"Walmart, I Love You" A Flash Fiction Challenge

About a month ago, Steve Weddle, along with Keith Rawson, inspired by the People of Walmart site, suggested to Patti Abbott, Aldo Calcagno from Powder Burn Flash, and Gerald So, to host a flash fiction challenge called "Walmart, I Love You." Patti proposed a 750-800 word story that is set, or partially set, in a Walmart. Here's my version:

"Walmart, I Love You"

The police are looking for my dad, but they don’t know his name. Yet.

I began calling him “Dad” shortly after he moved in with my mom and me about six months ago. My real father died seven years ago, just before I was born.

It all started a few days ago. On Christmas Eve, Dad said, “Let’s go to Walmart. I’ve got the munchies.”

I wondered if Dad was going to put up the tree as he promised Mom before she left for work. I begged her to stay home. She said, “The restaurant will be busy tonight, and the tips should be good.” She smiled and gave me a hug, but she seemed so sad.

The smell of fresh-cut Christmas trees outside Walmart made me wish for a real one instead of the fake one we have at home. The Walmart greeter looked just like Santa Claus. I worried that Santa wouldn’t leave any presents if our tree wasn’t up in time.

We walked straight to the beef jerky aisle where Dad grabbed some Cheez Whiz, Slim Jims, and a box of Ritz Crackers.

“Pick out some crap in a can,” he barked.

At the check-out, the woman in front of us left her wallet behind. I was about to say something when Dad grabbed the wallet and shoved it into his coat pocket. He shot me a look and hissed, “Shut your mouth.” His breath stank of beer. The cashier was busy talking to someone and didn’t notice what happened.

When we got back home, Dad ate, drank a beer, and fell asleep; he never put the tree up.

I left some cookies on a plate for Santa, just in case.

When I sprang out of bed on Christmas morning, I smelled pine-scented air that filled the house. In our living room, I saw twinkling lights, ornaments, and tinsel that looked so magical, with presents -- under a real tree! Santa must have heard my secret wish. I checked the plate; only cookie crumbs remained.

A few nights later, while Mom was at work, Dad fell asleep early again. I turned the TV on and I froze like a statue when I saw the news: it was a video of Dad putting the woman's wallet in his pocket. The camera at Walmart must be in the ceiling, because you can only see the top of our heads. A cop said to the reporter, “This guy lost a valuable chance to teach a child to do the right thing,” and he called it a “crime of opportunity,” but I thought it was stealing.

The Crime Stoppers number flashed on the screen, which I’ve seen when Dad checks the “Wanted” column in the newspaper. He mutters, “I wouldn’t mind turning in some dirtbags to make some fast money,” but I don’t understand why cops would pay for dirty bags.

This was my chance; I knew I could do the right thing. I had to call before mom came home, so I dialed the number. My hands were shaking.

The officer who answered the phone sounded like the one on TV.

“Do I have to be a certain age to give you a tip?” I whispered.

“No. We don’t ask names or ages. We don’t tape our calls or use Caller ID.”

“I know who stole the woman's wallet at Walmart on Christmas Eve.”

He asked me questions about the suspect’s name, his description, if he has tattoos, and what kind of car he drives, and I told him everything.

“If your information leads to an arrest, you’re eligible for a cash reward.”

“Oh, I don’t want a reward. Could you give it to the woman whose wallet was stolen?”

“We could probably arrange that.”

He didn’t say, but I think he figured out that I was the kid in the video.

The officer asked, “Do you know where he works, and when?”

“I think he works ‘off the books,’ but I’ve never seen any books at the gas station.” I gave him the address and his work hours.

The next day, Dad didn’t come home from work. He called Mom and said he wasn’t coming home. Ever.

Dad’s arrest for the wallet theft was announced on the news, but they called him by a different name. What a coincidence; he has the same last name as my grandma. He was wanted in another state for bank robbery and violating something called parole. Mom cried; she apologized for allowing him to live with us.

“We’ll be better off without him. We don’t have to buy any more beer, so we'll save tons of money. We’ll start the new year fresh -- just you and me!”

What a pleasant thought. Save money. Live better. Walmart, I love you!

For more stories in today's flash fiction challenge, check out Patti Abbott's blog, Powder Burn Flash, Do Some Damage, and Gerald So's blog.