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   Peach pulled the car into one of the four bays at the car wash on Moana Lane. He reached into the back and grabbed an umbrella. He hopped out, and Tinman, shaking his head, followed. 
     It was three in the morning, and no one else had decided it was the ideal time to wash their car. Tinman and Peach were not here for that purpose either. The last few weeks had been very rough in the burglary department. Much like an artist, a thief’s finances were always in flux. Tinman was complaining that his refrigerator was empty and Peach knew if he was going to keep his brother’s good nature, they would have to stock the larder, and soon.
     Tinman needed very little to keep him happy. The two essentials were a pool table, which he had, and good food, which he had not. Fortunately, the way he cooked did not require expensive foods, quite the opposite. So they only needed a small score to cover the grocery tab, and Peach had the perfect shtick for rainy days.
     He had purposely left Tinman in the dark because he might think this sort of job beneath them. But now that they were here, he’d have no choice but to participate.
     Peach popped open the golf umbrella and held it out for Tinman to take. Tinman stared at it.
     “It’s not raining,” he said.
     “I know, but I wish it would,” said Peach. “We could use it. Come on, take it.”
     Tinman did, then said, “Why are we here?”
     “Let’s just say it’s like a visit to the ATM.” From inside the bay, he studied Moana Street, up and down. No cars. He gestured to Tinman to stay close then stepped outside and veered left. Mounted on the outer brick wall between the four bays were two change machines. 
     “Keep that umbrella directly over the two of us,” said Peach. “Don’t stick your head out under any circumstances.”
     Tinman, curious despite himself, leaned over to look above the umbrella, but Peach elbowed him hard, and he retracted.
     “There’s a video camera up there. I don’t waste the time to turn it off,” explained Peach.
     “And thus the umbrella,” said Tinman, feeling a little stupid as well as sore in the side where Peach had jabbed him.
      “Just hold it steady. This won’t take long.”
Peach reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a round device with a knob on the back. “This is the Pickmaster’s Pickset. It’s for legitimate locksmiths. But you can get knockoffs online. They call them Burglar’s Buddy. Nice to have around in a pinch.”
     The pick was round and shaped like the Ace keys, that practically all vending machines use. It was essentially, at this point, a blank key. But that would soon change.
     Peach inserted the pick into the round key slot on the first machine. Slowly, he turned it until he could sense a tumbler, then he adjusted the knob on the back, activating the tumbler the same way an actual key would do when inserted. One by one, he located the tumblers and set the various tensions.
     In under a minute, the chamber moved, and he swung open the front panel. He reached into his other jacket pocket and pulled out an empty canvas sack.
     “Have at it,” he said, handing the sack to Tinman.
     “This is low.”
     “No. These are quarters, and quarters are money, and money buys food. Now, scoop them in. I’m hoping the next machine uses the same key.”
     He moved to the next machine and inserted the pick. He turned it, and it spun open. He opened the front panel and snapped his fingers at Tinman, who was fumbling around with the quarters.
     “I can’t scoop them in while I’m holding this damn umbrella!”
     Peach sighed and grabbed the umbrella, and Tinman stopped whining. With one hand holding open the sack, the other quickly emptied both machines. As he finished, a few stray quarters hit the ground and rolled a short distance. Tinman started for them, but Peach held him up.
     “We’re not that down and out. Leave them for the homeless. It’s the least we can do.”
     Tinman stared hungrily at the stray quarters, then grudgingly shrugged. “We need to find a decent heist.”
     “We’re working on it. But as you always say, you can’t think right on an empty stomach. Come on, let’s go shopping.”
     At this time of night, it was a short drive to WinCo Foods on South Virginia Street. There were only a few cars, mostly driven unsteadily by intoxicated losers from the casinos. On the way, Peach described to Tinman how he could now make a key from the pick set, and they would always be able to hit the car wash if they were short.
     Tinman hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. He was already wondering how to emotionally handle the moment when he would have to plop a sack of quarters down at the checkout line in payment for the food purchases. He hoped the store would be empty and there wouldn’t be anyone behind them in line. Dealing with the irate clerk who would have to count them out would be bad enough.
     “How much do you think is in there?” he asked.
     “Maybe fifty, sixty bucks. If we’d hit it on a weekend, it would have been better. People love to waste their off days washing their cars.”
     “It’ll be enough for food.”
     “And beer?” asked Peach hopefully.
     “We’ll see.”
