The Girl Thief Read online

Page 4


  “What’s a good spot?”

  “It’s got to be where the business people are getting out of work, but where they slow down for something like a bus stop or food vendor. Uncle Danny said the business people are the best. They know they’re one step away from begging on the streets themselves.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to go where the rich people are?”

  “They’re the worst. They sneer at you like you’re a piece of dog shit, and the cops move you along before the spot gets warm.”

  Cindy looked away, staring at nothing in particular. “Did you mind doing it?”

  “Uncle Danny always said it was a win-win. You get the money and they feel good about giving it. It wasn’t fun when it was cold, but the money was usually better, especially when I was younger. When Uncle Danny wasn’t with me, somebody would always come up and ask where my momma was. I’d give her a good story of how sick she was, and by the end of it, there’d be a crowd. If I could get a tear going, they’d be emptying their purses.”

  Cindy grinned, eyes wide. “You could cry like that?”

  “I was mostly thinking about Uncle Danny.”

  The door open, and Mama stuck her head in. “I see you are up. I will get soup.”

  “That’s Mama.”

  Cindy stared at the closed door. “What’s her deal?”

  Sammy shrugged. “She likes pills, and so I got her some. She’s okay. Not so sure about Igor.”

  “She’s going to feed us?”

  “Just you because you’re sick,” Sammy said. “You don’t remember the soup from last night?”

  Cindy took on a blank stare. “Just a bunch of weird dreams.”

  “Yeah, you were real sick.” Sammy stood, searching the room for a place to start cleaning up. She must’ve cleaned up dozens of places over the years.

  “So what…what are we going to do?”

  “Clean up. This place is worse than under your bed.”

  Cindy’s smile turned flat. “No beds here, I guess.”

  “Might find them in the other rooms.”

  “Sam, do you think we did the right thing?”

  Sammy shrugged. “Gladys would’ve sided with Mark and tried to have us locked up. She had to defend the creep.”

  Cindy nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  Sammy wasn’t sure either. Gladys might’ve done nothing, so she could’ve kept the money coming in from the state.

  Mama plodded in, holding the soup. “You can sit up and eat the soup, yes?”

  Cindy nodded. The blanket slipped down on her. “Where’re my clothes?”

  Mama rested the bowl on Cindy’s lap. “They are on chair, still wet.”

  “My clothes, Sam, where are my clothes?”

  “Had to ditch them in an alley.”

  “You think they’re still there? I’d hate to lose the dress. The one you got me for the dance?”

  Sammy nodded, remembering the owner running after her with scissors.

  “Eat soup. Worry about clothes later,” Mama said, strutting out the door.

  Sammy stood and surveyed the place. A sofa sat against the wall with a stuffed chair beside it. This must be the living room. She strolled back to a table pushed on its side and a couple of wooden chairs next to it. Sammy figured that was the dining room. Ten feet away a counter walled off the kitchen. She wiped an inch of dust off the countertop. It had a dark marble finish.

  “Soup’s good,” Cindy said.

  “Smells good.” She’d have to get something to eat before picking up the clothes.

  “Feel funny eating by myself. If you ask her, she might give you a bowl.”

  Sammy didn’t know what the pills were worth but thought it best not to push Mama’s generosity. “I’ll get something when I pick up the clothes.”

  “I have my makeup in there, my brush too. Must look like a wreck.”

  Cindy was still pale and her hair looked as if she’d taken a swim and let it dry without doing anything to it, but she wasn’t a wreck. Sammy had seen enough wrecks to know what one looked like.

  She felt her way to the bedrooms. Stale air escaped the opened door to one of the rooms. A double bed sat in the middle with a drawer and legs from a table stretched over it.

  “Finished soup?” Mama’s voice boomed.

  Sammy rushed out to find Mama’s hand pressed against Cindy’s forehead.

  “Still warm,” Mama said.

  Cindy looked up sheepishly. “Better than cold.”

  “Might need another pill.” Mama took the bowl. “We will wait. Less pills better.”

