-- " "Jane?" answered my manager at Holmes Hi- Tech. " -- ing. Yep." "Are you at the location?" "Yes. Dinner tonight; y'all should definitely come!" "So the bags are there?" "You got it!" "Great, I'll send the raid team now." "No, you're beautiful!" (That last part was just for me.) I put my phone back in a pocket and moved through the store slowly, regarding every item, taking time so as not to run out of merchandise to inspect. I couldn't leave until the guys arrived; the knockoffs were the evidence my boss took to court, so without them we had no case, and therefore no profession. If Pokmon got spooked for some reason and pulled the illegal bags from the floor, I had to know where he put them, whether in one of the aforementioned hiding spots, or in another location on another block, an outcome I feared, as it would require me to follow, and I was uncomfortable tailing criminals through the streets of Chinatown. I am not a subtle person. But this vendor wasn't worried about getting busted by a spy. Neither was he concerned about lying to customers. While I modeled scarves, another woman in the stall pointed to a pocketbook without a label and asked, "Is this Gucci?" Without pausing, the merchant answered, "Yes." To trained eyes such as mine or those of a Madison Avenue doyenne, the item in question was clearly patterned after Louis Vuitton. I assumed the vendor was mistaken, until