     As they climbed out of the car at WinCo’s parking lot, an ornery guy in a ratty ski jacket wandered by, muttering angrily to himself. The jingle of the quarters drew his attention, and he eyed the sack greedily.
Tinman blew right past him on the way to the store. A man with a mission. Peach, however, looked the guy up and down, shrugged, and said, “Sorry, pal, we gave at the office.”
     The bum snarled, and Peach scooted after Tinman, calling out, “Hey! Do you have your list?”
     Tinman was already through the front doors as he said, “I don’t need a stinking list. Grab a cart.”
     Since the cupboards were bare at home, this food run would be a nearly complete stocking of his staples. Now, you would think because of his love of food, he would relish the experience. Bzzz. He hated shopping with a passion, and if he could ever get over his skinny legs, he would become a nudist and give up clothes shopping forever. And because he hated the process of buying things so much, he evolved into an excellent shopper. He was lightning fast, capable of blowing into a grocery store and getting a week’s worth of food in ten minutes flat.
     He learned the key to correct and fast food shopping was to avoid all but a few aisles. Most grocery store layouts’ were deviously designed to foil you at this strategy, but it was as essential as knowing the ebbs and flows of pricing. And man, did this boy know his victuals. He could spot a five-cent price increase on sweet potatoes from twenty paces. And excepting basic vegetable staples, he never bought anything that wasn’t on sale.
     As he approached his favorite aisle, the produce section, his pace quickened. Peach struggled to keep up. Tinman snapped his fingers impatiently, and Peach closed the gap, the cart within appropriate reaching distance of The Shopper.
     In went, four yellow onions, two avocados (one ripe, one partly), one green bell pepper, also two red and one orange, five serrano peppers, two bulbs of garlic, two zucchinis, a small bag of carrots, a stalk of celery, one medium-size broccoli crown, a handful of green beans, twelve asparagus spears (on super sale – bumper crop, sweet), one head of spinach, six Roma tomatoes (three soft and three firm), a pound of strawberries (on sale), seven bananas (one a day keeps the monkey off your back), two limes and a large lemon, six Yukon potatoes, two sweet potatoes, ten cremini mushrooms, and a block of extra firm tofu.
     He hit his stride as he strode into the bulk section. WinCo was the only grocery store in town that still maintained a complete bulk section, and it was one of the many reasons he considered it sacred ground.
     He glided through the nut section and got almonds, walnuts, and sesame seeds. In the pasta section, he picked up a large handful of both linguine and angel hair. He also filled a large bag with rainbow pasta. Next aisle over, he weighed out two pounds of thirteen-bean mix. He still had half a sack of jasmine rice at home, so he was good there. Besides, he always bought rice at a little hole-in-the-wall Asian market in Sparks. In the grains section, he got a large bag of five-grain cereal for his breakfast. At the spice bins, he picked up Italian seasoning, curry, cayenne, parmesan cheese and paprika.
     Peach was eyeing the bins of assorted candies, chocolates, and other garbage, but Tinman clicked his tongue, and Peach obediently followed. He usually didn’t touch lunch meats, so the deli was a blur as he moved into the meat section. This was easy. All he needed were a large pack of chicken thighs and a pack of pork sirloin chops. He barely glanced at the steaks and red meat because it was a rare sale that would make the pricey beef cheap enough for him to buy it.
     He did, however, spy an interesting sight at the end of the seafood and fish section, next to the deli. He loved fish, especially cod, tuna, rockfish, and salmon, but he wouldn’t eat any of them if they weren’t wild-caught, which often ruled them out due to cost. On the occasions he could afford them, he kept his portions small, believing they were delicacies and should be treated accordingly.
     In this case, however, he had espied large, wild-caught shrimp for a little over six bucks. Equally shocking was that wild sea scallops were just under ten dollars. His mind’s eye wandered through his repertoire. Hmm. One of his specialty dishes came to mind. It may be time to splurge a little. He bopped his hand on the little bell.
     “Oh, cool!” Peach squealed. “Are we getting lobster?”
     Tinman gave him a stony stare as if to say, “Shopping is serious business, and it is, first and foremost, a solitary activity. I am the Shopper. You are the Cart Pusher.” Then he cocked his jaw as if to ask, “Do you understand?”
     Peach grinned nervously, still hoping for a treat. There was no response to the first ringy-dingy on the damn bell, but Tinman knew from experience there was definitely someone behind the magic door behind the counter. He rapped impatiently on the bell like a frustrated Salvation Army volunteer with an empty kettle. Eventually, a sleepy, heavyset, guy wearing a cotton beard shield burst through the back door. It was like Santa Claus being interrupted from heart surgery.
