Good Karma by Lynn Townsend
I tore the ticket off my windshield with a muttered curse.
“What does that bastard do,” I muttered, “lie in wait?”
I checked my watch. I had been in the butcher’s shop for barely an hour, according to my time-stamped receipt. And that was enough to ticket me. Three freaking minutes?
It was one of those old-fashioned shops, where you took a number to be served and waited around, looking at pre-cut racks of lamb or five pound parcels of paper-wrapped ground beef. Listening to the foodies and the yuppies feel smug about themselves and their organic, grain-fed, free-range veal. None of them had ever seen a cow in their entire lives, not a real, live, up-close cow.
I only went there because they sold eggs for eighty cents for a dozen and ground beef for less tha
