Published in Burning Ambitions, an anthology of short shorts.

 
The third time she did it, I asked to see the manager.
"Is Early in?"
"Who?"
I’d forgotten that Early was only Early to the those of us who bused into The Fort each Wednesday, casting fate to the gee-gees. Early was Mr. Morgan at the self-serve gas-bar he managed and where I sometimes fueled my tired chevy. With my revised, second request, the woman on cash buzzed him while I admired the way her crisp, blue, uniform shirt tucked snugly into tight slacks, emphasizing her assets. She was older than most in that job, but I’m no rooster myself.

"You figure she’s done this before?" Early asked as we watched through a video monitor in his office. "Wanna drink? Screwdriver?" I contemplated the proffered glass that would have been rinsed in the station’s restroom, taps I’d avoided touching on first encounter. "Absolut Vodka," he insisted, "the best."
"Sure," I answered to ingratiate myself. I was a cop, once. Early could put security work my way. "She’s tried it on me three times: confirms the meter total, adding a dime. Those that don’t notice, pay extra. At the end of the shift, she’ll skim what’s over. Your cash balances, and nobody’s out so much as to draw attention."
He opened a small bar-fridge, adding OJ to our cocktails. "Could add up, though."
"Maybe doubles her wage," which would be minimum.
"There, she’s doing it again. Look, her hand goes to her pocket."
"She’ll have a counter in there to keep track."
"I wouldn’ta noticed. That’s sharp, Swanee. Thanks."
"Experience."
"Yeah. Too bad. She’s been a dream since startin’ six weeks ago. Shoulda known when she hardly needed training. Can’t trust anyone anymore."
"You’ll fire her?"
Early drained his glass. "Later. I’ll watch the tape to see she actually pockets the dough. Right now I gotta raise the pump prices for the weekend." He opened his drawer and counted slips of paper, then threw me a sheepish look. "It ain’t me. Company policy. Anyways, have a free car wash for your troubles," and he slid three coupons my way with a what-the-hell shrug.
I set my nearly-full glass on his desk. Outside, I returned the cashier’s full-lipped smile, and regretted not having tried for a date. The coupons went into my glove compartment. I’d stopped getting washes there after Early’s brushes broke my radio antenna.