  “She’s doing good, right?” Sammy asked.

  Mama nodded. “Much better.”

  Igor straddled the doorway with a goofy smile, gazing at Cindy’s boobs.

  “Who’s that?” Cindy asked, pulling up the blanket.

  “Igor. He’s a fan of yours.”

  “Ain’t I lucky?”

  Igor stepped into the room. “I know place where you could work. Pay is good.”

  “She will not work today or tomorrow.”

  “When she is better, Mama.”

  “Come. Leave them.”

  “When you are better,” he said, pointing at Cindy, “you see me. I get you job.”

  Sammy got up and closed the door. “We’ll need a lock.”

  “What kind of job do you think it is?” Cindy asked, resting back.

  Sammy slipped on her shoes. “I’d hate to even guess.”

  “Getting the clothes?”

  Sammy nodded. “Getting something to eat too.”

  “The soup was better than anything Gladys served up.” Cindy’s lip curled at the mention of Gladys.

  “Get some rest.”

  “Okay, mother hen,” Cindy said, nestling under the blankets.

  Cindy always called her that after she came back from doing something with the twins. “I’ll read you a story when I get back.”

  “You going to bring me candy?”

  Sammy held the door to go out. “Only if you’re good.”

  Chapter Eight

  _____________________________

  Sammy sat on a bench in the small triangle park facing the Twelfth Street Vintage Book Shop. She used to swipe old paperbacks from the outdoor rack, returning them the next day. The lady running the shop didn’t seem to mind, sometimes even recommending a book.

  Sammy took another bite out of her sandwich. It was a buttered roll with the sausage patty on the side, but she combined them. It wasn’t the best combination, but she was hungry from all that running last night.

  The Lower Square Park was a couple of blocks up and west of there. It was where Uncle Danny did his magic tricks years ago, and she was his assistant. At the end of the show, she’d go around the crowd collecting donations. On the summer weekend days, he’d do really good and take her out for ice cream.

  He’d talk about buying a place in the country where the grass was green and cool, and she could lie on it like a velvet carpet. The trees were as tall as skyscrapers, and they could build themselves a house right on one of the branches.

  “How would you get into a house like that?” she’d ask him.

  “Why you’d climb into it with a rope,” he’d say. “When you wanted to leave, you’d use the big slide that wrapped around the tree.”

  Sammy missed those times; nothing good ever lasted. She put the buttered roll wrapper back into the bag. She’d use it for a bump and grab for lunch. It was kind of light, so she added a few twigs littered along the ground.

  She stuffed the bag into her coat pocket and headed to the alley to pick up their clothes. It was a ten-minute brisk walk away. An older weather-beaten guy sat across the street by the adjacent alley, looking like he hadn’t bathed or shaved in weeks. He grew more interested in her when she stopped by the alley fence. The bags were still there, beaded with yesterday’s rain. Sammy toed the middle links and hopped over the fence. She shook the rain off and tossed them over the other side.

&
nbsp; “These are mine,” the guy said, snatching the bags. “I saw them first.”

  “I put them there!”

  The guy ran off with the bags, moving quickly for a scraggly old guy.

  Sammy leaped over the fence and chased after him. She rolled a handful of bearings at his feet, causing him to stumble a good ten feet before face-planting and scattering the bags. Sammy plucked them off the ground, but he grabbed one, tearing it.

  “They’re mine,” he shouted, holding up the torn piece as if it gave him the rights to them.

  Sammy folded the bags under her arm and ran, stopping at the end of the block to rest. The guy was just getting up.

  She tied the ripped bag into a knot and crossed a few blocks east where the sidewalks thickened with the lunchtime crowd. She scoured for lunches. Nothing popped out.

