After two years of marriage, he went to a jewelry store on a black, cold winter night. The store stood off by itself away from the shopping center. When he entered he noticed the place was empty except for the clerk and the smallest rent-a-cop he’d ever seen—the little lady, dressed in blue, had a cocked billed hat, and what appeared to be a .38 caliber in a holster. She was slight—not much to her. Bob thought she might go 4’10” and less than a hundred, though it was hard to tell since she was sitting down in a corner. The clerk wasn’t Bob’s kind of guy. He had blond hair and a close-cropped beard; he wore a silk tie, pressed pants, and those tassel loafers Bob hated.
The guy did seem eager to wait on him, though. Bob said he wanted an engagement ring—a simple band—with three emerald or sapphire chips embedded in it. He couldn’t believe it. The clerk pulled out a ring that looked like what he wanted.
“What’s her size?”
“I don’t know. Just a little smaller than mine. If it fits me it will probably fit her except we might need an alteration.”
Bob forced the ring on his finger. Then he realized it was stuck.
“Oh, man. It’s stuck on my finger.”
In his peripheral vision he noticed the little cop quickly moving toward him.
She stood next to him at the counter, the top of her hat not reaching his shoulder. “I’ll shoot it off for you.” She was sneering. Bob turned red, began breathing heavily, and thought about reaching for her weapon.
“We find dishwashing liquid usually works best,” the clerk said calmly. The rent-a-cop walked away.
After the clerk worked the ring off his finger, Bob relaxed but stared over at the tiny cop, who was sitting down again. Bob decided to charge the ring and take it home to see if his wife liked it. But he was still mad; the rent-a-cop had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Bob asked the clerk what their hours were. Hearing they’d close in an hour, he went outside and sat in his car in the dark, waiting.