"What did you do?" I roll my eyes at yet another drama. Then I notice something. She's bawling. Properly crying, not the acting kind she does when she wants her own way. Not the screaming and shouting kind, when she – very occasionally – don't get her own way. She may be only eight years old, but she don't cry for real.

This time, though, Angela is crying, hot tears rolling down her face.

"Angel, what happened?"

All kinds of things rush through my mind at the same instant. Someone hurt her. Someone I will have to find and hurt right back. Not Ron. I didn't get it that wrong, did I? What Dom said about some guys getting off on touching little kids? Nah, I checked, I watched him when he moved in. He never acts like anything other than a wannabe dad, right down to the trying to ground the little ones and then forgetting all about it as soon as he he ties one on. He don't try and ground me. He can belt me, but he can't tell me what to do. What's he gonna do, nail the windows shut?

Between Angel's sniffs, I work out a few words; candy lipstick, store lady, tell on her next time. I stare as it slots into place.

"You got caught shoplifting?" I clarify. Her face twists into a dark scowl.

"Don't you laugh at me, Tim. Don't you dare!"

My little sister is bawling because her pride was hurt. She got caught trying to lift a candy lipstick and the sales lady gave her a lecture, to frighten her. I ask her where she was, turns out she picked the five and dime on up on Sutton.

"Well, that's your mistake, right there," I tell her. "They got everything laid out where the cashier can see."

She's scowling still, until I continue: "You wanna try the corner store, by the appliance place. The display counter cuts right across, they got a blind spot a mile wide."

Angel rubs the back of her hand across her face, tears disappearing. "Do they got candy lipsticks? The ones with the gold paper?"

"Jeez, I dunno. They got a stack of candy. Get somethin' else, if they don't got those." It ain't like they was ever on my own personal shopping list.

"I want the lipstick!" She pouts. "Come with me, Tim." It's more of an order than a request, that's been her style since she could talk.

I remember when I was Angel's age. After Pete, around the time of the one with the tattoo, before Dad came home again. I remember one time there was only soup in the cabinet and I couldn't work the can opener. How hard it was to shoplift bread, squashing it up my sweater and eventually just booking it as fast as I could, hoping I was faster than the assistant.

It's better that Angel only needs to think about candy.

I tell her that I will show her where the store is, only because I want something myself, but I don't want her walking with me. She can walk behind or in front, but not with me. She says okay and we head out.

"Where y'all goin'?"

Our first problem. Curly is now tagging along. I tell him the same thing, he can walk with her.

By the end of the street he is bouncing next to me, tripping over his own feet in his excitement. "What we gonna get?" he keeps asking, until I tell him he won't get nothing unless he shuts up and good.

Before we hit the store I stop. I have to wait for Angel to catch up, then she walks right by, like she don't know us, her nose in the air.

"What the hell you doing? C'mere," I snap.

"You said 'don't be with you'. I thought we was gonna play at bein' strangers in the store." Man, she surprises me sometimes. That'd be a good play, if we wasn't all cookie cutter stamped as family. I lean against the wall opposite the store and tell them to study it.

"Why? What for?" is Curly.

"Only one lady behind the counter, that's good, right?" is Angel.

I nod. Tell Curly about watching the sales assistant, watching the way people go up to the register, where they stand, checking out if there are any blind spots. This all seems like news to him and I wonder why he ain't been picked up a half dozen times already, because he never seems short of candy and shit.

I tell them to ante up and hold out my hand. Angel hands over four cents and Curly, after gripin' that he's saving up for a Batman comic, has a nickel. Saving up? He is one weird little freak.

"Curly. Look at that guy –" I nod towards some old man choosing his magazine. "If you'd've walked in with him, stood next to him, you could've shoved freaking Batman up your shirt and booked it when he went up to the counter." I try to explain that he would've looked like the guy's kid and the cashier wouldn't have been suspicious.

"What if he didn't go to the magazines?" Curly objects. I sigh and tell him he could get something else, try another time, another store, any number of combinations. Try to make him see that being aware of the opportunity is what matters.

He wants to try right away, wants to hitch onto the next guy that turns up.

"No!" Angel stamps her foot. "This is for my lipstick. I'm goin' in."

"Cool it," I tell them and explain what we are actually gonna do.

Angel and I go into the store and look at the drinks, then I go up to the counter with two bottles, while she skips about near the candy. I dig in my pocket and count out the pennies carefully, while the sales lady watches me. I make a big deal about only having nine cents. I sigh and say I will take one Coke for my little sister, because I can't afford the Pepsi as well.

The lady hesitates, and I think, if I was a little younger, or maybe a little cuter, she would've stood me the extra penny. But she rings up the Coke and I walk out with it. Angel skips up to me and holds my hand as we leave the store.

"Thank you, Myron," she lisps. Myron?

Angel could totally pull off the 'I don't have quite enough money' deal. I'll tell her about that later. As soon as we're out of sight, I shake off her hand.

"Who the hell is Myron?" I demand, sipping on the Coke.

She shrugs. "He ain't Tim Shepard, that's the important thing."

"Did you get your candy?" Curly wants to know. She nods, happily, pulling it out of the pocket on her dress.

"That place is easy." She digs in the other pocket and shoves a pack of gum in Curly's hand.

Time to tell them not to hit the same place too often. Even Myron would become suspicious looking if he was in there every day. Then I tell them to go home. I'm heading over to the yard, I ain't got time for kids' stuff all day.

"Tim? Can I have that Coke?" Curly turns back. Half a Coke now. I hand it over. Seems fair, since he paid for it.

And I'm still four cents up.