     “This section is closed!” he bellowed.
     “And now it’s open,” said Tinman flatly, his eyes showing that flickering flame that tended to change people’s attitudes. “Now I want eight of these shrimp and two sea scallops. Those two. Not the ones that are turning brown. Got it?”
     Dr. Claus certainly did. He could recognize a Serious Shopper and knew it was unlikely they would lose a food fight. He quickly wrapped up the shrimp and scallops, priced it at $2.37 for the two scallops and $3.42 for the shrimp, and handed them over. He could not, however, resist a little jab. He muttered under his breath, “Ooh, big spender.”
     Tinman let it go. He knew better than to argue with morons. His average meal ran between one and three dollars per plate. Three was on the high side. The dish he was concocting for tonight’s dinner would only require the amount of shrimp and scallops he bought. It would only be the two of them, and though he most often cooked dishes that provided leftovers, seafood did not reheat well. Enough said.
     Onward, to the dairy section. A dozen eggs and a quart of yogurt was all he needed as he was not fond of straight milk and rarely found a valid use for it. He did, however, remember to grab a pint of half and half for the quiche. He also picked up a block of Swiss cheese and a small wheel of queso fresco cheese. The queso fresco was a bit of a delicacy, but it was very versatile and would work with tacos and the dish he was imagining for the night’s dinner.
     The beer cooler was nearby, and Peach was oohing and aahing over the exotic choices.
     “Where do you think we’re at?” asked Peach.
     “Thirty-six dollars and change.” Tinman’s guess was commonly within pennies of his total as he kept a running tally as he shopped.
     “That’s amazing!” said Peach. “How do you do that?”
     “Correct shopping techniques. That’s how. Get a case of Natty Light,” said Tinman, walking away.
     “Natty Light! But, but, but!” It was a lost cause. Tinman was long gone. Peach grabbed a case of Natty Light and followed in his wake.
     The only things Tinman needed in the rest of the vast store were three cans of stewed tomatoes, a can of condensed mushroom soup, and a pack of white corn tortillas. Nest stop: the checkout line.
     Peach came jogging up. “So what are we going to have tonight? You have all this food, but I don’t see any meals.”
     Tinman sighed. “Right now, I have the makings for several dinners, with leftovers for lunches.”
     Peach studied the contents of the cart and shrugged. They continued to the one line that had a light on overhead. A young woman was leaning over the conveyor belt with her head resting on folded arms. Tinman hoped she wasn’t too cute. He hated looking like a fool in front of cute women. He sighed and hoisted up the sack of quarters.
     Before he could wake up the cashier, the gnarly bum they had seen outside came hurtling out of the customer service section where the booze was sold. He was clutching two liquor bottles and growling, daring anyone to stop him. An employee appeared from behind and yelled for him to stop.
     Tinman was incensed. How dare someone try and steal from his store! Instinctively, he flung the sack of quarters, hoping for a square shot to the head. Instead, it hit the ground ahead of the bum, breaking open and splattering quarters in his path.
     He had little time to react before he hit the shiny metal skating rink. Buster Keaton could not have pulled off a better pratfall. He landed hard on his back with the bottles safely thrust into the air. Peach stepped up and plucked them out of his hands. The night manager raced up, and Peach handed them over with a flourish.
     “You guys are heroes!” the manager cried.
     “Don’t mention it,” said Peach.
     Tinman sighed and said, “Those quarters were supposed to pay for my food. It’ll take me a bit to gather them up.”
     “The food is on the house!” proclaimed the manager. “And my staff will clean those quarters up for you.”
He was true to his word. Before the cops could even show up, the quarters were back in the sack, and Tinman and Peach were heading out the front door accompanied by a round of applause from the night shift. The manager wanted to take a picture of them and post it on the “Kudos Board,” but Tinman and Peach politely declined. In their line of work, it was always best to keep a low profile.
     Back in the car, Peach turned to Tinman. “Seeing as they paid the tab, we should have gotten the expensive beer.”
     “Bitch, bitch. We didn’t know that then.”
     “True. So, seriously, what are we going to eat tonight?”
     “Spanish Seafood Pasta. You’ll love it.”
     “Yum! I love it already,” said Peach. As he drove out of the parking lot, he turned back to Tinman. “Not to doubt your judgment, but are you sure you got enough seafood?”
     Tinman sighed and stared out his window. Surrounded by amateurs.