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And if I could easily distract a guy when he had what was probably a decent girl hanging off his arm, he probably deserved to get his wallet picked and the girl was better off. Loyalty was a big deal to me.
This Saturday had, so far, been a bit of a letdown. Only two hits for me, and I only got forty from between them. I fingered the cash inside my pocket. The money felt like it was burning between my fingers, partially from the guilt. I wanted to release it, but I’d worked hard for it, and didn’t want to let it go.
Forty dollars wouldn’t be enough to cover the rent for next week, let alone food. I only had about an hour or two left before ...
A target came into view, walking around the corner. He was alone, and wore a dark red jacket. It was kind of early in the fall for it, but I wasn’t going to start complaining; no wallet bulge in his pants pockets and jacket picking was easy. Easier still when he shoved his hands in his jean pockets, making the jacket bulge out on the sides, making my job even easier.
I waited, watching from inside the shoe store, pretending to study pairs of spiky slut shoes. When he stopped and hovered in front of the cookie shop, I figured it was as good a time as any.
I left the shoe store, taking the long way around the corridor, keeping to the middle potted plants, benches and other mall shin-splitters between us. I looped around casually, moving toward the cookie stand.
My Doc Martin boots and jeans were casual enough to blend in and be forgettable later. I tugged the hem of my white tank top lower down my body, exposing just a slip of the gray material of the bra underneath; I’d give him a bonus for being an easy target.
I steadied my pace, trying to give him room and without staring; a skill I’d perfected. I aimed for the right pocket, which was hanging slightly lower than the other, hopefully the sign of a full wallet. If I was wrong, there wasn’t much chance I’d get the other one without attracting notice. Dipping into an empty pocket is a lost target.
I stalled as he bought his cookie, watching to make sure I’d been right about the pocket with the wallet. Sure enough, his hand reached in and pulled it out to pay the teenager behind the counter. I stopped and bent over to tie my boot, another stalling tactic, following him by watching out of the corner of my eye to where he stood off between two stores, digging the cookie out of the bag and stuffing it into his mouth. He was at least a couple of heads taller than I was. Not a problem, but I preferred people more my height, which made picking more natural. He had a wide jawbone and deep-set eyes. He was looking curiously around, as if trying to pick out which direction he wanted to go next.
He caught my eye briefly on his glance around and I froze. I’d learned early on if I looked at the face, it became harder to make the move.
This was a real person. I was a thief.
I usually picked a scruffier type that didn’t look like a nice person. With the jacket, however, he was too easy a target to miss, and I was out of time to pick another.
I spotted the closest trash bin and waited him out.
It didn’t take the guy long to finish his cookie. He aimed for the trash bin I’d picked out.
I started walking, pretending to decide not to buy a cookie. From my pocket, I dug out a crumpled piece of paper to throw away.
The next few moments slowed for me, as it did every time. My heart thundered. I questioned again for the millionth time why I did this.
I prayed I wouldn’t get caught and that if I did, this guy wasn’t the type who would beat me to a pulp.
With every step I took closer, I thought about changing my mind and running away. This was wrong. I was a criminal. Every wallet I took added up into some kind of unseen karma debt, and one day I’d strike out big time.
Except my brother and I wouldn’t have a roof over our heads if I gave up now.
One more. I promised myself this would be the last. I’d find a good job soon. We just needed to scrape by this week.
I focused on the jacket.
I aimed, and increased my pace to match his stride.
Bump.
My left hand brushed against his jacket at the heavy pocket.
My other hand released the trash by tossing it away. I caught the strap of my tank top that slid down my shoulder. Practiced moves I’d done dozens of times.
Big brown eyes flashed, focusing on my face. Instead of lowering to my breasts, they remained, studying.
That alone caught me off guard. Targets never did that. Not holding my gaze for so long, as if he was disinterested in the body and instead wanted to see the person. See me.
At least his eyes were up instead of down at waist level. It was enough. My hand was already in his pocket, curled around the leather wallet, lifting. All I had to do was blush and apologize, tuck the wallet under my arm and out of sight and turn ...
"Hey! You! Girl!"
The shout was so desperate, so commanding, my whole body started to quake and I stopped. My target and I broke our locked gazes and sought out the voice.
