The Security Guard

Amos slid a CD into his stereo and sat back while the machine ate, digested, and began to play. He tipped his chair back and balanced precariously, occasionally looking at the bank of video screens before him. Amos felt lucky, he had been hired as a security guard during the Christmas season, and management like the job he did so well, he was hired on a full time basis.
 Yeah, right, he thought to himself. He was simply the token black dude, the only black employee in a store filled with 38 employees. He was certain that the only reason he was hired was because he was locked away in the small concrete office, where the average rich white guy couldn't see him. Amos didn't have to like it, to take home a substantial paycheck. He just listened to his music and checked out the sweet-assed tail wandering through the store. Theft? Sure, there was theft, the store was full of light fingered guys and girls, some were his acquaintances. Who cared? If they needed the shit, they could have it. He knew how it was. Of course if they threatened his sweet job, they were going down. He didn't know them well enough to give up 800 per month and a 10 percent discount.
 "Security, please keep an eye on isle 13," a voice came from behind his head. He slammed the feet of his chair down on the floor and turned to press the intercom button.
 "What's up, Mikey?"
 "Two guys with a sack. One is blocking while the other stuffs the bag. Get some video."
 Amos didn't like the manager, Michael B. Cox Jr. He had been a classmate back in '98. Now he was a manager? Who's ass had he been kissing?"
 Amos changed the view of the closest camera, while drumming on the desk with his left hand. He had to drop the camera to the limits of it's range, before he caught a glimpse of the two thieves. He started the video and sat back watching. He was practically looking down into the bag from directly above. He got some really righteous video of the bag being stuffed to the breaking point.
 "Got it," Amos said slapping the button on the intercom.
 "Ok, come on down and give me a hand," Mike said as he left his own office, far above the store. Amos sprinted down the hallway and followed Mike down the stairs. They intercepted the two guys as they were leaving the store. One struggled, the other ran. Amos tackled him just outside of the store. His face hit the pavement. He heard murmured complaints from the gathering crowd.
 "What the hell are you doing?" A fat man in a trenchcoat growled, about to reach for Amos.
 Amos held the thieve's hand behind his back as he stood and turned him toward the store.
 "Touch me, you fat fuck, and I'll break your fucking face. Get out of my way," he growled to the crowd gathering before the door. Mike put tie-wrap around the second boy's hands, then pushed both toward a bench near the front door. Gloria, a fine looking redhead, was scooping up the spilled, stolen loot. She had a great pair of legs, the kind you'd like to lick for hours. They were peaking out beneath a short store uniform skirt. She made the uniform look exquisite.
 "Let me help," Amos said, getting a good look at Gloria's panties as he did. They gathered up the stolen items and handed the bag to Mike, who glowered at Amos. He had seen Amos looking under Gloria's skirt, and he didn't like it. He had personal interests in Gloria.