  Sammy could always use a diversion like how she got her morning breakfast. She shadowed her mark, and then when a guy on a skateboard went to pass, Sammy shot out from behind. The guy had to quickly turn to avoid hitting Sammy and knocked into the lady, who spilled her bag. Within the first few seconds of confusion, she swiped the bag and yelled at the guy to be more careful. That way she and the mark both looked like victims. None of it would work unless the timing was perfect, from stepping out from behind the mark to picking up the bag. If she stepped out too soon, the skater would swerve without incident, and if she stepped out too late, she’d be the victim for real.

  Sammy found her mark. It was a woman in a navy blazer and matching skirt, holding the bag low as if she were walking one of those little froufrou dogs. Sammy walked toward her, swinging the clothes bag and knocking free the lunch bag. “I’m so sorry,” Sammy said, handing her the bag from breakfast.

  The lady flashed a queasy smile and strolled away with a bag of twigs.

  Sammy stuffed the lunch bag into her pocket, figuring it should be good if that pearl necklace was real.

  ●●●

  Sammy banged on the apartment door for the third time. A kid came to the door on the first bang, speaking in Russian—sounded like one of Igor’s sisters.

  “Who’s there?” Igor asked.

  “It’s me. Open up.”

  Igor opened the door a crack and peered out.

  Sammy pushed through. “Took you long enough.”

  “Maybe I should get doorman.”

  “A key would do.”

  “You are here one night, and I’m supposed to run and get key?”

  “Sorry, just worried about Cindy.”

  “Mama’s with her.”

  Sammy raced to the room.

  Mama stood over Cindy, holding an empty bowl. “I gave her another pill.”

  “I thought she was okay.”

  “She still has fever and fluid in chest. Infection has own life and does not give up without fight.”

  Cindy let out a rasping cough.

  Sammy skidded down beside Cindy. “She’s going to be okay?”

  Mama nodded. “She is young. She is strong.”

  Sammy held the clothes bag up. “I have your stuff.”

  Cindy coughed. “At least I’ll have something to wear with him here.”

  Sammy glanced at Igor, who was at the door. “What was he doing here?”

  “Fixing something.” Cindy coughed again.

  “Refrigerator can’t be fixed,” Igor said. “Compressor is bad.”

  Sammy stared back at him. At least he could’ve pretended he wasn’t listening.

  “I need to know if refrigerator works before I give power.”

  “What does one got to do with the other?”

  “It is easier to move you than refrigerator.”

  “Worry about refrigerator another time,” Mama said. “Let her get rest.”

  Igor huffed and stepped into the room. “Is it okay if I take my tools, Mama?”

  Mama marched out of the room with the bowl.

  Igor stomped out of the room with his pouch of tools jingling. “I will find working refrigerator.”

  Sammy grabbed one of the wooden chairs and wedged its back under the doorknob. “We’ll get a room with a lock.”

  Cindy chuckled. “Can you give me my bag? I have to put some clothes on.”

  Sammy untied the bags and handed her the bigger one.

  “Hair’s a mess,” Cindy said, rummaging through the bag.

  Sammy sat with her own bag between her legs, worried the twins would think she abandoned them. She had to see them, but Gladys would be expecting that and call the cops. Gladys was nothing if not devious.

  Chapter Nine

  _____________________________

  Vinnie sat on the other side of the counter, watching Sammy sort through the selection of candies on display. She planned on taking one for the twins, and if she did it right, he’d never know.

  Uncle Danny used to say, “Stealing is like magic, princess. You make them look in one direction, then take it from the other.” Uncle Danny had puffed himself up. “Misdirection. That’s how magic’s done.”

  As far back as Sammy could remember, Vinnie always had a scowl, and it seemed to shape his face over the years. His hair was thinning and what was left looked greasy. A couple of gold necklaces roped his neck. One had a cross, nestling in a forest of curly black hair exposed by the opened, button-down white shirt.

  Jamal was his partner or something like that, and he’d say, “You know why he wears them chains?”

  Sammy remembered looking at the chains as if there were a hidden reason for wearing them. She shook her head.

  “So he knows where to stop shaving.” Jamal always laughed when he said it, and Vinnie would roll his eyes.

