's years. She hoped that shifty-eyed Bodie and their boss were looking after him, not letting him do anything too dangerous.
She hesitated, then reached for a container of currants. She would make some currant buns. Not that Marge's talents really lay in that area, but hope sprang eternal. Besides, a lady needed to be able to bake something sweet sometimes.
It must be the thought of that nice Ray Doyle that had her thinking such things. Now there was a man to settle down with. Ah, but he was the perennial bachelor, wasn't he? It would be a long time before that one settled down—if he ever did. Too wild, really. Not like her third husband….
A shout from the front of the greengrocer's caught Marge's attention. She heard a loud smash and a sound like many tin cans crashing to the floor. "Money! Now!" screamed a young man.
Goodness, it was getting more and more violent these days! All Marge had wanted to do was do her shopping. She hadn't realised she should have brought her muscle with her for protection.
Pushing her shopping trolley carefully ahead of her, Marge started walking cautiously towards the front of the store to investigate. Of course the safest thing to do would be to hide in the back till this was all over, but Marge was never one to let her curiosity go unsatisfied. It was both her blessing and her curse—and also how she'd managed to build herself the business she had. Who knew a girl's interest in antiques and building plans could lead to such a... lucrative career?
She rounded the last corner and peered at the sight. A skinny young man in his twenties, jittery and obviously in need of a fix, was brandishing a cricket bat around wildly. He was threatening the shopkeeper and had already knocked over two displays. Cans of baked beans littered the floor like so much rubbish, along with boxes of Bisto gravy mix.
"Jerry?" said Marge, peering closer at the haggard young man. "Is that you, Jerry? What would your mother say?" She tsk'd, shaking her head. "What am I going to tell her, that you were committing a robbery when last I saw you? Oh, you'd have done much better to come 'round and see me about some work, luv."
Jerry looked embarrassed, sullen and confused. He seemed at a loss for words, and suddenly didn't seem to know what to do with his cricket bat.
The shopkeeper cast Marge a grateful look, obviously hoping she would be able to talk the young man out of hurting anyone or making off with any money.
Indeed, Jerry hesitated, but Marge was by no means certain he would cooperate. Jerry had a sullen look about him, like a bad boy caught in trouble who might just keep defying whoever had caught him.
And really, the only other thing Marge could do was ram him with the shopping trolley. She would hate to do that. What could she possibly say to his mother, if she rammed Jerry with a shopping trolley?
And if he left now, he might not even be charged by the police.
"Go on, Jerry. Go home, love," said Marge. "Stop by and ask me about work if you still need money tomorrow."
Jerry shifted and sniffed sullenly. "I need money now," he insisted.
"Well, how much?" said Marge, reaching for her money.
Jerry's eyes fastened on the purse. "All of it! And the till's contents, as well!" An ugly look was back on his face and he raised his cricket bat, brandishing it ominously.
Marge's eyes widened. She'd never thought she might actually be in danger.
Suddenly, from around the corner streaked a slim yet powerfully built man with curly hair. With one karate kick, he took Jerry down before he could finish swinging the bat. Jerry stumbled and fell against the downed Bisto display.
"My hero!" said Marge, smiling at none other than Ray Doyle.
Doyle grabbed the bat and took it away from Jerry, his eyes hard and dangerous behind his aviator glasses. He wore his very worn but somehow perfect jeans and a leather jacket over a white t-shirt.
Doyle hauled Jerry to his feet and pushed him forward, holding the young man's hands behind his back.
Marge noted with interest that Ray had a large patch on the back of his jeans. She took a careful look as he walked by.
"Everyone all right?" asked Ray, looking around the room, business-like. Everyone assured him they were.
Finally, he spared a look for Marge. "Good work distracting him," said Ray, giving her a nod.
"You did good work, love. Jerry, what will your mother say?" she scolded. She squeezed past a display and walked up to Ray, smiling. She wrapped a hand round his arm.
For some reason, Ray seemed more nervous than he had when taking down an armed assailant.
She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "We make a great team, love."
written for the July Challenge on the Prosfanfic Yahoo group
Prompts: Cricket bat, Marge Harper, Greengrocers