It came from across the corridor at the pretzel shop. A guy behind the counter wearing a folded paper hat and blue and white print apron stared us both down.
And pointed right at me.
"Come here," he shouted, in a tone that had my knees buckling into motion. The power was undeniable.
But I was clutching a wallet that didn't belong to me. Rattled now, I realized too late that I had hesitated. I returned my focus again on the target, meeting cool, brown eyes. Eyes that lowered down to my hand that was holding his wallet between us.
I popped my mouth into an innocent ‘o’ shape. "You dropped this,” I said in a quiet voice, holding up the wallet toward him.
My target frowned. He tugged the wallet from my hand and shoved it back into his pocket, zipping it up. I turned away quickly. My mind whirled, trying to figure out the closest exit. I needed to get out of there before he put two and two together and ...
"Girl!" The guy shouted again from behind the counter. He whistled in a sharp, high pitch, snapped his fingers and pointed again. "You. The pretty one with the brown hair."
I scoffed, turning around and spotting the guy focused on me again. He was drawing so much attention that I wouldn't be able to make another target here for hours, if not for days. I glared at him, and closed the distance to his pretzel stand. Maybe if I ate his stupid sample pretzels, he’d stop drawing attention to me.
"What?" I seethed.
When I finally met his gaze, my body froze.
Two different colored eyes blinked back at me. That made me think perhaps I was dreaming. One blue and one green. That didn’t seem possible.
His soft brown hair was a little longer on top, brushed to one side at the crown, and cut close around the nape of his neck. The style reminded me of a rock star I’d had a crush on a couple of years ago. He had broad shoulders under the blue t-shirt he wore under the apron, and a black cord around his neck with a silver-encased sand dollar. His left wrist was covered in tiny bracelets made out of braided thread and some were plastic like you’d get out of a quarter machine. He wasn’t as tall as my target, maybe just a head taller than I was. It was hard to tell, since he was behind the counter. It seemed as if the floor dipped a little on that side.
His lips curled up in a brash smile. "What's your name?" he asked. His voice, when he wasn't shouting, actually had an amused tone, like he was incredibly curious and needed to know.
My jaw’s hinge didn’t seem to want to work to close the gap of my mouth hanging open. Was he serious? "Pardon?"
He planted his palms on the counter, leaning over it. "I was asking your name. You know, the thing on your driver’s license."
"I know what you mean," I said
quickly. "Why do you care?"
"Do you want a job?"
I huffed indignantly. He called out to me from across the mall to ask if I wanted to work for him at a food stand? He appeared to be my age, about eighteen at least. Maybe a little older. It was hard to imagine him as a manager. "No thank you," I said. Not that I didn't need one, but the way he was asking me was too odd to comprehend. Plus, I didn't like the way he was looking at me. I simply didn’t believe he was being genuine. He’d call some random girl over to his food stand and hire her? And, he’d called me pretty...
I started to walk off but he called out, "Wait!" It was that commanding tone again and I found myself pausing to obey. "Just tell me your name."
I grunted and turned to meet his mismatched eyes. "Bambi."
He cocked his head at me. "That's not your real name."
My lips parted, my heart pounding. "How would you know?"
"You're not a very good liar."
It was usually one of my better talents. The only other person who could tell was my brother. I turned away from him, too rattled to talk any more.
"Wait," he said.
I ignored it this time, my ears filled with the sound of my pounding heart and masking his tone. I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more: the fact that he knew I lied so quickly or that I was impressed he could.
Before I could get past the window of the next store over, I tilted my head casually to check behind me. I caught him jumping the pretzel stand’s counter. He tore away the hat and the apron, dropping them to the ground and started after me.
I leapt into a half jog so as to not look like I was running away, but trying to get somewhere. I started to turn back to see if pretzel boy was still chasing me when I crashed into what felt like a brick wall and started to stumble. I caught myself on the wall to stop from falling.
I met with a pair of deep-set eyes. My target with the red jacket. His serious face focused on mine, recognition setting in.
I pushed myself off of him. In full panic mode, I dashed down a corridor to the left. This time when I looked back, I had two pursuers. They jogged together after me. Their feet moved in unison, something I’d only seen in movies about the army. They knew each other? It was too much for it to be a coincidence.
