There was only the old man inside, crouched over the counter reading his newspaper, head like a dandelion gone to seed. It should be easy. But the smell told him otherwise and hissweat glands never lied. 'I don't need the boots,' he said.
Banjo, his true friend, fidgeted like an anxious spider at his side. 'All right, let's forget it, Shog.'
'No!' Ignoring Banjo, Jancie grabbed her twin's T-shirt in two fists and pulled him towards her. 'Shog, it's as easy as spitting. You go in there and try on the boots. The moment you got a pair that fits you, Banjo and I knock over the racks of shoes and we all run. Five-finger discount.' She bared her teeth at him. 'Not five fingers! Ten toes!'
'Jancie, I don't want to do this!'
'Ashoga Donoghue! You've been mouthing on about Zeus boots for a hundred shootin' years! How else are you going to get them? In a Sacred Heart food parcel, you big dippy thing?'
Banjo, who had no stomach for lifting anything except money from his father's pockets, wiped his nose on his sleeve and said, 'I got enough for a movie. For all of us.'
Jancie turned on him full fury. 'Well go, you chicken! Go on! Good riddance, we'll do it without you!' But in the next second she put her arm round Banjo's skinny shoulders and laughed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 'Hey, I didn't meant it! Nothing can happen, Banjo. Promise. That old buy is practically in a wheelchair.'