  Sammy liked Jamal and wouldn’t steal if he were still there. He’d count the change she got from begging and give her the pizza even if she came up short.

  “You going to buy something?” Vinnie asked.

  The guy she followed in was still studying the chalkboard menu. He looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed in his clothes, but the clothes spoke money. She expected he’d be ordering something nice like a veal Parmesan.

  Sammy flicked a candy bar in the air high enough so Vinnie would be watching that. She stuffed another bar into her pocket. She picked the bar off the counter and pretended to read the label. “Do you know how much sugar is in this?”

  “It’s candy,” Vinnie said, looking more annoyed than usual.

  The guy in the rumpled jacket ordered a meatball Parmesan from Vinnie’s helper, who had a matching white button-down shirt but was tall and skinny with a mop of blond hair, no more than twenty. She put the flicked candy back. “My teeth will fall out if I eat that.”

  Vinnie shifted on the seat as if he had hemorrhoids. “You have any money that’s going to fall out?”

  Sammy drifted to the center, watching Skinny White-Shirt sprinkle the cheese over the cut-open slice of Italian bread. He slid the sandwich onto a sheet of foil and dropped it into the oven.

  She gazed up at the menu, remembering Jamal telling her how to pronounce some of the names. Vinnie would get mad, asking why he was spending so much time with her.

  Jamal would give it right back. “She’s a paying customer.”

  Vinnie sneered. “Yeah, a pocket of pennies and a slice of pizza.”

  Rumpled Jacket ordered the expensive spring water.

  Yeah, he had money. She was betting he’d take it home with him, and she could do a simple bump and swap.

  “You got money to buy something?” Vinnie asked her.

  Sammy tried to muster as much indignation as she could, but it was kind of hard with Vinnie perched up on his stool, looking like a frog. “I got money.”

  “Let me see.”

  “You’ll see it when I buy something.”

  “Am I going to still be alive to witness the momentous occasion?”

  Skinny White-Shirt took the sandwich out, the cheese glistening under the flickering overhead lights. Rumpled Jacket was going to eat it here.

  Dam
n! Now she had to buy herself more time with Vinnie the croaking frog. Rumbled Jacket finally pulled out one of those expensive phones to pay for the meal.

  “What does it cost for putting more cheese on a meatball Parmesan sub?” Sammy asked.

  “I still haven’t seen any money.”

  How long does it take to pay for a sandwich? “I said I got money.”

  “You saying it don’t make it so.”

  Rumpled Jacket finally paid but hadn’t picked up the plate. He had trouble finding his pocket. Vinnie would be hurling fireballs at her next.

  “I’ll show you my money if it’ll shut you up.”

  Vinnie shot up from his stool. “This is my place, and I can say what I want.”

  Sammy dipped her fingers into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bearings. Rumpled Jacket grabbed his sandwich plate. She dropped a couple of bearings on the floor. “Dropped my money,” she said, bending down.

  She rolled the rest of the bearings at him as he turned toward the back dining area.

  Rumpled Jacket’s foot caught the bearings, and his feet stuttered and slipped. His arms flailed as he fell back. She rushed over and slid behind him just before his butt hit the floor. The sandwich flew over and behind her. It was out of reach. Sammy wiggled out from under him and scrambled for the sandwich. Only a half of a meatball rolled out, leaving the sandwich intact. She wrapped the foil around the sandwich and stuffed it into her pocket, then helped Rumpled Jacket to his feet.

  “Something on the floor tripped me up,” Rumpled Jacket said, looking even more dazed if possible.

  “I guess this place isn’t too safe,” Sammy said. “If you want to sue, I can be your witness.”

  Vinnie raced around the counter, almost knocking over Skinny White-Shirt. “Sue? You had something to do with this!”

  “I didn’t do nothing but keep him from cracking his skull.”

  “Get out of here! I don’t want to see you in my place again.”

  Sammy marched out. “Don't worry. I won’t come back to this dump. It’s a safety hazard.”