Honor Amongst Thieves

Flannigan’s was the kind of establishment that could have been a cornerstone of the block, if not the whole neighborhood, but for a seedy edge that turned away the locals most nights. The place stank of spilled beer with an undercurrent of something rotten, and the timeworn sawdust did little to stop one’s feet from sticking to the floors while walking from the wobbly tables littered carelessly about the place to the grimy wood bar behind which a bartender casually passed out drinks. Patrons fell into two categories – shady or young, both groups feeling very at home in the dank drinking hall, and both wanting nothing to do with the other.

Gage walked straight in, ignoring the squelch from Flannigan’s floors, and smiling at the roar of college boys and European tourists at their revelry. Gage elbowed his way through the milling throng viciously, and when he reached the bar one malevolent look was all it took to send two drunks out of their wobbly bar-stools and towards the exit. He took the end-seat nearest the wall and roughly pushed the half empty beers of his displaced predecessors away, as though annoyed the bartender hadn’t cleaned them up yet. No one tried to take the empty seat that now separated Gage from the rest of the bar.

Gage eyed the pictures on the walls all around him – an odd assortment of horses and boxers and old shamrocks, all nailed to the wall to discourage people… like him he supposed. He shrugged – Flannigan’s might be the only place in the city he wouldn’t steal from, but others of his kind might not be so noble. He raised his fingers, and the bartender came his way – a brief exchange later and four beers in frosted plastic pints sat in front of Gage. All that was left was to wait for his friend to arrive and that’s just what Gage did, settling in and sipping the first of his beers.

Gage had been coming to Flannigan’s since before he could drink, and when he’d had too much to drink, he knew he tended to run off at the mouth, something dangerous for a man in his profession. This weakness was one of the reasons he was so grateful to have met Jim, a man who didn’t just listen to Gage, but understood – they were in the same brotherhood after all.

Jim arrived, pushing through the crowd and sitting in the vacant seat next to Gage. Jim tipped his head gratefully for the two beers that Gage had ordered him, and they both raised their glasses and drank deep. Jim was taller than Gage, so tall Gage didn’t know how Jim could stay in his current line of work. Jim was a purse snatcher – an opportunistic grab and goer, and being as tall as he was, he drew attention, which was certainly a liability. Gage, whose line of work was of a more skilled variety, respected him more given his height and his status of never having been caught.

It was their work they discussed, and as it so often did their discussion quickly turned to Gage’s latest target. This was something he’d been eager to tell his friend about.

“It’s perfect, see.” Gage said with a smirk. “I heard this bitch walking up Houston, drunk as a skunk talking about this scratcher! She won, see – twenty-thousand dollars! And there she was waiving it around and screaming about when she’d go collect her winnings for all the world to hear.”

Jim leaned back as far as one could on a rickety stool with no back, “You’re sure? It sounds a little too perfect, maybe she was lying.”

“That’s just it” Gage said a little too loudly, “she had the thing with her, waiving it around for all the world to see. Her friend even checked it right there in the street. I’ve never had such a score fall so neatly into my lap” and Gage slapped his thigh, laughing with honest delight.

Jim shrugged, “You B+E boys have it so easy sometimes. I guess all that’s left is to find out where she lives?”

Gage drained his beer and grinned wickedly, “But Jim, do you think so little of me? I know where she lives, and I’m going there… tonight!”

Gage left his second beer there, knowing he’d return and sauntered towards the door, elbows out and eyes aflame.

Jim watched him go, taking another sip from his beer. Then he took out his phone, rapidly tapping on the smooth glass screen, and when he was done, he put his phone back in his pocket and said, “two more rounds please.” The bartender hurried to comply, and Jim stared towards the entryway, waiting for Gage to return.

It was easy enough to break into apartment complexes in New York – a city of people that prided themselves on not knowing their neighbors. Gage stood near the door – not so close as to draw attention, but not so far as to have to sprint, and he waited, feeling the buzz of the beer mingling with the buzz of the adrenaline flowing through his veins. A young man stepped out of a cab, stumbled, and went to the door, throwing it wide and stomping in. Perfect Gage thought, and he stepped forward, slipping into the entryway behind the oblivious resident. He stopped there, keeping the locked inner door open with his foot, and eyed the mailbox, searching through the names. Then, smiling, he opened the inner-door and walked into the hallway.

The trick to this stage of the robbery was to be confident – a trick Gage was well versed in, so he walked in the unfamiliar hallway as if he owned the place. It was an old building – clean but antiquated, with peeling paint on the walls and dusty carpet on the floors that muffled his footsteps. The doors, to his delight, had large brass locks above the door handle – no electronics or deadbolts would stop him tonight. He found the door to the stairway at the end of the hall and made his way up to the third floor.

