Ten minutes before closing, the Cashier saw the largest man she had ever met walk through the automatic doors of the toy store.
She noticed him immediately because almost everyone else had already left.
The store sat just outside Kansas City in a shopping plaza that became strangely quiet after nine at night, especially on weekdays. The holiday rush had not officially started yet, but the decorations were already up, pink and gold ornaments hanging above aisles crowded with dolls, games, stuffed animals, plastic castles, and every kind of toy children could beg for before Christmas.
The Cashier had been working since noon.
Her feet hurt.
Her shoulders hurt.
The smile she had worn for customers during the first half of the shift had slowly become something she had to remember to put back onto her face.
She was counting the minutes.
Then the Biker entered.
He looked around sixty years old, perhaps a little older, and stood well over six feet tall.
His head was closely shaved.
A long gray beard reached almost to the center of his chest.
Both thick arms were covered in faded tattoos, some old enough that their colors had softened into green and blue shadows beneath weathered skin.
He wore a black T-shirt beneath a worn leather motorcycle vest.
Heavy boots.
Dark jeans.
A silver chain wallet.
Nothing about him matched the bright, cheerful toy store.
The Cashier watched him for a moment from behind the register.
He did not look confused.
He did not wander.
He walked directly toward the princess doll aisle.
That caught her attention.
The aisle had been destroyed during the afternoon.
Children had pulled boxes forward.
Parents had searched through shelves looking for particular dresses, hair colors, and accessories.
Some dolls were missing shoes.
Some packages were bent.
A few had been returned to the wrong sections.
The Biker stood there for several seconds.
Then he began taking dolls from the shelf.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
He stacked them carefully against his enormous chest.
Then more.
By the time he reached the counter, he was carrying twelve princess dolls in both arms.
Every one left on the shelf.
The Cashier stared.
The Biker placed them carefully on the counter.
Then he went back.
For a moment, she wondered whether there were more.
Instead he returned with several rolls of gift bags from a holiday display.
Pink tissue paper.
Ribbon.
Small cards.
He placed those beside the dolls.
“Those too,” he said.
His voice was deep and rough but quiet.
The Cashier began scanning.
The register beeped.
One doll.
Another.
Another.
The Biker watched the screen without saying anything.
The total climbed.
The Cashier glanced toward him.
Most people buying that many identical toys used cards.
Sometimes business accounts.
Sometimes charity vouchers.
Instead, the Biker reached into his vest and pulled out an old roll of cash.
A thick rubber band held the bills together.
He removed it carefully.
Then began counting.
Twenty.
Forty.
Sixty.
His huge tattooed fingers moved slowly, flattening each bill against the counter before adding it to the stack.
The Cashier had seen something similar before.
Resellers.
People buying popular toys before the holidays.
They would clear shelves, then list the same items online for twice the price when parents became desperate.
The dolls he had chosen were not impossible to find yet.
But they were popular.
She had already heard customers asking whether more would arrive.
She looked at the twelve boxes.
Then at the Biker.
The conclusion formed easily.
Too easily.
She smiled as she scanned the next doll.
“You’re clearing us out.”
The Biker glanced up.
The Cashier chuckled.
“Guess somebody’s planning to make a pretty good Christmas profit.”
His hands stopped.
One bill remained between his fingers.
The Cashier immediately sensed the joke had landed wrong.
The Biker looked at her.
Not angry.
That somehow made it worse.
His face simply changed.
The hard lines around his eyes softened.
He looked down at the dolls.
Then back at her.
“No, ma’am.”
The Cashier stopped scanning.
The Biker folded the bill once.
Then straightened it again.