Sounds of pursuit

I made the move with precision. As a client approached and indicated towards an item on the far side of the booth from the flickering handheld windmill, and the young unenthusiastic male turned towards the client to effect the sale, I quickly struck. Walking past the booth front and turning down the opposing side, my left hand reaching up and seamlessly, lifting the small item out of the netting which held it to the side of the booth with the other paraphernalia. Then I was off! Moving rapidly throughout the stalls. Expertly weaving my way through both the rear lane area and then out into the slow moving traffic of ambling pedestrians. Purchasers and observers. Left. Right. I moved cat-like and easy. Then just as I reached the end of the lane of stalls, and incorrectly surmising I had successfully achieved the theft, my neck and head were engulfed in a single enormous hand. I recall being lifted off the ground, unexpectedly and held, dangling, as a carcass may on the end of the butchers meathook in the shop. Suspended, as a rag doll could be, when gripped in a faithful child's grasp. An equally enormous left hand reached around in front of my elevated face and extricated the plunder, neatly and swiftly. I vibrated as the voice of this large male stated. "Just where do you think you are going with that?"  

I wanted to speak. I had been completely taken by surprise by this most unexpected turn of events. I had expected to get away with the theft. It had been simple and elegant. Wait. Move. Gather toy and escape. All had gone excellently. Right up until the escape part had come to a screaming halt. Well 'booming' halt really. As the proportionately structured male figure declared in a mild, yet completely intimidating tone (which accompanied with the subtle object lifting; namely me), that, not only was I trying to steal something that didn't belong to me, but that obviously, and evidently, I had been caught. There was no avenue for bluff, there was no culpable excuse for the incident. I had been sprung by a male person who could easily have stood in for a male lowland gorilla of Mount Kilimanjaro. 

And there was I, held aloft, windmill less. No answer or excuse. Barely enough jaw movement to form a single word. Barely able to breath. What partial inhalations and exhalations I almost experienced, I maintained for the sake of personal survival, rather, than any attempt to argue with the monstrous owner, of the monstrous appendages. Massive claws. One which fully engaged my head and neck, the other, which I observed had recently passed in front of my controlled view, as it collected the stolen item, from my newly trembling hand. This action presented me with a rare opportunity be quiet. Presenting me with the necessary option of silence. But, even given that opportunity, do you think I was able to?
(Continued tomorrow)