Here at apartment 302, the second stage of the robbery began – the most dangerous stage, and Gage moved quickly, heart pounding to get through it. From his pockets Gage pulled the locksmith’s tools of his original trade out and began fiddling with the lock, ears open for a suspicious neighbor poking their head out into the hallway. In an instant the work was done, and Gage quickly sidestepped into the apartment.

The apartment was dark and quiet and instinctively Gage knew no one was home. He relaxed then, but out of an abundance of caution he lifted his gaiter up to his nose, and pulled his hood over his head. As his eyes adjusted, he saw it was a large apartment, clean but clearly lived in, with succulents and house plants dominating the décor – hanging off walls and in pots on every table and dresser all around. Gage noticed an Xbox beneath the TV and wondered if Susan was a gamer or if there was a partner who shared the place with her. Such idle thoughts did not hold him up as he advanced by instinct towards the bedroom.

Once in the small bedroom, Gage saw an accordion door through the gloom, and hastened towards it – the closet being the most likely place to find a safe. He pulled the door open with a whisper but finally the darkness stymied him as the shadows in the closet made it impossible to tell what was inside. He did see a chain hanging from the ceiling and decided to risk the light, pulling on it slowly to make as little noise as possible. Light flooded the closet, revealing what was inside.

There at his feet was a shoe box, and in dark sharpie on top, to his astonishment, was a single written word, “Gage”. Heart pounding, Gage grabbed the box, ripping the top off . Inside he saw the cash he’d come for, but on top of the cash was a little black book. For the first time in his career, Gage did not take the cash and run. Instead, with some trepidation, he opened the book and sat on the bed, reading the first page in the dim light from the closet.

There was a date in the upper right corner, roughly a year before. In small, neat handwriting, the details of a burglary were laid out, coldly and dispassionately, on the page. Gage flipped through the book, more pages, more robberies. He came to the last page and read it, quickly. When he finished, he looked at the date and yelped like a kicked dog, dropping the book. Forgetting the money and forgetting the need to not be noticed, he fled the apartment, hardly caring if anyone saw him running down the hallways. Composure gone, he clattered down the stairs, practically ripped the front door off its hinges, and took off into the night.

Jim saw Gage stumble into Flannigan’s, and noted the panic on Gage’s face. He stood up, a modicum of concern and watched as Gage was pushed and shoved around the place, the crowd taking him on a circuitous journey before depositing him in front of Jim. “What’s wrong Gage?” he asked with concern.

Gage did not reply at first, instead sitting down and taking a deep draft from the now flat beer. He gasped and cried out, “It’s a disaster! I don’t know what to do!”

Jim frowned, “Easy Gage, tell me what happened. Is the law after you?”

Gage shrugged hard, “I don’t know, it's… impossible! But she had it all, every robbery practically since I met you! All of it man, in this little book. Everything I’ve done spelled out like she was a court reporter, and I was confessing.”

Jim leaned away from Gage, “She was a cop then?”

Gage swallowed, “Maybe. Or maybe she was a stalker, or a serial killer. But it doesn’t matter, she knows! She knows everything! I’ve got to run man.” And Gage looked at his friend hopeful there was another way.

Jim sighed but didn’t offer another solution. Gage nodded, condemned with no words, and drank his third beer quickly. Then he stood up, swaying. “Goodbye Jim. You’ve been… a great friend. Meant more to me than… I can say.” Then Gage fled, and Jim knew he’d never see him again.

Jim didn’t look too sad though, and once more the phone came out and furious tapping commenced. The bartender sallied over, “I don’t get it” he said, “what happened?”

Jim shrugged and sipped his beer then said, “I’m expecting someone, could you get another beer and take these away?”

The bartender nodded and moved to the task. Jim turned toward the entryway and there she was, standing there, looking for him from the entryway. When she saw him, her eyes lit up and she beelined toward him, parting the throng of frat boys like Moses at the red sea.

“Suzy” Jim said, embracing her, and she hugged him right back, whispering “Jimmy” into his chest. They sat together and she asked, excited “so, did it work?”

Jim nodded, “Oh it worked. He’s probably halfway across state lines by now. Beautiful work darling.”

“You did the heavy lifting Jimmy – convincing another thief that someone your size could steal old ladies purses…” she said warmly, and then raised her plastic pint in a sardonic salute.

They drank deep, then after a moment’s silence, Jimmy said, “You know, one of these days, if a greedier target doesn’t take it, I can use my scratcher money to buy you a ring.”

Susan looked hard at Jim, weighing the casual words. “I’d like that Jim. But not yet. Too much fun playing heroes and sweeping the streets to give that up now.”

They laughed together and drank together, then they left Flannigan’s together arm-in-arm.